Knocked Down

by Nikki Ash

  My grandfather, Joe Valentino, is now retired and lives in Italy with my younger brother, Mario, who runs a hotel and restaurant over there. My other brother, Nico, runs the hotels and casinos here in Las Vegas while my father and his adopted brother Stefan, who is Cecilia’s dad, deal with the underground aspects of the business, which includes the illegal gambling as well as the exporting and importing of various contraband such as pharmaceuticals, alcohol, and tobacco. We knew from an early age our grandfather and father were powerful men. This life we live is not for the weak.

  My brothers and I are spaced out two years apart. Me, the eldest at thirty-two years old, Mario at thirty, and Nico is the youngest at twenty-eight. Our poor mother had her hands full raising three boys growing up in the organization while trying to be the perfect mob boss’s wife, but she knew from the beginning what she was getting herself into. She was working in one of the bordellos my father owned in Italy before he sold them and moved here. According to her, he saved her life and in return, she keeps her ears covered, eyes closed, and cheek turned pretending my father is the perfect husband. When the truth is, while he might be the perfect boss and businessman, he is a horrible fucking husband by normal standards. I don’t doubt he loves my mother in his own fucked up way, but he has no idea how to be faithful to save his life, and she chooses to let it all go and accept him the way he is because he makes sure she is taken care of the only way he knows how.

  My mother wants for nothing when it comes to materialistic possessions. Anything she could ever need or want is at her fingertips. She belongs to country clubs and takes vacations whenever she wants to. But it’s all given to make up for the fact that my father’s only true loyalty is to the Valentino organization. While she is busy being the perfect wife at their home in Summerlin, a community in between the bordello and Vegas, he is out running the organization and getting his dick wet all over Vegas. Her life is put at risk every day and everywhere she goes, she is accompanied by body guards—we all are. It’s always been our way of life and I don’t know any other way.

  Which is why I made the decision early on to never get married. My mom claims I’m being dramatic. She says I’m still young and will change my mind one day, but when I see the emptiness in her eyes she’s in denial of, I know I am making the right decision. I could never do that to someone. The people we bring into our lives are always at risk. My grandmother was shot going to the corner market in Italy by another organization. My mother has been in life threatening situations too many times to count. I would never want someone I love to be in harm’s way for choosing to be with me. Just because it’s the life I was born into doesn’t mean I am going to willingly bring someone else into this life.

  Besides, why would I want to settle on one piece of ass forever when I can have any woman I want, any time I want. Who the fuck wants to eat the same food every day? It’s human nature to want variety. My dad chose to get married so he could have a family, but instead of spending his life being the man my mom deserves, he’s spent their entire marriage cheating on her. I’d rather stay single and not have to remain faithful to any one woman or be responsible for her wellbeing. I’ll leave it up to my brothers to pass down the Valentino name.

  I grab my jacket from the back of my chair, throw it on, and head to the holding cell to deal with the senator. Caesar—one of my bodyguards—joins me on my way down the hallway. “I saw her, Boss. She’s pretty fucked up.” My fists tighten at my sides as I stalk toward the holding cell. I’m going to kill this motherfucker.

  It’s as if he reads my mind. “Boss, you know you can’t kill him.” Caesar grabs a hold of my shoulder, pulling me back before I open the door.

  “What the fuck do you mean I can’t kill him?” I’ll be damned if this piece-of-shit lives to hurt another fucking woman.

  “This shit needs to be handled properly. He’s the senator and running for reelection, and he owes you a shit ton of money.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about the money!”

  “You make him disappear and questions will be raised. You don’t want that attention, especially while you are in the middle of negotiations with the Lorenzo family.” He’s right about that shit. I have enough cops in my pocket to make shit go away if need be, but I would be pushing my luck if shit goes down with the Lorenzo’s. We are in the middle of renegotiating the terms of our agreement and they aren’t exactly known for compromising.

  I swing the door open to find Rome—another one of my enforcer’s—standing over Senator Weston Hightower. Weston’s fists are raised and bound together with a steel chain that’s hooked in the ceiling. The entire room is empty and concrete. For a man in his late fifties, he’s in decent shape. Gray hair trimmed neatly, probably from the stress of trying to keep control of a state which can’t be controlled. He’s shirtless and there’s several nail markings covering his chest.

  “I heard you hurt one of my girls tonight, Hightower.” I get in his face, looking him right into his frightful eyes.

  “I- I didn’t mean to…” He stutters over his words, terrified. Bet he wasn’t fucking stuttering when he was hurting Natalie. It’s so easy for a man to exude his power and strength over a woman, but just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

  “Didn’t mean to do what, exactly?” Placing my hand on his throat, I squeeze his jugular just enough so that it cuts off his airflow.

  “Hurt her.” His voice is raspy from the lack of oxygen and that has me grinning on the inside.

  “Rome, what exactly did the senator do to my girl?” I squeeze his throat tighter causing his face to turn a light shade of red. Most people don’t know this but it takes more than a good squeeze to kill someone. It takes several minutes of completely cutting off their oxygen before the body gives up and the heart stops pumping.

  “He choked her with his belt, Boss.” I look down at his pants and see the belt is missing.

  “And?”

  “A gun, Sir.”

  My head whips around to Rome, keeping my hand around the senator’s throat. “What the fuck do you mean, a gun? Did he shoot her?” I take my gun out from the back of my waistband and point it directly at Weston’s forehead while choking him harder. His chest is moving up and down faster than before, his heart working overtime to keep him alive since he is lacking the oxygen needed to breathe properly.

  “No. He shoved it inside of her and it tore her up, Boss. The doctor is checking her out now for internal bleeding.” I warned this motherfucker about doing this shit here at my club. The last time he used a champagne bottle to fuck her with. Tore her pussy and ass up. I gave him a second chance because Natalie asked me to, swore she agreed but things escalated too quickly and he couldn’t control himself. I call bullshit because I don’t give a fuck how in the moment you are, you can always control yourself. I’m almost certain Natalie has unhealthy feelings for the senator but this shit stops now. Her safety comes first.

  “Where’s the fucking gun now? Get me the damn gun and the fucking belt!” I roar, and Rome bolts out of the room. “Did you enjoy pushing metal fucking objects into my girl?” Weston doesn’t say anything so I squeeze his throat tighter, pushing the barrel of the gun harder into his forehead. I can feel the hardness of his skull against the barrel of the gun, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have in me not to pull the trigger and blow this asshole’s brains out.

  Weston shakes his head emphatically, his eyes wide with fear.

  “I think you did enjoy it.” Rome comes back into the room with the belt and gun. I remove my gun from his head and tuck it back into my waistband. I release my hand from the senator’s throat and he inhales a gulp of air trying to catch his breath. Taking the belt from Rome, I wrap it around the senator’s throat, tightening it past the smallest hole. He begins gasping for a breath once again. Good! Now you’ll know what she felt like.

  “Please, Giovanni. I’m sorry. Please, I won’t be that rough again.”

  “It’s Mr. Valentino to you. You don�
�t get the right to use my first name you piece of shit. And damn fucking right you won’t be that rough with her again because you aren’t welcome in my club anymore.”

  Grabbing Weston’s gun from Rome, I push it up against Weston’s lips forcing them apart. He tries to fight against me but when I tighten my grip on the belt, his face goes pale and he has no choice but to open wide. Pushing the barrel of the gun down his throat, I begin to fuck his throat with the gun. He’s choking and gagging on the barrel, his face turning a light shade of grey.

  “Does that feel good? Huh? How does it feel having a metal object shoved inside of you?” Weston’s head shakes and his body starts to convulse from the lack of air. A few more minutes and he will be dead. I hear one of my men clear his throat, and reluctantly I let go of the belt. None of my men would dare tell me what to do, but they have my back, and they know killing the senator right now would not be in my best interest.

  Shoving the gun down farther, I feel it bottom out as he gags and chokes. Then I move it out of his throat, and with the same gun he just deep throated, I point it right between his eyes.

  “You are never to step foot in my club again, and our deal… consider it void effective immediately. You have thirty days to pay me back with interest. Don’t make me fucking hunt you down.” And unlike the idle threat I made to that stripper a little while ago, I will follow through on this one.

  Dropping the gun and belt to the floor, I walk away from that piece-of-shit before I change my mind and end his life right here. “Get him the fuck off my property and get rid of his gun.” Just as I’m about to exit the room, I hear Weston take a deep breath of relief. I stop and turn back around. “On second thought, undo those chains.” I nod my head toward the ceiling. Rome pulls the lever on the chains and the senator’s hands come flying down, still cuffed together. Taking the gun back from Rome, I grab a hold of his right hand. Jerking it toward the wall and splaying his hand out, I smash his fingers with the gun over and over again. He screams in agony as the bones shatter. “Next time you consider hurting a woman who has put her trust in you, remember these broken fingers are nothing compared to what I’ll do to you if I find out about it.”

  I get to Natalie’s room and knock softly. “Come in,” I hear through the door. I walk in and see Natalie laying on the bed, the doctor sitting next to her, and Cecilia standing next to Natalie, holding her hand. Cecilia is like the madam of the club. Her entire job is to take care of the women and make sure they are safe. She makes sure they are all on birth control and tested regularly as well as making sure they are happy. Not a single woman is here against her will, and every one of the women are compensated well for their services.

  When my father first moved our entire family here, my mom was the madam of the bordello. When I took over the club ten years ago, she passed the torch onto Cecilia.

  I know my parents are hoping one day Cecilia and I will get married. Cecilia’s dad, Stefan Ricci, is as close to a brother as it gets for my father. My grandfather took him under his wing years ago, and it would give the family great pleasure to have us marry and make everyone legally related. A grandchild together would make us family by blood. While she’s a decent fuck, it’s not happening.

  “How’s she doing, Doc?” I direct my question at Vivian Fox, the on-call doctor for the mansion, but I give Natalie my full attention. I don’t like to see my girls hurt, especially by a piece-of-trash corrupt senator like Weston Hightower.

  “She has some bad tearing in her vaginal walls but no internal bleeding. I’m giving her an antibiotic to be on the safe side because of what he put in her.”

  I run my fingers over her neck where that asshole choked her. There’s a bright red ring around the entire length of her throat that’s already turning purple, the first hint of a bruise forming. “Does your throat hurt?” Natalie nods softly, tears filling her eyes. “I made sure he was punished and he will never be back here again. Take a few days off and get some rest, ok?”

  “Ok.” I can see the hurt and betrayal shining through in her eyes over the fact a man she cared about used his power and strength to hurt her.

  “I want you to speak with Dr. Simone before you go back to work.” Gladius Simone is a therapist all the women see. According to my mom, a woman selling her body for money can make even the strong crumble, so I make sure every woman who works for me sees the therapist. If she doesn’t feel they are in the right mind, they don’t work here.

  I walk Vivian out myself thanking her for coming so quickly. I can see the disdain evident in her eyes; she wants to say something but the amount of money she gets paid keeps her from speaking her mind.

  “I’ll make sure everyone knows Senator Hightower is forbidden to step foot on these grounds,” I say to Cecilia after the doctor leaves.

  “Thank you, Amore.” Cecilia gives me a kiss on my cheek. Her hands run up my body and her perky tits rub up against my chest. She lingers a little too long, her wet lips remaining on my cheek. Then she moves her mouth over to kiss my lips.

  “Not out here, Cecilia.” She pouts but nods. She knows I don’t fuck around where everyone can see. I have a reputation to uphold. Touching and fucking stays behind closed doors.

  Taking her hand in mine, I pull her to my office. It’s on the first floor along with the restaurant, the bar, and the common area as well as the private rooms. On this floor, there is also the staff kitchen. All the ladies including Cecilia sleep on the second floor. The east wing is for the women who work as escorts, and the west wing is for the rest of the staff. My living quarters are on the third floor by itself and I never bring anybody to my room. Bedrooms are intimate and nothing about what I do with Cecilia or any woman is meant to be intimate. It’s nothing more than a fuck, and whoever I’m with, especially Cecilia, needs to remember that.

  Once we get to my office, I don’t even bother removing her clothes. She has been getting too emotionally attached lately and she needs to remember she will never be anything more than a fuck.

  Pulling her dress up to her waist, I push her panties to the side and stick two fingers inside her to make sure she’s wet. She quickly undoes my pants, pushing them to the ground then she reaches into my briefs to pull my cock out.

  Grabbing her by her hair, I turn her around and bend her over the edge of my desk, her face pressed against the wood, her ass up in the air. I rip open a condom, roll it over my hard length then shove my cock into her pussy fucking her relentlessly until we both find our release.

  Once we have both come, I tuck my cock back into my briefs and pull my pants up. Cecilia turns around with hearts in her eyes. At some point, I am going to have to stop fucking her. She wants all types of shit I can’t give her. Shit I’m not willing to give her.

  “I need to get back to work.” I open the door, making it clear it’s time for her to leave. Money doesn’t get made on its own after all.

  Two

  Aria

  The room is dark and quiet. Even though I know at least one person is home, it’s calm. I try to stay relaxed but it’s hard. It’s during quiet times like now, my heart starts beating erratically and I know if I don’t get what I need soon, I will have a full-blown panic attack. You would think I would welcome the quietness but the problem with the quiet is, it’s like the calm before the storm. My brain goes into overdrive wondering what will happen once the storm arrives. How, with each storm, I’m destroyed little by little, and one day the storm will be so strong, it will leave nothing but destruction in its wake.

  Laying on my bed—which is nothing more than a mattress on the ground with a single sheet and pillow—with a worn-out copy of my favorite romance novel open, I try to focus on the words, but I can’t. My hands are shaking and my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. It’s been quiet for too long. I read the same line three more times and give up, closing the book. I remember when I begged for the book, saying I needed something to do down here in the quiet isolation. He forced me to earn that book in w
ays I can’t even bring myself to think about. Now I can’t even concentrate long enough to finish reading a book I have read dozens of times. At first, I lived in fear, my brain conjuring up the worst-case scenarios. Now that I have lived them, it’s hard to switch my brain off. The drugs help. I know I have become addicted to them, but when it’s the only way to shut your body down, the addiction doesn’t matter. Survival is all I know now.

  I hear the front door slam shut and know he is home, and by the way he is stomping around there’s a good chance he is pissed about something. I close my eyes and pray he won’t come down here. There’s nothing he can give me that is worth the consequences of him coming down here. His assistant, Derek, is the only person I need. He gives me the drugs I crave to calm my nerves. He will make my hands stop shaking, my heart stop beating so loudly, and he will help my body and mind turn off. Derek gives. Weston on the other hand, takes. He takes and takes from me, and at this point, I feel like I have nothing left to give.

  The door creaks open and a bright light shines through. I quickly cover my eyes. I can’t even remember the last time I saw light other than through the small slats in the windows that give off just enough natural light for me to read my book. My world which used to be a bright canvas has been stripped of all color. The heavy footsteps make each step creak as a shadow makes its way down. When I see it’s Weston, my heart plummets.

  Take.

  He’s here to take.

  Not give.

  “Spread your fucking legs.” He stalks toward me. Then roughly grabbing a hold of my ankles, he pulls my body toward the edge of the bed, my head hitting the cement wall then getting dragged down.

  “I-I need something.” It’s stupid to beg for what I need, knowing he doesn’t give a shit but I am desperate. He only drugs me to make me stop screaming, stop fighting him. He prefers me almost comatose so he can do whatever he wants to me.