Double Blind (Vittorio Crime Family #2)

by Vanessa Waltz

  His voice gets a little more hysterical after I announce it.

  “If you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you.”

  The fool would be smarter to charge me and scream, but he clings to hope too strongly. I stand up from the chair and he’s still begging his God. One minute left.

  “Please, I’ll do anything! Jesus save my life, please!”

  I shrug. “I guess your God doesn’t care about you.”

  I raise my gun to his forehead.

  “No, wait!”

  The silencer narrows down the crack of the gunshots, but it’s still loud. Two in the forehead and I empty the rest in his chest. His mouth gapes open, and his eyes roll back. His face is a mask of blood as he falls backwards.

  Dead. Gone.

  I back out the way I came, eager to get out of that place. Officer Cramar is waiting for me in the trunk, after all. There’s much to be done.

  * * *

  I arrive at the deli near the back entrance in Jersey. I could have brought him to my house to butcher him, but I really don’t like bringing my business home.

  The sun shines brightly as I step outside my car. Beautiful day. I probably got here just in time. He’s only been dead for a couple hours, but soon he’ll start to smell. Two of my soldiers meet me outside and I point towards my trunk.

  “Jesus,” one of them says as he looks inside.

  “Brian, let’s go. Get him inside, now.”

  I follow them into the back, where the giant saws are. Perfect for cutting large chunks of meat. Or people. They remove his clothes quickly while I watch, placing them in a thick, bowling bag. Then they shove his body on the table with the electric saw. Officer Cramar lies naked on the table, his penis small and shriveled in a bed of dark hair. Dark hair covers his chest and his eyes stare forward, his mouth slightly parted.

  The electric saw turns on, the screaming noise somehow makes Brian gag. They position the head next to the saw, and it slices through the officer’s neck as if it was made of butter. Dark blood gushes from the stump of the neck and I laugh when Brian presses his arm to his face, his stomach heaving. Even Johnny, the more seasoned soldier, grimaces when he grabs the head by its hair and drops it in the bowling bag.

  “Haven’t you pussies seen a dead body by now? It’s just meat.”

  Without the head, the corpse spills blackish blood from its stump all over the table and Brian throws up on the floor.

  “Fuck!” Some of it almost splashes on my shoes. “Get a grip and clean that shit up!”

  The body is pale now, so pale it doesn’t look remotely human anymore.

  Fuck’s sake, I’ll just do it myself.

  I stick his hands through the saw, marveling at how easily it cuts through sinew and bone. Then I dump those in the bowling bag and zip it up. Perfect.

  I’m always amazed at how much blood the body contains, especially near the head. When the head comes off, it’s like a burst of liquid. Gallons and gallons. Then I turn around the corpse and slice off the legs. No blood at all. I don’t need his legs cut off, it just makes it easier to fit in a bag.

  By the time I’m finished, he barely looks like anything at all.

  Life is meaningless when it can be taken away so easily. Within minutes I can transform a human being into chunks of meat. What’s the difference between this and the pig carcasses hanging in the freezer? I dump the corpse into a garbage bag and shove it in Brian’s arms. He looks like he might throw up again.

  “Take it to Meadowlands. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Meadowlands, New Jersey. The mob’s favorite place to dump bodies. The murky swamps are perfect for hiding a recent kill.

  “And hurry the fuck up about it,” I say to his back as he carries the bag in his hand, holding it far away from his body.

  Taking the black bowling bag containing the head, hands, and clothes, I walk outside and breathe in the fresh air. I see them hosing off the table when I leave. Good.

  A long drive to a farm on Long Island takes a couple hours, and I have a date tonight with Adriana. That angel. Excitement burns through my veins when I think about her. She’s the perfect girl, really. Great body. Italian. Smart. Even better looking than her mother.

  Taking the shovel, I stab the soft earth and dig a nice, big hole. They’ll never find poor Officer Cramar. Without his head and hands, it’ll be impossible to identify the corpse in Meadowlands without a DNA test. No dental records. No fingerprints.

  Christ, I’m tired. The dirt flies in the air in a shower of brown chunks as I work tirelessly. Finally, when it’s big enough, I drop the bowling bag inside.

  “So long.”

  I give the bag a merry salute before I cover it back up with earth. Then I scatter the earth around it, placing the grass on top so that it doesn’t look disturbed. I look down at the small mound for a moment. One minute, you’re a walking, talking person and the next your head’s chopped off, buried under feet of dirt in a leather bowling bag.

  People die all the time and there’s nothing you can do about it. We’re all a bunch of savages barely constrained by rules, laws, and religion. Fuck it all.

  I kill because I have to. Because I need it. Because it keeps me strong.

  My ma beat me, starved me, and rained her weapons on my back until I completely broke. She kept me in a cage. She called me a demon. Sometimes, I still cry over it. I cry like a little bitch and I hate myself for being so weak and I punch a hole in the fucking wall.

  Do you know what it’s like being so fucking scared all the time any reminder of her makes you vomit in your mouth? The sight of her still makes me flinch. Bullied at school. I was the weird kid who burst into tears for no reason. Then I was the violent kid. Detention. Emotional issues. Dropped out of school and got a job robbing homes for a low-level soldier in the Rizzo family. From there, I worked my way up.

  Thinking about all this shit makes my head ache. I throw my shovel in the car and slam the hood, wishing there was someone else around who I could destroy. It’s funny. Everyone in the family looks at me as the calm, cool, and collected guy. Mature. Strong.

  I’m not. I’m fucking nuts. I know that. I’m trying to heal the sickness inside me. The endless, white-hot rage that calls for blood. The only way I feel good about myself is if I kill, maim, and hurt. I’ve restrained myself a lot lately. Using guns instead of knives, or my own bare hands. It’s progress.

  I want to be better.

  Especially for her.

  * * *

  She waits for me at the base of her dorm building, wearing a small, shy smile. Adriana wears dark skinny jeans and a tight, leopard-print tank top, which stretches over her breasts. She wears a glittering necklace that I’d love to grab ahold of. Her thick, brown hair falls over her back. Typical guidette. Bombshell.

  I told her to wear something casual, and she still manages to look gorgeous.

  “Carmine.” Her pink lips mouth my name.

  Everything inside me wants to kiss her, but I hold myself back and link hands with her instead. “You look beautiful, Adriana. As always.”

  She walks into my arms and wraps her arm around my waist, and I feel goosebumps all over my arms. I suck in my breath when I feel her tits rustling against my chest and step back from her, grabbing ahold of her hands.

  Control.

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret.” I grip her hand and guide her to the garage where my car is parked.

  It’s a nice night. Happy young couples walk by us, heading towards the bars and clubs. I’ve something different in mind for her. Something exciting.

  I open the passenger door for her, my eyes lingering on her body as she bends into my car. I take another deep breath and slide into the driver’s seat.

  “So how are you?” I say to break the silence.

  Adriana looks nervous. Her hands twist in her lap and her knee jigs restlessly. Does this girl ever calm down?

  A shaky sigh leaves her mouth. “I’m good. A bit n
ervous. First date jitters.”

  Truth be told, I’m a little nervous, too. I’m just really good at hiding it. “Me too.”

  She grins at me as I pull out of the parking lot. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Pretty girls make us guys nervous.”

  I reach over and suddenly grab her thigh, tickling her. She squeals and beats my hand away. I do it again.

  “Carmine, stop!” she pleads through laughter.

  She laughs so hard, there are small tears in the corner of her eyes.

  “I just wanted to make you laugh a little, and it worked!”

  When I look at her again, a somber expression replaces the mirth dancing on her face. I notice that a lot. A light switches and a deep sadness overcomes her, like the shadow of a dark cloud from some deep, dark corner in her mind. She carries it with her all the time.

  I understand that.

  I drive toward Queens to begin our little adventure for tonight. 80’s pop music blares through the speakers and I turn it up, singing along under my breath.

  Adriana stares, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing.

  “Oh, come on. You sing in the shower, don’t you? What, I can’t sing the Police in my car?”

  She giggles. “It’s just so unexpected.”

  We fly over the bridge, which is lit up at night. New York City glows behind us as I drive towards Queens.

  “I have no idea where we’re going.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  There’s a strip of the highway here where there are drag races: the belt parkway that wraps around Brooklyn and Queens. And we’re going to be in one.

  The highway wraps around the water, and there’s a line of cars already waiting as I loop around, right before Bennett Field. I roll down the window as I pull up beside them.

  “Hey, wanna race?”

  “Frank, it’s me!”

  I move the shift until it’s in park, and then I rev the engine. Adriana looks at me, looking excited and scared. “Make sure your seat belt’s on.”

  “Is it safe?” she whispers.

  I shrug and laugh.

  “Hey,” he says to me. “On three?”

  The sound of three, four cars revving their engine gets my blood racing. Headlights shine behind me. There are even more cars joining the race. Adriana holds her armrests, looking terrified. I grin at her.

  “One.”

  “Two,” I say.

  I yank back the shift into drive and peel off before he can say three. Tires scream and smoke billows around my car. I yank the steering wheel to the left, cutting off the other cars as I stamp down on the gas. Adrenaline burns through my veins as my back slams into the seat.

  “HOLY SHIT!”

  She screams as the tires squeal, when I make a wide left turn. Frank inches up closer beside me on the right. It’s a mad race. I weave in and out between cars, cursing as Frank’s Lexus darts in front of two cars I’m trying to squeeze in between. Adriana lets out a high-pitched scream as I shove my car between them, almost causing a car crash.

  “ARE YOU CRAZY?”

  I throw my head back and laugh with the sheer joy of it all, slamming it towards Frank. Other cars start to weave closer like a hive of bees pursuing a target. Luckily, this highway is pretty much straight.

  God, it’s a rush. I’m going so fast that every car seems to move extremely slow. I easily switch lanes, forcing the others to retreat as I power on ahead. It’s all a blur of white and yellow. Then I slow down, because there’s too much traffic ahead. Adriana’s mouth is open in a silent scream. She looks frozen.

  “You okay?”

  She gives me a shaky laugh. “That was insane.”

  “Want to do it again?”

  “S—sure. Just be careful.”

  “No such thing.”

  By the end of the second race, Adriana’s face is white and I’m worried that I scared her. I pull over to the side of the road and slide the top to reveal the skylight. It’s a clear night and the stars wink above us peacefully. She is as still as a trained bird, staring ahead with wide eyes. I brush the hair from her shoulders and she shivers at my touch. I lean over and wrap my arm around her dainty shoulders. Her lips part as my other hand takes her chin.

  There’s something in those dark pools that I can’t yet identify. A healthy dose of fear, yes, but there’s something else. She wants something from me, but is scared to get it.

  I take her trembling lips in mine and kiss her, my hand moving down her neck to the strap of her tank top. It feels incredible, like electricity shooting my lips. I play with her strap, sliding my fingers through to stroke her. She moans into my mouth and my hand dips lower to brush over the soft skin. My thumb strokes the top of her breast while the rest curls around. I squeeze her and grab the back of her neck. She kisses back timidly, her lips soft against mine.

  Slowly, I’m losing control. I want to fuck her right in the backseat of my car. Her hands will be pressed against the window and she’ll pant and moan for me. I want that so badly.

  “Can we go to your place?”

  She leans back, that fearful, timid look back on her face.

  “Sure we can.”

  I try to ignore the groaning disappointment in my pants, but soon enough I’ll have her alone.

  * * *

  She sits down on my kitchen table, and when I take a seat next to her, her face blooms in color. I would have never pinned her as a shy girl.

  When I saw her with Cesare, I assumed she was an easy lay. That asshole never really did put an effort into getting pussy. It’s not like I don’t get my fair share, but I’m just not into banging girls to get notches on my belt. I just want one, and I wanted her. The way I see it, she was mine from the beginning. I knew her mother. I knew her way before that jerk-off waltzed in her life.

  It made me laugh to see his pain when he barged into my house.

  Fuck. You don’t know what pain is.

  When I think about it, I don’t really know why I hate him so much. It always comes down to the fact that he had her before I did. He touched her, tasted her, fucked her. When she belonged to me all along.

  “Carmine, what’s that on your neck?” She points at me, looking slightly paler than usual.

  I wipe my over my neck and my fingers glisten with blood. Shit. Some of it must have splattered on me. Definitely possible.

  Sloppy.

  I laugh it off as I get up and wash my hands, wiping my neck with a paper towel. “Probably just from cutting myself shaving.”

  But I didn’t shave today. She knows it and I know it.

  The implicit lie hangs over both of our heads, dangling there. She accepts the lie handed to her and nods her dark head.

  I sit back down next to her, my cock hardening in my pants. She would look so hot bent over the kitchen table, with me nailing her from behind.

  “Come here.” I pat my legs and she dutifully rises to her feet with a small smile. I take her hips and position her so that she’s straddling my waist.

  Her hands flutter over my hair as she sits down over me. I’m overcome with the feeling of her body sitting on my lap, right over my throbbing cock.

  I want her.

  Her neck is smooth under my fingers. So frail. I wrap my fingers around her tiny neck and yank her towards me. I study her lips, her straight nose, tiny earlobes begging for a nibble, and her big eyes. Fear shines through them. What is she so fucking afraid of? I could give her something to cry about, but I’m being nice. She has no reason to be afraid of me. Yet.

  She presses her finger over a round, circular scar below my neck. “What’s that?”

  Everything inside me tenses when she touches it.

  Carmine, stop crying! Don’t you dare look at me like that—you son of a bitch. You worthless fanook.

  My heart pounds and my teeth clench together. I want to shove her away. The sharp, circular sting still burns when she touches it.

  “There’s more,” she murmurs, looking down my shirt.


  Of course, there are fucking more.

  She touches each of them, and pain radiates in my skin, echoing from decades ago. I jerk away from her fingers.

  “Don’t.”

  Her fingers fly away. “I’m sorry.”

  My hard-on is a distant memory. I bury my face into her chest and I try to think about her creamy tits, but my mind is on the scars lining my body. I don’t even like taking off my clothes, because then they always ask questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer, but I will when the time is right.

  Pulling back, I can see one forming on her lips. She swallows it down, looking somber.

  That’s why she’s perfect for me.

  VINCENT

  The blonde swings her ponytail as she watches me from the kitchen. She teased me all night with her skinf-tight, black jeans, staring at me under her long lashes with fuck me eyes. My cock gives a twitch in my pants as I imagine her gagged and bound on my bed, but the girl in my fantasies always looks like Adriana. Maybe banging Blondie will get my mind off her.

  Jack eats his penne alla vodka, eye-fucking me when the blonde returns with a bottle, giving me such a seductive smile that it ought to be fined. I grab her tiny waist when she tries to leave and pull her onto my lap.

  “Mr. Cesare!”

  “You’ve been teasing me all night. It’s rude.” She squeals when I squeeze her hips. “Tell her, Jack.”

  Grinning, I glance towards Jack, who doesn’t look at all amused. What’s his goddamn problem?

  “I think you should let her get back to work.”

  Fuck that. Adriana’s fucking that scumbag, Carmine Lucchesi.

  She’s giggly, this girl. She plays with my hair, fucking it up, but I don’t mind because her tits are in my face. Then I yank her closer to me and my lips crush against hers. I try to lose myself in her, tasting strawberries on her lips. It’s all wrong. She’s too soft. Blondie doesn’t do anything for me. She squeezes my arms and pulls away, biting her lip.

  “Something wrong?”

  I disguise my indifference with a smirk. “What’s wrong is I have to wait for your shift to end to get you alone.”

  “You’re the boss,” she leans in and mouths my ear. She bites my ear. “Can’t you send me home early?”