by Frankie Love
“His name is Giovanni Peretta,” Daddy says matter-of-factly. “He is rich. You will want for nothing, cara mia.”
The name doesn’t ring a bell. I can feel my bottom lip quivering as my eyes silently plead with daddy to change his mind. But he averts my gaze, looking everywhere but my teary eyes.
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Fifty-two,” Daddy says without missing a beat. My heart hurts, and so does my head. I am only eighteen years old. I cannot marry a man who could easily be my father!
“Why?” I ask. I am already feeling petulant, and I can tell daddy has noticed. His mouth is set in a thin line as he gets up from the sofa and walks away, showing his back to me.
“He will take good care of you. He will protect you. He will ensure you are safe, and it’s a good business match, as well. He works in San Diego. It will be good for us.” He’s shooting facts at me as if they will make me change my mind. As if all this information will make a change to the fact I must marry a man over forty years my senior.
“I don’t want to.” I don’t mean to say it, but the words still escape my lips. They are quivering, desperate for daddy to hug me and tell me it’s all just a horrible misunderstanding. Unfortunately, we both know this is the way things have to be.
“Don’t argue,” daddy says. No-nonsense. The way it’s going to be. Tears well up in my eyes, but he doesn’t want to see them. Daddy just walks away from me, but manages to throw me one last regretful glance over his shoulder.
“The wedding will be in two months,” he says.
Two months. Two months until my freedom is taken away from me. Not a long time for an eighteen-year-old girl.
Daddy doesn’t wait. He just leaves the room, leaving me sitting in the armchair in pieces. My heart is breaking for the life I could have had, for the life I’d been dreaming of. But daddy just broke those dreams into a thousand shards, and I don’t have any hope for a normal future.
“Are you ready to leave, Miss Bianca?”
A soft voice interrupts me and I look up to see the frazzled assistant who’d helped me before. At least she looks like she feels sorry for me. I get up, feeling angry and helpless. I nod and I follow her down the hall. Always the good little mafia daughter. I don’t dare disobey, not after what happened with my brother Lorenzo.
I am only now realizing how very alone I am in the world. My mother is gone, so is my brother. Truly, daddy is all I have left.
On an impulse, I break away from the assistant and rush towards my daddy’s quarters. I can hear the woman shouting after me, but I’m too fast and determined for her to catch me right away. I need to see daddy one more time. I have to beg for a life of my own – I owe it to myself.
I burst through the door that leads into daddy’s private lounge room, but as soon as I enter, the words never make it out of my mouth. My daddy is sitting in an armchair, looking pale and sickly. He’s hooked up to some sort of machine and a red fluid is rushing in and out of his body. I can only stare as the assistant finally manages to catch up to me.
“Daddy,” I finally get out. “What’s wrong with you?”
My father looks up with me with the eyes of a man who’s seen the world. He is weary, and tired. He is the shell of the man he used to be, not only in his broken mind, but his fragile body, too.
How am I only noticing this now? How have I managed to ignore every warning sign, the fact that he was losing weight and looking paler and so very sick? I am only seeing it now, the cracks in his well-groomed appearance.
Yes, his shoes are the most expensive Italian leather there is, and yes, his suit is hand crafted by a designer whose pieces cost an arm and a leg. But underneath that exterior, daddy looks ill. His skin is an unhealthy yellow color, his hair thin and receding. He looks… ill.
A sob escapes me and I rush towards him, falling on my knees in front of is chair. Daddy gently strokes the top of my head and motions for the assistant to leave. She only hesitates for a moment before finally letting us be.
“I am sick, cara mia,” daddy tells me matter-of-factly. “I don’t have a lot of time left.”
He had a kidney transplant a few months ago, and he delves into more details. While it looked to be working out at first, his kidneys are now failing him again, which is the cause of the dialysis treatment he is receiving from the horrible machine he’s hooked up to. His other organs are following suit, and will fail soon after his kidneys.
I listen to my father, the only person left of my family, deliver the news that he is dying. The strong man who has taken care of me my whole life – all I have left – will leave me soon. Whether it’s a matter of weeks or months, neither of us knows.
“Remember I love you,” daddy says. He is not one to speak of emotions, and it surprises me to hear those words from his lips. It also makes the whole situation that much more serious.
“It sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” I tell him. He doesn’t reply, which only confirms my doubts, and my heart swells with pain. “I don’t want to say goodbye, daddy.”
He holds me in his arms for a while as I sob. I’m realizing I would do anything for my father. Even marry the man he chose for me. He always knew what was best for me, and I shouldn’t argue with him now. Despite the protest rising in my throat, I manage to bite my tongue and stay quiet.
When I’ve finally calmed down, daddy lets me go. The beeping of the dialysis machine is now in harmony with my heart. Steady, but always reminding me of the end drawing near.
“Be safe, Bianca,” daddy tells me. “It’s a dangerous world out there. Everything I’ve done over the years, cara, was only to ensure your safety. I’m sorry if it upsets you.”
Now is my chance to speak up, say I don’t want to marry that man. Yet I don’t say a thing. I’m too choked up from seeing my strong father so vulnerable. I just nod solemnly and give him one last hug, always knowing this might be the last time I’m doing that.
I walk outside of the room, my father’s haunted eyes following me with every step I take. The assistants is waiting outside, and she won’t meet my eye. She’s blushing and looks even more nervous than before. I let it go. I’m too preoccupied with daddies and my own fate.
The woman walks me outside and just as I’m about to leave, she turns towards me and gently touches my arm. My guards aren’t here yet, and I recoil from her touch, unsure of what she wants.
She speaks to me in rapid Italian, which I speak fluently, since I spent three years studying abroad.
“Your father is a kind man,” she says. “He is good, and he only means you well. He is broken after the death of your brother.”
“I know,” I reply in Italian. I’m trying to hide the hurt in my voice. It’s always about the men in this family. The woman are only supposed to follow along, nod and obey.
But what if I wanted a different life?
What if I wanted to make choices of my own, even if they were the wrong ones?
I’ll never be able to learn from my mistakes now…
The assistant seems to sense my unease and she rattles on. “Trust your father. You are in grave danger, Miss Bianca. Your life is fragile… You-”
“What the fuck?”
My guard interrupts her, and the woman blushes violently. Franco steps in front of me protectively and glares at the poor assistant. “No one gave you permission to speak to Bianca.”
I can tell from his posture that he’s nervous. He only speaks a few words of Italian, and he’s wondering what the woman told me.
“You’ll be punished for this,” he tells her in a matter-of-fact voice, and my blood freezes in my veins. I know the way my family handles punishments, and it’s not something I want doled out on this poor, innocent woman. “Get out of the way.”
The assistant bows her head and moves away, without so much as a question. Always with the total obedience… She’s like a trained animal. The sad part is, though I exceed her position in this house, I am much the same – always following orders
.
I follow Franco outside and I can tell he’s pissed off. My other guard, Gianni, awaits us outside. Franco motions for me to wait in the car and he opens the door for me. I watch him speaking in hushed tones to Gianni right outside my tinted window.
I’m pondering my own fate when I see several figures approaching us. They’re men I don’t recognize, and they’re wearing expressions that scare me. I’m about to scream or alert my guards to their presence in another way when Gianni drops to the ground and a gunshot rings in the air.
An ambush. Right on my father’s property.
I don’t dare make a sound. The man who has been by my side for the past ten years is bleeding to death on my daddy’s driveway. Franco is looking around frantically, realizing he is surrounded. A scream has become permanently lodged in my throat.
Franco looks right at me, even though he can’t see me through the tinted window. He raises a finger to his lips and motions for me to stay quiet. Maybe they won’t find me.
A rouge flower blooms on Franco’s chest as another shot rings out. There is a huge commotion as daddy’s guards are alerted to what’s going on. My heart is beating faster than ever as I watch three masked figures kick my guard’s dead bodies to the side.
I fight every instinct. I don’t scream. I bite my tongue and I pray for my life.
A masked face appears in the glass, looking right into the interior of the car. I know he can’t see me, but I can’t suppress my scream. As soon as the piercing sound leaves my lips, I know I’ve sealed my fate.
The door of the car opens, and strong hands make a grab for me. I’m screaming my head off, my mouth opened in a grotesque grimace. I inhale deeply, too late to realize someone’s pressed a foul smelling towel on my face. My lungs fill with alcohol and poison, and I see darkness.
Darkness and monsters, coming to get me.
One of the monsters has taken off his mask and is staring right at me, a wicked grin on his face as I slowly go under.
He is beautiful.
A beautiful fucking monster.
2
Matteo
She is not a willing victim.
You would think that given the strength of the drug we used, and her frail appearance, she’d go down easy. But the girl has some fight in her, and she struggles against me, trying to break free. Finally, she goes under, and she stops screaming. Thank fuck for that.
Of course, I noticed how beautiful she was right away. It doesn’t make a difference for me.
I’m going to kill her to make my father proud. I’ll take another innocent fucking life, watch the blood leave her body, and dump her corpse in a grave I’d dug myself. I won’t feel a damn thing. I never do.
I’d killed the girl’s brother only a few days ago. She would be an orphan soon, or so she thought when she walked into daddy’s mansion today. Now, I wonder whether her daddy will be left to mourn her death before his. I know that’s what my father wants.
I wait for Bianca Da Costa’s body to go limp in my arms. I wait until my team fills the car we’re in and starts driving towards our destination. We don’t speak much – we never do. After all, we’re just trained fucking dogs, left out to kill, kill, kill.
I sit in the back of the car with the unconscious girl. I look at her without any real interest.
She is a unique beauty. Tanned skin, which must be pale by itself, but has been warmed by real sun, not that crap chicks use to get fake color. Her hair is dark, not quite black but instead a rich chocolate brown, glossy and straight. And her eyes right before she closed them were a striking blue color.
A pretty piece of ass is all she is. I hear she’s a virgin, too. Detachedly, I wonder whether one of my men will rape her or if she’ll die untouched.
It’s a shame. She is a pretty girl.
I avert my gaze and look out of the window instead. The scenery is passing by fast as we leave the Da Costa property, men shouting and screaming as we drive off. We took her right under daddy’s watchful eyes. I’m a sick bastard and the fact that I stole her turns me right the fuck on.
Even though I shouldn’t, I look back at the girl sprawled on the backseat. Her white summer dress is wrinkled and riding up, revealing an inch of tanned skin that is dangerously close to being inappropriate.
Carelessly, I touch the cotton fabric and slide it up a bit until I reveal her panties. Light pink and lacy. So fucking innocent.
A voice inside my head is screaming at me to rip them off, see how juicy her pussy is underneath the thin fabric. But even I’m not that much of a bastard – though I’m finding it hard to resist.
My cell rings, waking me up from the dirty reverie. I answer it in a clipped tone.
“Matteo.”
It’s my father.
I already feel nervous, and he’s only said my name so far.
“Yes, papa,” I respond.
“Don’t call me that,” he barks, and I curse myself for overstepping. I always make the same fucking mistake; even though my father has made it clear he doesn’t see me as a son.
All I am is a killing machine. A rabid dog sent out to ravage the victims my father chooses. I don’t mind this life. I don’t care that the innocent signorina next to me is sentenced to die. I’ll only deliver the blow.
Then she stirs in her unconsciousness. Her lips open with a soft pop and I’m fucking mesmerized. It’s only for a second, but her glossy, cherry tinted mouth distracts me.
“Are you fucking listening, Matteo?” my father says on the line, and I snap back to reality.
Plump lips.
She’ll die in a matter of days.
Her pink lace panties.
She’ll be a pretty corpse, at least. Or maybe not, by the time we’re done with her.
“Sorry,” I say to my father. “I’m here.”
“Everything go according to plan?”
“She’s in the car with me now,” I confirm.
“Did you see the father?” my father asks hungrily in Italian. “Did you see the look on his face when you took her? Was he hurt?”
“No… I…” I try to interrupt, but my father keeps talking. I let him finish before going on. “He was inside the house. They’ve probably told him she’s gone by now.”
“Good.” Despite his words, father doesn’t sound pleased. He sounds fucking anxious. Why is this girl so important?
My eyes roam over her again. Yeah, she’s a beauty. Maybe there’s more to this than just my father’s rage at her papa. Maybe there’s another story there.
I don’t get another opportunity to think this over.
“Bring her to the bunker,” father continues in English. “Tie her down. Make sure she can’t run.”
“You don’t want me to kill her?” I’m surprised. I thought that was the plan all along. Take her away, kill her, deliver her lifeless body back to her father and watch him fucking weep. Another lost child, another murdered family member. We were making our way through his heritage, and fast.
“Okay,” I say, but papa has already cut the line. I stare at the dead phone in my hand and curse inwardly. Of course, I’m too much of a fucking coward to confess that to my father.
I look at the girl again. Bianca Da Costa. She’s so similar to me in so many ways, but so fucking different at the same time.
My papa is a mafia king, too. And I’m an illegitimate child just like Bianca. But unlike her father, mine has an abundance of sons, all ready to take his throne after he passes. He doesn’t need a bastard like me.
That’s why he turned me into his personal killing machine.
The car comes to a stop and I snap back to reality. One of my dogs opens the door and I scoop the girl’s frail, lithe body into my hands. I’m holding her tighter than I should, relishing the feeling of her gentle skin on my own. It’s not like I haven’t fucked in a while. In fact, I was serviced by a maid this morning and she chugged down my cum like a professional.
I walk outside and the dogs watch me with their masked face
s. We’re on a hill, the grass burnt down to a crisp during this unusual summer heat. Someone’s already opened the door to the bunker, and I climb down the ladder, carefully balancing the girl in my arms.
Technically, we’re still on my father’s property. It’s a long way to his mansion, and the grass is greener there – juicy and thick, watered by several gardeners even in the drought. This place out back is a secret, one that my father’s women prefer to ignore. They know what goes down in the cells in this bunker. Rape, murder, beatings, illegal fights… All things they’d rather not know about. That doesn’t mean they don’t happen.
I reach the bottom of the ladder and my feet land on the ground with a thud. I motion for the dogs to do their own shit. I want to be alone with the pretty girl with the stormy eyes. I want to see the fear in them when she wakes up. The thought alone is already making me hard.
I carry her into the cell we’ve chosen for her. It’s nothing more than an empty room with shackles and a scrummy toilet in the far corner. There’s no window, no light when I turn off the light bulb hanging overhead. She’ll be fucking terrified when she wakes up here.
For reasons unknown to me, I’ve already decided to wait with her until she wakes up. She’s probably eight years younger than I am, if not ten, and she’s my captive. Still, I want to see those pupils dilate with fear when she sees me again.
I set her down on the ground none too gently and shackle her hands and feet. Her pretty dress gets dirty in a second, and I briefly wonder what kind of stupid prima donna would wear such a thing. One that hasn’t dirtied her hands her entire life, that’s who.
She’ll wake up any minute now. The drug we gave her was only supposed to knock her out for an hour or so, and that’s how long the drive took.
I sit down in the far corner of the room, partially hidden by the shadows. Just in time to, as she’s already coming to in her shackles.
She’s not graceful when she wakes up. She stirs in the chains, moving this way and that, already panicking. It’s like she’s been expecting this all along.