by V. F. Mason
On the fourth, his body gave up as the last breath left his lungs.
No, it wasn't only because of what I did.
I prepared them before giving them the brand. I tortured them for hours, hit and broke everything.
This action was always saved for the grand finale.
I lived for the moments when I could inflict unbearable agony on them in my basement. Each victory was accompanied by a bottle of whiskey afterward.
The deaths of those who wronged me helped me survive ‘til I reached my ultimate goal.
Booze provided the oblivion I needed to get my strength back.
A day spent without killing was a worthless day.
You would think I was a monster.
You wouldn't be wrong.
Rosa, my Rosa, was taken from me.
And the pakhan of the Bratva was stripped of the last straw keeping his sanity intact, and he settled into the darkness, so consuming he never wanted to come back from it.
What was the point?
The love of his life, my life, was dead.
Moscow, Russia
December 2016
Inhaling the cigarette in my hand, I scanned the pin board in front of me in the dim light of my office and wondered if I had everything ready.
The huge construction consisted of various red, green, and black lines, which indicated the mafia houses or a connection in the criminal world. Photos of people who at one point or another made deals with Alfonso and who might have had a vendetta against Don or me. Their worth, possessions, and family. Locations of their headquarters and the banks they frequented.
The board had more than two hundred photos.
Picking up a marker from the corner of my desk, I crossed off the last fucker, named Rufus, who was the one hundred tenth kill, and my mouth spread into a sinister smile. He supplied Alfonso with all the torture devices. He couldn't have chopped up all these women without the unique knives Rufus made. They went to university together, so I thought it fitting they both died by my hand.
The euphoria of avenging my love never got old, and the deep, dark craving inside me couldn't be settled anymore. I lived for their cries of pain.
Then my attention snapped to the main photo in the middle, where all traces led one way or another, the most feared mafia boss in the entire world.
No morals, no principles, no mercy. You were either with him or under him. No kids, no wife, not one vulnerable place.
Vito Rossi.
My final target.
But first, I had to kill those close to him.
New York, New York
May 2017
“Insane,” Connor whispered, while he kept tossing pictures on the table, his eyes almost bulging from his head as Luke, Vitya, Michael, and Damian watched me with worried expressions on their faces. “It must be some kind of mistake.”
“Is it? Or you knew about it all along and hid my woman from me?” I roared in the warehouse, and Melissa immediately stood between us in a protective manner.
“We had no idea! It’s not her, Dominic. We buried her.” She pressed on my chest with her open palm, while trying to soothe me with her voice.
I removed it from my body. “Don’t ever touch me again, Melissa. What the fuck is she doing here?” She flinched at my tone, but I didn't give a shit. The woman was sharp and a good agent, but she was dumb when it came to men. “I can’t even have a meeting with you without the FBI present?”
“We thought it was for the best,” Connor muttered, and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling on it.
“We checked her in the system. Her name is Angelica Rossi, daughter of financial mogul Ercole Rossi who owns half a city in Sicily, and they have a close association with the Rossi mafia gang. He has a wife and another daughter, Ciara. Angelica is engaged to Oliver Karev. He is American, and they met on a cruise while he was backpacking through Europe. It’s not her.” Melissa dumped all this information on me, but my mind refused to listen.
“She is a carbon copy of her!” I shouted, but she shook her head, while placing her hands on her hips stubbornly.
“They look alike, yes, but she had an accident a year ago, and she had to have several surgeries. She is not Rosa, even if it seems like they have the same face,” she finished softly, but I refused to believe that.
“She wears my cross.”
Connor cleared his throat, and replied, “It looks similar, but you can’t be sure. You know how many Catholics wear crosses? Please, Dominic, we know you’re grieving. We are too. But she is not our Rose.”
Wrong. All wrong, but it wasn't as if I expected another answer from them. People who claimed to love me so much didn't exactly show me much support in the months following Rosa’s death. The only thing they kept repeating was for me to let go and move on.
Damian stood up, his boots clicking on the concrete floor as he slowly walked toward me and stopped just inches away. His amber eyes held mine. “Whatever you need, brother. I’ll stand by you.” If my shattered heart was able to feel, his words would have made it ache, but the only thing I seemed to be able to do was nod and give him the papers.
He would help me find out once and for all if Angelica Rossi was Rosa Giovanni.
Funny thing was, no matter the answer, the outcome would be the same.
I’d destroy everything and everyone in my way.
New York, New York
June 2017
“Please, I have no idea what you are talking about,” a man pleaded, while the machine buzzed loudly as Damian prepared the steel to be hot as fuck so we could leave a mark on this fucker’s skin.
Smirking, I crooked my head, studying my target with an impassive stare.
The man was pinned to the wall on the metallic chair, while heavy chains were wrapped around his neck and chest, digging painfully into his skin and allowing the blood to sip slowly down to his lap. His wrists and ankles were in handcuffs nailed to the floor, so no matter how much he tried to run away, he couldn’t.
Fuck, working with Damian was a whole new experience. My twin sure as fuck knew how to torture people on the master level. Pulling my elbow back, I punched him with all my might, right in his nose. It cracked, and as he screamed, satisfaction ran through me.
The man who beat and tortured my Rosa. “Stop whining like a little bitch,” I ordered, picking up a pair of pliers and taking a few steps closer to him. Then one by one, I pulled out the nails on his fingers as he cried and cried, his voice becoming hoarse. But fuck if I cared. Finishing the task, I laughed at the wetness spreading all over the front of his clothes as the smell of urine filled the air. Throwing the pliers away, I walked behind him and choked the life out of him while Damian joined us with a hot steel rod that he pressed right between the crook of Mark’s neck and shoulder. An agonizing whimper echoed in the basement. He convulsed on the seat several times, and then his body stopped as he passed out. Still breathing though, based on the pulse under my fingers.
Displeased he didn't experience all the ache I planned, I raised my accusing eyes to Damian, as he said, “Relax, Dom, I know what I’m doing.” With that, he took a bottle from the cupboard, spilled onto a tissue the antiseptic stuff doctors use to wake people who’ve fainted, and covered Mark’s nose with it. The fucker jerked and whimpered, the pain clearly registering in him once again.
Damian gave me a kitchen knife while he held the hammer. “Write the name.”
I proceeded to carry out my usual ritual while Damian stabbed him in his chest, enough to bring unbearable agony but not enough to kill him.
Then I hammered the nails into him as Damian cut off his dick. Disgusting blood flew in every direction. Thankfully, we had gloves and masks. Once it was all done, Vitya arrived in a black SUV and placed Mark in the truck. He had a message to deliver to Vito Rossi, because Mark was his bodyguard. No, we didn't kill the fucker.
Killing him would mean mercy, freeing him from punishment. He had to pay the price for touching the love of my life, my w
oman, my Rosa.
Vito Rossi accepted no excuse for weakness, so I trusted him to come up with an appropriate plan to make Mark pay for it.
Ah, Vito.
Get ready, because I’m going to take my revenge on you soon.
New York, New York
July 2017
Rosalinda Francesca Giovanni
Beloved Daughter.
2.03.1994-10.09.2016
Placing twenty-three red roses on the gravestone, I inhaled the fresh July air and kneeled while the light breeze touched my bruised skin from the fight last night. “Hi, krasavica. I wanted to see you before going to Italy to find out the truth.” Halting, I remembered the funeral as if it were yesterday.
Getting out of the car, my eyes scanned the crowd as I willed everything in me to stay to pay my respect to the woman I loved, even if it might kill me. Oddly enough, the weather was warm. With browns and yellows, the first bloom of fall created a picture from some kind of movie.
The black coffin was slowly lowered into the ground as everyone from the familia cried and tossed dirt and flowers into the grave.
My blank face studied it all, almost like an outsider, as my eyes travelled to Damian who held a sobbing Sapphire, Luke, and Juanita with watery eyes, and then Vitya and Michael.
My hands clenched into fists, as rage overpowered all other emotions, and I couldn't see straight for the red haze. The gun inside my pocket begged to be used on me, to end my life for what Alfonso had done to my krasavica. Maybe if I had listened that day… if I had put my wounded pride aside… if, if, if. Life was one long fucking what if.
Shaking my head, I snapped out of it and continued to talk as time ticked by and the plane awaited me. “The only reason I’m doing it… is to discover for sure it’s not you. Just the possibility of you being alive… you have no idea what it does to me.” Kissing my fingers, I softly touched the headstone and took a deep breath. “Although it feels like a betrayal to you, I cannot help the feelings that awaken inside me when I look at her picture. I have to know the truth. Forgive me for that too, my love.” Rubbing the stone gently, I stood up and walked to the car where Vlad already had the door open for me.
I would come back to this place.
Either to destroy the stone or put a bullet through my head.
Because once my revenge was fulfilled, my life had no meaning.
New Bern, North Carolina
September 2016
The unfamiliar whimpers of pain could be heard in the distance as Alfonso zipped up his pants, while I lay at his feet, my skin still throbbing from all the bruises he inflicted. I trembled as cold penetrated into every bone while his bodyguard laughed loudly, taking a step to take his place between my legs.
Somehow, when Alfonso jumped on me earlier, my mind miraculously blocked it, because his hit to my cheek was so strong it knocked me out cold. Waking up when it was over seemed like a gift from above.
How grateful I was Dominic and I shared our magical night together, that he was my first. The love and adoration I received in his arms was indescribable. Not everyone was lucky enough to find the love of their life at such a young age, but we did.
My heart panged painfully that I’d never see him again and how our relationship ended.
“I hope you’ll be happy, my love,” I whispered, right before my eyelids felt too heavy to stay open and the kingdom of imageless dreams took me.
If I weren’t so weak, I probably would have heard Alfonso’s giddy voice, which echoed loudly in the disgusting basement. “Dominic, Don, you have no idea what is going on here.”
Charlotte, North Carolina
September 2016
My eyes snapped open as a light rain fell onto my burning skin. I screamed in pain, trying to move away from it, but failed because my muscles didn’t respond. Scanning the environment around me, I whimpered when I noticed a car burning upside down with the fire spreading rapidly across the grass toward my naked body only a few feet away.
“No, no,” I whispered, my mind in a haze. Where was I? Why was I here? Where were Alfonso and his team?
However, I didn't have much time to dwell on it as orange flames reached me and touched my already bruised body. I screamed in pain as it burned my skin, rain at least somehow soothing the agony.
Did I really deserve such a violent death? Why didn’t they just kill me without any fuss after what they had done to me? This world lacked justice; what else could explain the madness my life had become?
Loud sirens in the distance were the last thing I heard before pain became too unbearable to endure anymore.
My poor Russian.
How would he survive without me?
Charlotte, North Carolina
January 2017
“Honey, please wake up.” The quiet sobs penetrated my mind like the nagging feeling when someone pokes you in the side. Unfortunately, I couldn't move away from it. My body refused to obey my commands. “I don’t know how to live without you.” The person with the voice placed soft kisses on my shoulder while breathing me in, and a shudder ran through me.
His touch wasn't welcomed.
“There is so much we haven’t done… so many dreams,” he said. His hand covered mine and squeezed hard.
Who was he? Why was he crying? Where was I?
I couldn't stand his presence, his smell, and the darkness around me called as everything in me begged me to succumb.
Away from the man and the pain that slowly slipped into every bone in my body.
And then another voice entered like the soft touch of a feather on my skin.
Krasavica.
The darkness wasn’t appealing anymore as a bright light beckoned at the end of the tunnel.
Krasavica.
I just wanted to reach the voice, to bask in the warmth of it and never let go.
Krasavica, open your eyes.
Willing myself to comply, to finally find the source of the voice, my heavy eyelids lifted as the bright light blinded me.
“Angelica.” The man next to me shouted while hugging me close, and I cried out in agony from the pain assaulting me.
But more importantly, I couldn't handle the sense of loss, because the stranger with the most amazing voice in the world wasn't there.
Charlotte, North Carolina
February 2017
The nurse adjusted the pillow behind me to be more comfortable and pushed me back on it. “Poor darling,” she said pitifully, lifting the blanket under my elbows, essentially tucking me in a safe cocoon of warmth. The air conditioner was running crazy in the hospital, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't stop my body from trembling.
My dry mouth felt disgusting, so I whimpered loudly, pointing at my lips with my bandaged hands. The action brought an electrifying shot of pain, and for a second, I stopped breathing.
“No, don’t move, sweetheart,” she exclaimed, quickly putting a straw to my lips and allowing me to sip gently. I moaned as it brought relief to my body. I learned not to pay attention to how much my face hurt when I ate or drank. Tight bandages wrapped me like a mummy, so nothing was visible aside from my eyes and lips.
A shudder ran through me as I remembered how even the slightest touch of air inflicted agonizing pain on my burned skin and how the smell of gasoline stayed in my nose. By the shocked stares and constant whispering between medical personnel, I understood my face was hideous to look at.
“Angelica.” A voice from the doorway snapped my attention from my thirst as I noticed the man named Oliver leaning against the doorjamb with a bright smile, holding red roses in his hands.
Roses?
My eyes shut as a memory assaulted me with a different man holding similar roses, but he wore a suit. I frowned, willing the image in my head not to go away and let me focus on his face, but it wouldn't let me.
Just like that, the flash was gone, and I couldn’t think.
“Hi,” I replied hoarsely, while he slowly walked toward me and placed the flowers on my b
ed covers.
“They’re your favorite.” My eyes watered from one more reminder I didn't remember anything.
My brain was a complete blank.
I could name different things, but for the life of me, I didn't recognize my family or the man I loved.
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” his said softly, while his lips brushed over my bandaged forehead. “Don’t worry or stress yourself. You’ll remember our love.” The hope in his words couldn't be missed, while nurses watched us with adoration and sadness.
Would I?
Charlotte, North Carolina
March 2017
Resting my back against the headboard, my thumb was almost numb from constantly clicking the remote as TV channels changed at the speed of light. Nothing held my interest.
Crying in frustration, I threw it and it landed with a soft thud as it hit fluffy white carpet. With my knuckles, I scratched my bandaged face. The burns hurt like a bitch, especially when they applied some kind of healing cream. The ointment did nothing but make my life a living hell as the skin itched like crazy after each application. In one of those sessions, a doctor told me I had three more such treatments before they could do anything about the burns. He told me not to worry.
Funny man really. What girl could not worry about her physical appearance? Although in all honesty, I couldn't give two shits about it, because I had more serious problems on my mind. Like getting my memory back, so I would know all the people around me. I felt like someone was trying to fit wooden blocks together in my brain, but instead they’d go flying all over the place.
That’s how it felt not being able to even recall my name.
They kept saying Angelica, but my insides never responded to it. They spoke about the girl, but it felt like another person. My psychologist explained to me it was normal for lost memory, but somehow I doubted it. What the hell did she know anyway? It wasn't as if she had any idea what it was like for your mind to be a blank space.