A shot rang out, my guards yelling at me to get down. Shooting started up, guns aimed at the hillside on my left. I held my arms out wider, wanting the sniper’s bullets to hit me, but Mario threw himself at me, knocking me to the ground.
The attack wasn’t a surprise, but to hell with the Donatelli if they expected me to stay away from my own brother’s funeral. “Fuck you!” I screamed. If it hadn’t been for them, none of this would’ve happened. None! Alberto would have continued to hide his sickness, and I would still have my brother.
The gunfire finally ceased, then a guard shouted at Mario to get off me. He pushed up and grabbed my arm, the guard taking a hold of my other one, both of them helping me to my feet. I steadied myself and looked up at the hillside, knowing it was probably a hired killer or Matteo who had tried to shoot me. That Donatelli bastardo no doubt had heard about Alberto’s funeral. Mario had told me Matteo had loved my brother; that the Donatelli pig had talked about Alberto while Mario was imprisoned in the House of Whores. I wondered whether Matteo had wanted to be at Alberto’s funeral, and if he would mourn him. I hoped so. And I prayed he was suffering, because I hated him. Matteo was now at the top of my hit list—something I would fulfill.
And I would.
That was a promise.
2
Matteo
Fuck! It must’ve been the sun reflecting off my rifle that had alerted the Landi soldiers. All I needed to do was to pull the damn trigger and BAM, Frano would have been dead, but I couldn’t even get one shot off. Instead, I almost got myself killed, their bullets missing me by inches. The Landi soldiers were making it almost impossible to get at Frano, shadowing his every move. Still, I would find a weak spot in his armor, because he was going down, and not on my cock. He deserved to pay in blood for what he did to my family, along with that dipshit Jagger.
I ran across the field, barely containing my rage. It wasn’t just about missing the shot; it was more about what Frano was attending. After I’d heard of Alberto’s death, I just fucking lost it, totally and utterly lost it, smashing up the place my uncles and I had been hiding in, completely annihilating everything in sight. I’d been a useless fuck for two days after that, drinking myself into a stupor, then yesterday I’d woken up knowing exactly what would get my mind off my dead lover ... well, to the extent that I could function, and that was to slaughter Frano, Jagger, and whoever the hell had killed Alberto. The rumors claimed it was my family, which was a lie. Alberto was an ally, not to mention my lover, which meant it was either the Landi trying to frame my family or the Santini. My bet was the Santini, because the Landi were Frano’s lapdogs, the bunch of pricks constantly sniffing around Frano’s ass so they could kiss it whenever he asked.
Regardless, whoever had killed Alberto was going to suffer painfully and slowly. Regret would fill the day they took Alberto from me. First, I would flay their skin off, then pull their fucking intestines out with my knife, telling them they deserved it and more as they screamed in agony.
I ran around the abandoned stone cottage, heading for my black Audi, which was parked next to my Uncle Nino’s Ferrari, the blood red sticking out like a sore thumb. I didn’t want the useless fuck to come with me, but he had insisted, although he’d done nothing, other than sit in his car, talking on his phone.
My other uncle got out of Nino’s Ferrari, or I should say great uncle, even though he was far from great. Michael was my grandfather’s half-brother. Everyone called him the Padre, which I never understood. Sure, he wore a black garb, but it wasn’t like he was a real priest since he’d been excommunicated years ago for fucking altar boys. Okay, that wasn’t true; it was just something I told everyone to piss him off. Instead, it had to do with what he did in the mental institute after Jagger had cut his pisser off. He went all “Here’s Johnny!” like in The Shining, killing some people. Another lie I told. Hell, I didn’t know why he got excommunicated. Maybe it was because priests weren’t supposed to have sex and he couldn’t keep his pecker to himself.
The Padre walked towards me. “Did you shoot Frano?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes at his stupidity. “Duh, I’d be doing the happy dance if I had, you moron.”
His face soured at my insult, causing wrinkles to spider around his eyes. I couldn’t remember how old he was, but he looked in his late forties. He had grey hair and bright blue eyes, not as nice as mine of course, but they were probably his best feature, compared to his warped mind. The guy was a complete freak of nature who couldn’t stop talking about sex in riddles, and loved to do teenage boys and their big brothers’ asses.
He stopped a few feet away from me. “Watch your mouth, boy.”
“I’m not a boy, and I’ll speak to you however I damn well please, freak.”
His jaw tightened for a moment, then a smile broke through, the tilt of his lips telling me he had a snappy comeback. “I’m happy you missed the shot,” he said.
Well, that was lame. Still, it pissed me off, because I never missed, especially a shot that meant something to me. I had liked Frano when I had worked for him, not romantically of course, since I was hot for his brother. He was just easy to get along with, but now that he’d destroyed my family I fucking despised him—unlike the priest, who for some God forsaken reason still liked the bastard. It was probably because he wanted to fuck him. Christ, he was fucked in the head. Yeah, Frano was hot, but still, the Padre really was a warped prick. The shit that came out of his mouth made me want to lock him up in the local loony bin. My late grandfather should never have gotten him released, since everything that had gone wrong was due to the Padre’s sick obsession with Jagger. If anything, I wouldn’t mind killing him myself, because just looking at him made me want to throw-up in my mouth, but I figured I better not piss off his twin brother. Unlike the Padre, Christo was my favorite relative. My other uncle was someone who knew what he wanted and took it without all the weird shit that came with his perverted twin.
“I did tell you that God wouldn’t allow you to harm Frano,” the Padre said. “He doesn’t deserve to fill a grave; he deserves to be filled with—”
“—your cum?” I said, smirking.
He glared at me. “No, love. That poor boy will be suffering because of his brother’s death.”
“So, you show him sympathy, but give me none?” I said, wanting to punch him, the prick pissing me off.
“What Frano feels is brotherly love, not the lust you felt.”
“It wasn’t just lust, it was love! I loved Alberto, but of course you wouldn’t know what love means, all you know is your sick rape fantasies, you warped bastard.”
The Padre’s face blackened. “Watch your mouth, young man.”
“Or what? You’ll fill it with love?” I said, pretending to wank.
“What is your problem with me?”
“You repulse me. And don’t even think about coming near my ass; I wouldn’t put it past you to fuck a relative.”
“Matteo! Show some respect,” Nino snapped. Looking angry, he pushed out of his car and stuffed his phone into his pocket. My uncle Nino was forty and resembled a younger version of my dead father, just without the salt and pepper hair and beard, his pure black hair coming straight out of a bottle.
I sneered at Nino. “Darth Pedophile doesn’t deserve respect; he deserves a straightjacket, or a huge lightsaber rammed up his ass so he knows how it feels.”
Nino stormed up to me, looking like he wanted to slap the respect he spoke about into me. But he kept his hands to himself, since he needed me more than I needed him. He didn’t have the skills to shoot, nor the ability to bullshit people like I did. All he could do was lick pussy and push out his chest, trying to show how much of a man he was.
I straightened to my full height, which was five inches taller than Nino, purposely looking down on him. He was about five-foot-nine and stocky as hell, but not as stocky as the priest, who looked like he was in training for the weight-lifting team with his mother of a neck. The dude really was a
freak.
“Uncle Nino,” I said, “you need to remember who’s running this show, and if you want all of our family back, do as I say.”
“You arrogant little shit; I’m the head of the famiglia until Christo returns—not you.”
“Believe whatever the hell you like, but I’m not stepping down until the uncle with balls shows up.”
“That’s why you’ll never be Don. You have no respect for anyone.”
“I do for Christo, but you and the fake priest don’t deserve my respect. All he does is create shitstorms, while all you care about is trying to look important, whereas I know I’m important.”
“You’re not important; you’re a smart ass who doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.”
I glanced at the Padre and waggled my tongue at him. “I would never be a smart ass around Darth Fuckabutt.”
“Apologize!” Nino yelled, looking like he was going to pop a few blood vessels.
I extended my middle finger. “Sit on this.”
He raised his hand.
“You hit me, and you’ll end up on your ass.”
He lowered his hand, knowing full well I could take him out with one kick.
“Your father would be upset with how you’re treating the Padre.”
“Like hell, he called him names too.”
“What about me then? He would definitely be upset with the way you’re treating me. He said that if anything happened to him and your grandfather then I would be the next don of our famiglia.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You’re not good enough to be a don. You’re a weak shadow of my father’s greatness, a faded carbon copy.”
My uncle’s harsh expression wavered, the pain in his blue eyes stark, the mention of his dead brother hurting him as much as it did me. I may have been a cunt to my dad, but I still loved him, and would’ve done anything for him as he would have for me. Even though he hadn’t been around much when I was a kid, he still visited and provided for me and my mom. He’d sent me through private school, making sure I only had the best. It was because I was his favorite bastard child, which was mainly due to the fact I was the only blond in my family, something he constantly bragged about. I looked like the “All American” boy next door, someone who people trusted with a glance, my smile sweet and my looks even sweeter. Of course, I used it to my full advantage, fooling people into believing my sweet face meant I had a sweet nature. Ha! No fucking way, even I thought I was a cunt, just a hot one.
Nino finally spoke, making his voice assertive. “We are famiglia, we stick together.”
“Stop talking Italian shit to me, I’m American, so no more familllllia talking; only speak to me in Engleeeesh.”
Nino shook his head. “Why don’t you go back to your country if you hate it here so much?”
“I can’t, I need to help the family.”
“Don’t lie; you’re only in it for yourself.”
I pointed to the Padre. “And he’s only in it for Jagger’s man cunt.”
Nino threw his hands up in the air. “I give up; I’m going back to Leonardo’s casa.”
“You mean house.”
“We’re in Italy, it’s a casa here!”
“Whatever. I’m outta of here.” I headed for my car, not wanting to deal with him anymore. Plus, I needed to take off just in case the Landi decided to swarm the mountains. Even though I’d trekked quite a way, it was still a risk staying here longer than was necessary.
Footsteps followed me across the gravel, making me turn around. The Padre was standing a few feet away, far too close for my liking. “Back away from my butt, fucker.”
He took a step back. “You’re a wicked boy. You will burn in Hell if you don’t repent.”
“I may be wicked, but I’m a saint in comparison to you.” I started ticking off my fingers. “Rape. Kidnapping. Pedophilia. Laundering money. Impersonating a priest. What else have you done? Oh, yeah, you destroyed our family all because of your obsession with Jagger. So, where will all that get you? In fucking heaven?”
He scowled at me, making the dark rings under his eyes worsen. “I wasn’t the reason our famiglia fell, and I repent enough, and you should too.”
“How do you want me to repent? Shall I get down on my knees and worship your mangled cock, while you sprinkle me with your holy cum? Well, you’re shit out of luck, ‘cause I’m an Atheist.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!”
“I can speak to you however the fuck I like, and if you want to get your bum-boy back, aka, Jagger Fuckhead, you’ll do as I say, not as the pussy-licker over there tells you.” I waved at Nino as he drove off; amused by the finger he gave me. I turned back to the Padre. “I’m the head of our family until your less evil twin gets back. Entiendo?”
“Entiendo is Spanish.”
“So?”
“You’re half Italian, I’m full Italian, yet you speak to me in another language? You should speak in your own language. Italiano.”
“American is my language, America is my country, and I only came here to be near Alberto,” I clenched my hands, my anger and sorrow starting to rise again, “and the only reason I’m still in this backwater island is to find out who killed him and to make them pay. I would even kill you if you had done it, so kiss my ass ... no, don’t kiss it, you pervert, you’d like that. Just do as I tell you or I’ll kick your pedophile butt back to the Vatican.”
He glowered at me, but didn’t say a word, which was wise, because he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to get back his Jagger toy, plus Nino had left him behind, the trek back home at least a couple of hours.
I got behind the wheel of my Audi, a car I specifically chose to piss off Nino, the man loving his Italian cars. The priest went to get into the front passenger seat. I leaned over and locked the door, then signaled for him to get in the back. I had teased Alberto about having watched the Padre fuck his cousin up, but it had been a lie, because there was no way in hell I would ever watch my uncle going at it. I liked men, not relatives or fucktards—and the pretend priest was both of those.
I started the engine as the Padre got into the backseat, then pulled away, heading down the steep, muddy road. Less than thirty minutes later, I arrived at the market where Thierry went to. When I had worked for Frano, pretending to be a slave trainer ... okay, I didn’t pretend, since I was a slave trainer, but nonetheless, when I pretended to be someone else, I had watched everyone’s routine, committing all their idiosyncrasies to memory, just in case I needed to use them at a later date. This meant I knew where most of the D’Angelos would be at any given time. Frano practically lived in his office while Jagger was either in America or going between his room and the slave cells. Whereas, Mario was usually in the redheaded woman’s cell humping her, while neglecting his other slaves. Thierry on the other hand tended to spend his time between cleaning the house, helping the cook, or going to the market, the dizzy kid a slave to routine.
I parked the car in the lot behind a line of trees, so it was hidden from prying eyes. “Stay inside and don’t let anyone see you,” I said to the Padre. “No one will be able to see through the dark glass, so you’ll be safe just as long as you do as I say.”
“Sì,” the Padre said.
“You see what?’
“No, I said sì, not see. It means yes in Italian”
“I know,” I sniggered. He always fell for that. Yeah, he was a dumbass. I pulled my cap down low and got out of the car, not bothering to leave him the keys. Hell no, I didn’t trust the creepy bugger, and I wouldn’t put it past him to go cruising for some teenage virgin ass. I opened his door and peered down at him. “Stay away from the teenagers, because if I catch you doing the nasty in my backseat I’ll cut off your dick and shove it up your own ass.” I grinned as his face turned beet red. I could see he was about to give me a sermon, so I shut the door in his face and walked off laughing, hoping he had a heart attack so I could finally dispose of him. People thought I used humor because I was
an asshole, but the truth was, I used it to get through life. It was the only way I knew how to cope with all the shit thrown at me.
Two women looked my way. I tipped my cap at them, making them smile wide. I was hot. There was no way around it. Blonde hotness with one tight ass, and the two cougars looked like they wanted to take a bite out of it. I blew them a kiss, making the women giggle. I didn’t like fucking females, but oh, I loved flirting with them. Compliment them, blow them kisses, or even just look their way, and they creamed themselves. Women were a quick ego boost, unlike Italian men, who were too scared to show their appreciation. Only the openly gay ones had enough guts to do so, and even they were careful, unless it was at the clubs, then they couldn’t stop groping me ... shit, they were grabby bastards here. I didn’t mind the hot ones doing that, but the greasy ones pissed me off.
I pulled out my sunglasses and put them on, then yanked my cap lower. I cut through the trees and shops, entering the market place. Long lines of stalls filled the field with a mixture of smells assaulting my senses: baked bread, flowers, and wet grass along with a hint of mud thrown into the mix. I weaved my way through the buyers as they moved from one vendor to the next. A middle-aged man from a stall on my left, dressed in a stripe blue and white apron, held up a salami, jabbering away in Italian, probably trying to sell it to me. I ignored him, not understanding a word he was saying. Yeah, I should have learned Italian, especially since it was in my blood, but I was never good at foreign languages. I could talk a horse’s ass off in American, but if I even tried to speak in Italian it always came out wrong. Christ, even when I spoke English to Italians it sometimes turned nasty. Once I’d told one of my aunties she had a nice figure and she’d slapped me, yelling at me in Italian. I had no clue what she’d said, or why she was even angry, until my uncles burst out laughing, one of them telling me that I’d told her she had a nice pussy, the Italian word for it, figa, sounding like figure.
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Ep. 6 Consequences Page 3