Brutal & Raw: Mafia Romance & Psychological Thriller (Beneventi Family Book 1)

by Sonya Jesus

  “You’re not afraid of him?” Addie asks, knowing about the nightmares and the panic attacks.

  “I’m afraid of so many things, but the truth is he never hurt me physically.”

  “How did you end up naked in the woods?” Addie takes advantage of my willingness to talk to ask me all the questions she formulated answers to.

  “His friend. He told his friend to…to chase me.” I sniffle, unsure of how to tell these people he ordered The Butcher to chase me, harvest my organs, and sell pieces of me up on the black market.

  “Oh, snap!” Ivy jerks up and grabs hold of my hand, softly adding pressure.

  “I don’t really remember what happened after I passed out, but I was hiding from him. Then I was at the hospital.”

  I hate putting things out into the universe. The women are all looking at me with pity in their eyes. I can’t glance at Addie or Ivy, so I avoid their eyes altogether and fill the silence. “So yeah…kind of a fucked-up story, huh? How do I still have feelings for the guy who ordered his best friend to do those things to me?” I’m purposely evasive. “I don’t even know where to start rebuilding my life. I can’t even step outside the front doors into the front yard, that’s gated, without being overrun with anxiety.”

  “Really?” Ivy says softly. “Do you get anxious in the courtyard?”

  No, because it is surrounded by buildings. And people inside those buildings. And front doors and gates with guards. And Addie. “It’s not easy getting into the courtyard. You have to be inside to access it.”

  Ivy shrugs. “Makes sense. This place does make it easier to sleep at night.”

  “You ladies are always welcome back here, even if it’s just for group session,” Addie says. “This isn’t something you can take a pill for like an antibiotic. Often these situations cause serious psychological damage, and many of you have a dependence on these monsters.” She looks directly at me for that one, but no judgment lingers in her gaze—just comprehension. “I say monsters because these don’t necessarily deal with heterosexual relationships.” Addie nods her head toward one of the women. “These relationships are often traumatic to end. The goal here is to show you ladies your worth, independent of the men in your lives.”

  The small buzzer on the wall chimes and Addie gets up. “That was a great session, ladies! And tonight, since those were scheduled during our dinner time, Ivy has arranged something special for us.” Addie doesn’t often schedule mandatory meetings, but when we get a new person, there’s always something mandatory. “Go freshen up. The pizza will be here in about thirty minutes.”

  We wait for everyone to leave. Only Ivy, Addie, and I remain in the room. Ivy and I exchange looks because it feels like we are about to get scolded.

  “I don’t know how you girls convinced me to have this ridiculous pageant night.”

  “We burned the chicken,” Ivy chimes in.

  Both of us laugh over the whole afternoon spent in the kitchen while Addie dealt with some financial things at the bank. Technically, we burned the skin of the chicken, the inside was still raw.

  Ivy pops one her perfect manicured fingers in the air. “But we nailed the mashed potatoes, though.”

  “Mashed potatoes and pizza.” Addie shakes her head. “You both are disasters in the kitchen.”

  “We put the stove on to high,” I confess. “We were talking and got distracted.”

  “She’s just being nice, Addie. I set the stove to the maximum, and I was the one who was doing most of the talking. She was making the chocolate pudding.”

  “Oh,” I squeal happily. “That looks delicious.”

  “I should hope so. It was in a box, and all you needed was to add milk and stick it in the fridge.”

  “Milk?” I bite my lip.

  Addie’s eyes widen, and she’s unsure of whether to laugh or scold me. Ivy eyes me curiously and bites back her own smile as we wait for Addie to decide on her reaction. “You know what?” She swipes at her brow. “Maybe it’s better with water. Low fat, right?”

  Ivy and I burst into laughter, and I stop halfway. “Just kidding,” I say to cover my abrupt stop, but really, I wanted to clock the moment. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this light to laugh. I swallow the overwhelming emotion and point toward the kitchen. “I’m going to go get started on setting the table.”

  Even pizza is eaten on porcelain. The whole way to the kitchen, I rub my chest and think back to the last time I laughed like that. The day of my birthday, when my parents woke me up with a tickle fit. I smile as the memory plays out. Dad took me down the stairs on his shoulders, and there was one box for every year I was born.

  I was allowed to open half before school and half after school. I never got to open the last ones. The bank got the house and everything in it after a few months. I don’t really know what happened, but I kept the small snow globe, which I really miss.

  It must be back at the place I rented before getting caught up in this mess.

  “You all right, doll face?” Addie startles me. I hadn’t realized I was standing in the middle of the hallway.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Just thinking about my family.”

  “When was the last time you talked to them? You’ve never mentioned them.”

  “No, because it was just me and my parents. They died a really long time ago. I was in foster care after that.” But unlike Lyla, I was never adopted. I crossed paths with her before Thanksgiving, and she didn’t recognize me. She was high and sitting at a bus station. I swiped her stuff easily, but I left her drugs. It didn’t seem like she cared much about anything else.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. If it makes you feel better, we can be alone together.”

  “We’re not alone.” I smile softly and a bit proudly. For the first time, since my parents, I feel like I fit in somewhere.

  “I see Ivy has done you good. If I had known pairing you with someone who was so talkative would get you to open up, I would’ve done it months ago.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” I look around. “Where is Ivy?”

  “She ordered some supplies for tonight’s show and is having them delivered. She’s waiting outside for them.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the tables set.”

  “Thank you, doll. I have a few calls to make, so you girls start dinner without me.”

  It wasn’t usual for Addie to skip dinner, but she did seem a bit flustered early this morning with the finances. If I had money, I’d give it to her, but I’ve got a whole lot of nothing, except secrets. I have lots of those.

  Group ended and was followed by a makeshift pageant, where we all got dressed up, put on wigs, and were coached by Ivy. She had graciously provided the items and ordered pizza. Laughter made things so much lighter. For a few hours, we were able to forget our pasts and be silly with each other.

  I haven’t been silly with anyone in a real long time, and it felt amazing. Ivy and I stayed up watching old reruns on TV and eating popcorn, not talking about guys. We talked about dreams as if they were possibilities, and fell asleep on the couches in the living room.

  I wake in a heap of sweat.

  I can’t breathe. I gasp as I clutch my aching throat. My heart is using my insides as a ladder and climbing its way up and forcing its way out. Gagging and heaving into the air does little to relieve the burn, the acid from my stomach intensifies it. Low guttural sounds escape and fill the air as I tell myself to calm down.

  But I can’t calm down. My body is cold, and despite having my eyes open, all I see are blurred visions in the dark. Every moment turns into a missed step, and I fall, I spiral down to the abyss, clawing and grappling with my conscience.

  Panic attack, I try to calm myself out of it like I was taught.

  But this isn’t a panic attack.

  Trembling, I try to move, but I’m not allowed to. I’m being held down. I scream into the air so loud I wince at my own pitch. He’s here. He found me.

  I glance around, attempting to materialize
the room. But there is no couch beneath me, and no walls. I’m freezing and trembling and shouting so hard I shake as the screams erupt from my throat. Or maybe they just erupt inside my head because something is covering my mouth.

  A hand. A rag.

  Stifling the words as they come through.

  Thoughts pop into my head, and I dispel them with every silent ‘no’, shaking my head ferociously and kicking, as if I were running.

  I’m in the forest.

  On the ground now.

  Bloody fingers flow to my face, and I lower my hands.

  The Butcher appears before me and the sweat drips down the back of my neck. I don’t see his face, but I hear his voice before I submit to the terror. “I found you.”

  “No,” I shout consecutively before my will gives out.

  “Hey!” Addie’s voice comes through the dark cloud of panic. “What happened?”

  Lights turn on, flooding the room. I’m on the floor rolled up in a blanket, a pillow covering my exploding chest. I sit up, breathing heavily as I take in my surroundings. Another nightmare.

  Ivy’s voice comes in, “We fell asleep, watching TV, and I went to the bathroom. The next thing I know, she’s screaming and not listening to me as I try to wake her up.”

  “Thank you, Ivy. You can go to sleep. I got it from here,” Addie says before lowering herself to help me up.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, as I spot some of the women around the room. They mumble things, but my ears still hurt, my chest burns, and my stomach feels like I swallowed twenty pounds of rock. I still want to puke.

  Addie guides me outside to the courtyard and sits me down on a chair just underneath one of the lights. As I work through the pain and allow the cool April breeze to calm me down, I tell Addie, “Nightmare.”

  She bobs her head and takes a seat next to me. “My daughter had those all the time.”

  “They’re awful. They feel so real.” Feeling the onset of another attack, I glance down at my hands, not wanting her to see the fright.

  But it doesn’t work.

  Bloody fingers.

  7

  Nurse My Hangover

  Breaker

  I don’t normally get drunk, but I drink. A lot for a long time. I’ve ingested so much alcohol, I’m in a permanent state of inebriation. I’ve stopped counting time by minutes and started counting by levels of incompetence. First, I found out 327 is a lying bitch who betrayed me, and then every fucking lead turns up a dead end.

  Well, mostly just dead.

  I’m not a happy drunk. I’m a trigger-happy drunk, and that’s why there’s a man under the sole of my imported leather shoes, whimpering like the coward his mama made.

  “I didn’t see anyone, I swear.” He sniffles, as the heel of my shoe glides over his cheek, squishing it and causing his lips to pucker. The whimpering intensifies, unfortunately, and I press a little harder while balancing the cup of Portuguese agua ardente in my hand. “If you make me spill this, I will burn your eyes out with it.”

  Romolo steps forward and bends at the knees, squatting down so he can make his comment heard. “You know what fifty-proof alcohol does to an eyeball?”

  The man, stuck between my foot and the floor, thrashes around. His legs and hands are tied up like a baby pig ready for the fire. Another Portuguese delicacy. Costa loved to have one roasted for his birthday.

  “Maybe we should hold him over the fire, Rom. Watch him eek and screech as the flames lap out.” I chuckle as I mimic the flames extending to consume the space above them. “Or I can gut you from neck to groin, stitch you back up again, and stick you in there whole.” I use my free hand to point toward the large wood-fire oven to make a point.

  Porky’s eyes veer in the oven’s direction, and he mumbles something in a different language.

  “It’s a little small lengthwise, but we can make it work if we chop a couple inches off, right, Rom?”

  Romolo doesn’t even flinch. I’m impressed. He shrugs nonchalantly and sways his head, pondering on the better cooking procedure. “It’d have to be from the knee down, Boss.”

  “Good point! Shoving a large wooden spear mouth-hole to butt-hole would be easier to clean up.” My stomach churns at the idea of sawing through bone, but a sip of the Portuguese moonshine burns through that like acid. Though my line of work calls for a bit of gruesome aggression in order to drive the point across, I’ve come to realize I’m not the biggest fan of blood. Minimalistic kills are better but are often considered soft.

  “What do you think, Porky?” I ask the victim, shoving the heel of my foot into his flesh. “Eyes or roast pig? I’ve always liked a little game of choice.”

  Though my last one didn’t go well, thanks to Franco.

  Franco was right about one thing: dehumanizing them makes it easier. Though for him, I think it’s easy either way.

  When Porky gurgles to speak, I ease up on the pressure.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  “I already told you, I don’t know anything about anyone.”

  “You know,” Rom starts, “the Boss isn’t the most patient person. Honestly, I’ve seen his impatience firsthand. You might want to tell him what he wants to know.”

  The man’s eyes flicker with hope as Rom continues coaxing my information out of him. At the moment, he’s the lesser of two evils, offering the man hope. The second I stepped foot in this place, Pimento’s fate was sealed. He’s going to die, but it’s up to him to decide how long and how painful that death is.

  After about three minutes of silence between the three of us, the piggy jolts up. With the last bit of strength, he uses his chest to rock back and forth, gaining momentum and bouncing up. Catching my already wobbly self off guard, I falter and spill the agua ardente on the floor.

  I growl and reposition my foot in the tender part of his cheek. “Maybe we will do both. Eye first, then roast pig. You don’t need to see the fire consuming you...” My tone dips dangerously low into the dark pit of anger contained in my gut. “You’ll feel every flicker of flame until the pain is so much you’ll stop screaming, but that’ll only be easier for us. You’ll be aware of every centimeter of your body, and it will all hurt. You won’t be able to locate the pain... It will be on your skin, underneath it, and buried in between the layers. The ache will echo through you, the blood will feel like fire, and the smell of burning flesh and hair will fill your nostrils, but that’ll stop…”

  My voice evens out as the fear in his hitched breaths sobers me up. I like the fear.

  “The tip of your nose goes first… Your tongue will feel like it’s melting. It’ll sink into your throat, and when you find the strength to swallow, you’ll ingest pieces of yourself. Bit by bit. You’ll feel the lump traveling down your caving esophagus, each fucking centimeter will be torture, and you’ll swallow again…” I sigh deeply. “You’ll pass out from the pain at some point, but not everyone does. Most people just feel themselves burn until—”

  The forty-year-old with salt-and-pepper hair sniffles, his slanted eyes welling with tears as he begs. Strings of ‘no please’ and Portuguese swears escape his lips.

  “I hate beggars and cowards.” I let go and step back. A small thought pops into my head, but I cast it away. "Have you seen a woman near this place?” 327 wouldn’t have been able to walk through the off-road. It was the middle of winter, and she was naked. It would’ve taken too long.

  “Do you remember seeing a woman in a white car, driving by your liquor store?” Someone had mentioned a woman leaving this area, and we caught her on CCTV a few streets down.

  “No!” he shouts with a bit more confidence. “Do you know how many women drive by my store?”

  “She would have been coming in the direction of the empty land,” Romolo helps him out. “Not many people drive in and out of that road. She might have been a passenger.”

  Something clicks in the man’s eyes, and he grows silent.

  There it is. Some people don’t realize the info
rmation they see until forced to remember.

  “Yes, I remember,” he says softly, fearfully.

  “Who was it?”

  The man hesitates, annoying me even further. I swing my foot back and hit him smack between the eighth and ninth rib with such force I hear the cracks before the bloodcurdling scream. “Again, I’m going to ask you who it was.”

  “Tell him.” Romolo plays the good cop.

  The man, still in agony, isn’t forthcoming with the information I’m looking for, so I nod for Romolo to proceed with my threat.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard, I don’t make blank threats. So what do you think happens now?”

  Romolo flashes his pocketknife.

  Between whimpers, the little piggy squeals, “I have nothing to say.” It’s weak, and not because he’s hurting. There’s something in the back of his mind telling him to blurt it out.

  Romolo glances at me, waiting for instruction.

  A simple nod from me propels him forward. He leans toward the man and holds the knife out in front of the man’s face, swaying it back and forth. Porky shuts his eyes as the blade approaches his face.

  I kick him, and he lunges his head forward. To my dismay, Romolo’s reflex kicks in and he retracts the weapon away from the man. Pity. Nothing like ending a night with a Bloody Mary to prevent a hangover.

  He’s my only lead, so killing him is out of the question until he speaks. I search the premises for something to scare the man with and find a stapler on a desk next to some papers. I quickly take a few steps back and pluck the stapler, along with a picture of Mr. Pimento and his wife and daughter, off the desk and return to my original position.

  “Staple his eyes shut.”

  Pimento’s eyes fly open, clearly seeing me pass the open stapler to Romolo. “Please don’t,” he pleas with Romolo.

  “This is the last time you’re going to see with two eyes, Mr. Pimento.” I smash the picture frame glass against the wall and remove the picture. “This is the last time you’re going to see your family.” I refrain from hypotheticals, there’s no if, death is coming. “So take a good luck at this picture.”