My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3

by Marita A. Hansen

  “It wasn’t rape.”

  “It was. I didn’t want it, yet you still penetrated me.”

  “I was making you understand what you did to me.”

  “Exactly, by raping me.”

  “You didn’t fight me as much as you tried to fight the priest.”

  He held his wrists out, the angry red marks around them telling a different story. “I got this before he came into the room, maybe not as deep, but I still struggled, telling you to stop, yet you penetrated me regardless. I could see you enjoyed it, like I enjoyed taking you. You are more like me than you care to think, Rita.”

  “I’m nothing like you,” I said, now disturbed.

  “My wrists say you are. Now, try to top that.”

  “You’re a slave trader, you hurt women, you rape them.”

  “I may be a slave trader, but you are the first one I’ve forced myself onto.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care if you do or don’t, it’s the truth. You’re the first slave I’ve even bothered to see in a long time. I’m not a trainer, yet I wanted to train you, still do.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re fascinating. You look like an old flame. You have fire. You’re not weak like those other bitches.”

  “Don’t call them bitches!”

  “Bitches are weak, they are slaves to others. I may call you one, but you’re not. You’re my woman now.”

  “I am not your woman!”

  “Tell that to the Donatelli and also tell them you’re not related to the Salvi, then see what they do.” He smiled. “I dare you.”

  “You’re an arrogant ass,” I said, now hating that damn ‘dare’ word he loved to use.

  “And according to you a nice firm one that you love to touch. Did you enjoy penetrating me, did it excite you?”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “Then answer me.”

  “No.”

  “No, as in you didn’t enjoy it or you’re not going to answer me?”

  “I didn’t enjoy it.”

  “Liar. And you’ve obviously done it for men before, because you knew exactly what to do. Do you have cock envy?”

  “No!”

  “Well, you rut against me like you think you have a cock between your legs.”

  “I do not!”

  “You can deny it all you want, but I know it’s true.” He licked his upper lip slowly. “By the way, how does my cum taste?”

  “Why ask me when you already know?” I wiped his cheek, making him jerk back. “Next time get it all in your mouth, it’ll be less messy.”

  His expression darkened. “I’ll remember that the next time you rape me.”

  “I did not rape you!” I spun around and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I yelled, just yelled, the man driving me crazy, because I didn’t understand why I wanted to fuck someone I hated. I started swearing in Italian, letting all my anger out in ways that English didn’t allow.

  “What is happening?!” someone shouted from the bedroom, the man’s voice resembling a megaphone.

  I opened the door, finding the old don and his two sons standing in front of Frano. Don Donatelli’s eyes moved from Frano to me, then to his eldest son. “Why is Frano naked and that woman swearing like a crazy puttana?”

  “She must be angry with her lover,” Lucky said, looking amused. “Apparently this is Sophia Salvi.”

  “She is not,” the don said, “that girl is dead, my crazy brother killed her.”

  “I didn’t say she was Sophia,” Frano said. “Her name is Rita Salvi.”

  “A male scream came from the next room, making Frano’s head snap around. He looked back at the don, his expression now deadly serious. “Let Jagger go.”

  “I cannot, your cousin now belongs to my baby brother; not something I can do anything about.”

  “You’re the don, and you must know that Jagger had every right to do what he did to that sick figlio di puttana.”

  “Be still your tongue!”

  Frano pointed his finger at the old don. “Your brother abused Jagger, raped him from the age of eleven, did it for five years, yet you think that should go unpunished?”

  “He was punished; he had his cock cut off.”

  “It was sewn back on, and I almost had it up my ass earlier!”

  “I realize my brother is disturbed, but he wasn’t this crazy before your cousin took a knife to him. What he went through afterwards caused him agony, made him lose his mind completely. We had to put him in a psychiatric unit for two years.”

  “He deserved it and more! And you should never have taken him out.”

  “He is my brother, he deserves only what I say. And we are both in the slave trade, Frano, so you should understand fairness is not a word in our vocabulary. We use people for our own needs, whether for monetary gain or to quench our lust. And don’t deny it; otherwise you wouldn’t be in this business.”

  “You’re still punishing Jagger for something he had every right to do.”

  “Only the ones in power have any right to do anything and right now I am that person. And for you to refuse to hand Gabriel over to my famiglia was a slight against me.”

  “Then kill me here, rather than go through whatever ceremony you have planned.”

  “I’ve no intention of killing you; instead I want to show others how easily I can pull their strings.” He turned to his eldest son. “Bring the slave and Frano up to the main dining room.”

  “I’m not moving,” Frano said.

  “No, you will come, because there are ten dons upstairs awaiting you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They are here to witness what will happen to them if they cross me like you have done. And like our Roman cousins of the past, I think we should do it in an entertaining fashion. Now, follow me.” The old man turned and headed out of the room.

  His younger son placed a gun to my back, prodding me forward. His brother moved behind Frano, doing the same to him, Frano swearing in response.

  “If you don’t move,” Lucky said, “I’ll stick my gun up your lover’s cunt or Nino can do it. Go on, Nino, fuck her with your gun.”

  “No!” Frano yelled. “I’ll go.”

  “Young love, how sweet,” Lucky said, his voice mocking.

  Frano headed for the door, keeping his eyes away from me. We all headed up the staircase. The sound of voices grew louder as we were prodded into the dining room. Ten men in suits were sitting around the large dinner table. They turned to look at us, their ages anywhere between forty and seventy. Their faces twisted as their gazes landed on Frano, some pitying, some looking disdainfully, while a few appeared scared.

  Frano stopped in his tracks. Lucky shoved him in the back, grunting, “Move it.”

  He squared his shoulders and walked up to where the don was sitting, not even trying to cover his nudity. I followed him, my gun-wielding prick instructing me to stop a few feet from Frano. The men’s eyes moved to me, a mixture of lust and disgust making me cover myself with my arms.

  The Donatelli don leaned on his chair, the man looking frail, although he was still more powerful than all the able-bodied men in the room. “My dear friends, you will all know why you are here today, and if you don’t, you are fools like this young don standing naked before you. Frano has made a grave error thinking he could deny my famiglia vengeance—”

  “Wronged vengeance,” Frano interrupted. He grunted as Lucky hit him over the head with the gun. “Your brother raped my cousin.” Another strike hit his head, this one knocking him to his knees. Frano’s face twisted in pain, but he spoke again. “Jagger was eleven!” Lucky kicked him in the back, knocking Frano to his hands.

  I clenched my fists, wanting to do the same to the don’s son, but knew I could do nothing, the gun at my head stopping me.

  Frano pushed to his knees, then to his feet, looking unstable. “Like he is raping him now.”

  The gun came down hard on
him, making Frano collapse. He rolled onto his back, his eyes opening and closing, looking as though he had a concussion. I went to go to him, but got pulled back. “Stay put,” Nino growled.

  I gritted my teeth, knowing I shouldn’t have reacted. I hated Frano, I should be happy this was happening to him, it was what I wanted, yet his words were true: that the dons needed to know what had been done to Jagger, then afterwards they could do what they liked to him, kill him for all I cared ... I clenched my hands, knowing I didn’t want that. Instead, he needed to go to jail as did all the men surrounding the table. They were all criminals, not one with a redeeming feature. I knew their faces, knew their businesses: racketeering, slavery, forced prostitution, drugs, underage pornography...

  “Get up, Frano,” Lucky said, kicking him.

  Frano blinked then pushed to his knees, looking dazed. His head was bleeding again, the red coloring his black hair. He got to his feet, giving the appearance he was going to fall over. He reached out to steady himself, but grappled nothing but air, none of the dons willing to help him. He staggered to his left and reached out for me. Ignoring the man behind me, I grabbed him and steadied him against me.

  “Young love,” the Donatelli don said, smiling. “Shall we do what your father did to young love, Frano? Kill your lover and bury you with the rotting corpse. No, that’s not fitting your crime against my famiglia.”

  “I committed no crime against you,” Frano said.

  Lucky raised his gun, looking as if he was going to hit him again. I placed my hands over Frano’s head, but the gun never came down, the don’s shout stopping his son.

  “That’s enough, Lucky,” the don said. “Bring Matteo in here.”

  Lucky left the room, returning a few minutes later with... My eyes widened as my husband entered the room. I let go of Frano, my heart now in my throat, the man I loved standing only a few feet away from me. He was dressed in a navy-colored suit and a pale blue shirt, which was left open to halfway down his chest, the color matching his lovely eyes. His blond hair was slicked back and he was tanned, not something I expected to see with a slave. But regardless, I was ecstatic to see him healthy—let alone alive.

  A smile formed across his face, his blue eyes sparkling under the light above his head. I went to go to him, but Nino pulled me back. “That’s my husband!” I yelled, indicating to Matt.

  “I know.”

  “Matt,” I said, confused why he was just standing there, looking at me with amusement. “What’s happening?”

  “You always did want to meet my family,” he said, his Jersey accent strong. “So, now you have.”

  “What?” I said, not understanding.

  “My full, or should I say my real name is Matteo Lorenzo Donatelli. I’m the son of Marco Donatelli,” he said, indicating to Lucky. “I was brought up in America by my mother, but financed by my father. He and my grandfather put me through college, wanting me to become their lawyer until they decided they needed a spy in the FBI, and since I’m good at all things physical and verbal, I got the job over my other half-bastard brothers.” He cocked his head to the side. “And when you kept wanting to ride me, I found a convenient cover as your lover, then husband.” He wrinkled his nose. “Although you are far from my taste.”

  I shook my head, not believing a word he was saying. They were making him say this, making him lie so they wouldn’t kill him.

  His eyebrows rose. “Don’t you believe me? Well, then why did I tell Frano about you? Would a man in love tell a mobster about his beautiful wife?”

  “You can’t be mafia!” I shouted at him.

  “And why’s that? You knew there was a spy in the bureau, so why couldn’t it have been me? You all believed that stupid lie about me being fed to the fishes, or sharks, whatever they told you lot. And because I was supposedly fish food, there was no body, which meant there was no need to search for me, just an empty casket for you to mourn over. So sad,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And now I hear you’re pretending to be some dead woman to save your neck. You were always stupid, Rita, I don’t even know how I got hard for such an idiot who couldn’t tell I was playing her.”

  I shook my head.

  Matt walked over to me and took a hold of my chin, looking me in the eye. “I don’t care if they kill you, and if you don’t believe me I’ll get some popcorn and sit back and watch.” He let go of my face and turned to Frano. “You’re wasting your time on her, your brother fucks a lot better.”

  “You can’t be Donatelli,” Frano muttered, looking as stunned as I felt, the mention of his brother sliding right off him.

  Matt smiled. “I am, and you, Frano, are just as stupid as Rita. How could you have not known your brother is gay? Didn’t you even notice how he was always trying to grab my ass? By the way, your desk is rather uncomfortable to fuck on.” Matt laughed, then turned and walked out of the room, leaving me standing there with everything dying inside.

  Lucky started laughing behind us. “It’s fortunate I have a stable of kids, because that one will never give me grandchildren.” The table of dons started laughing.

  My eyes shot to the door as my husband returned with a naked Federico. He shoved him to the floor, and raised his gun. “And in case you still believe I’m FBI...”

  I screamed as he fired at Federico, my fellow-agent’s body jerking about on the floor as each bullet hit him. I went for Matt, but Frano grabbed me. He held on tight as I tried to break free, desperate to save Federico—although I knew it was too late, his body now riddled with bullets. Frano started talking to me in Italian, trying to calm me down, but no matter what he said I knew it wasn’t going to be okay. I turned and pushed my face into his chest, everything that had happened tearing me apart. Then it was all gone as a gun struck the back of my head.

  3

  Frano

  Rita collapsed on me, taking us down. I grunted as we hit the floor, my head banging against the hard wood. My mind went hazy for a moment, the constant hits to my head making it hard to focus. Someone said something, then kicked me in the side, telling me to get up. I turned Rita over, then checked her pulse, relieved to find one. I yelled out as another kick struck me.

  “Get up!” Nino snapped.

  I pushed shakily to my feet. A smile spread across Nino’s face, the prick finding my pain amusing. And what had happened to Federico ... the way he was taken out—a pawn used to put me down, his life meaning nothing to them. Rage filled me, no, it fucking exploded. Letting out a roar, I rushed Nino, taking him down. I knew there was nothing I could do for Federico, but I was going to make at least one of these bastards pay.

  Yelling started up, the don and his own not finding what I was doing so amusing. Lucky shoved his gun into my back, hollering at me to get off his brother, but I continued to punch Nino, not caring, because they were going to kill me anyway.

  Lucky hit me over my head with his gun, right where I had been struck before. I fell off Nino, then went to get up, but a foot stomped on my chest. A different face loomed over me. It was Matteo, Rita’s supposed husband, the charlatan who had made a fool out of me, pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

  “Really?” Matteo said, staring down with those blue eyes I never realized were Donatelli. “You’re upset over the death of a FBI agent? Are you selling the families out to the FBI? Because you attacked my uncle right after one of them died and the other was struck down. Maybe you’re breaking the code of silence. That in itself is worthy of being crucified.”

  “I’m not breaking the Omertà. I was using Federico to pass on false information to the FBI, and her,” I indicated to the unconscious Rita. “I owed her; she stopped the sick priest from raping me.”

  “Again, speaking ill of my family. The reasons to crucify you are mounting. Or shall we bring your brother in here and kill him instead?”

  “NO!!”

  “Don’t worry your pretty head, Frano, I wouldn’t kill Alberto, I love his cock. It’s nice and thick, and probably right
now... How do you say? ...fottuto Jagger. Or is it del cazzo? I have no idea; my Italian is fucking bad.” He laughed at his pun.

  “It’s not fucking, it’s rape!” I shouted. “You bastards are allowing my brother to live out his sick fantasies.”

  “True. But back to the issue at hand: who else can I kill? I would suggest Mario, but unfortunately, even though I don’t know the traitor, he’s still technically my cousin, so he’s off my hit list. Who does that leave? Servants? But they aren’t fun to kill, plus they’re useful, unlike old men in wheelchairs.”

  My eyes widened as my father was wheeled into the room by a Donatelli guard, his ankles and wrists tied to the metal frame of a wheelchair. “NO!!” I screamed, trying to get up.

  Lucky and Nino placed their boots on me, while Matteo removed his and headed for my father, pointing his gun at him. Even in his seventies, my father looked physically strong, much more so than the Donatelli don, but his eyes displayed a greater weakness: his confused and unstable mind, a result of his dementia. He could barely remember me, let alone understand why he was here, or why he had a gun pointed at his face.

  “Don’t, please, I’ll do anything, just leave him out of this,” I begged, my chest hurting, and not from Lucky’s boot. All thought of what my old man had done to my mother was pushed aside, that grudge not something I wanted repaid, because right now he wasn’t the cruel monster of my past, he was my father, the person who had told me he loved me more than life itself.

  “He killed your mother yet you wish him to go unpunished?” Matteo said.

  “He’s my father! He could kill me and I would forgive him as I burned in Hell!”

  “Now that’s blind love.”

  “I made this mess, not him, just kill me, punish me, don’t take it out on him, he doesn’t understand what’s happening.”

  “But you do, and it’s you we’re punishing.” Matteo turned back to my father and raised his gun. I screamed at him to stop, but he still pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting my father in the forehead. I screamed again, crying out for my father, then everything went blank as a boot kicked me in the head.