by Brook Wilder
“Thank you. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” Vittorio told him.
“Very good, sir.” The staff bowed his head and left just as quietly as he’d come.
“Ready for dinner?” Vittorio asked Sharon, kicking the blankets off and hunting for his clothes on the floor.
“Oh my god, yes.” Sharon gushed. “I’m starving.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Vittorio grinned as he dressed himself.
Sharon wriggled into her dark blue pants and pulled on Vittorio’s hoodie. He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw her. His sweatshirt was longer on her than the dresses most girls wore out clubbing.
The pair made their way down to the formal dining room, a cavernous room lined on all sides with exquisite murals of an old-school Tuscan villa. Women hoisted water jugs over their heads, their shapely bosoms peeping out of artfully sheer bodices. Grapes, vines and leaves adorned every corner in their green and purple glory. A long dining table ran down the center of the great room, the rich wood polished to a stunning gleam. Vittorio took a seat at the head of the table and Sharon plonked down next to him. He noticed her eyes roaming the walls in appreciation of the ancient art.
“My grandma had those commissioned by a guy who was actually from Tuscany,” Vittorio informed her.
“They’re gorgeous,” Sharon gushed. “I feel like I’m sitting inside the painting.”
Moments later, an attentive and professional staff brought out Sharon and Vittorio’s meal, a tender, medium-rare beef roast in gravy with garlic mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned stalks of green asparagus. Once the dinner had been served and glasses of inky burgundy wine had been poured, Vittorio dismissed his staff with an appreciative nod.
Sharon sipped her dark wine and smiled gratefully. “This is delicious!”
“Knowing my grandmother,” Vittorio informed her, “that wine is probably older than either of us.”
“Is this your grandmother’s house?” Sharon asked delicately.
“Technically, yes.” Vittorio explained. “She and my granddad lived here full time when I was a kid, but after he passed away she started traveling a lot. If I remember correctly, she’ll be back from Paris sometime next week.”
“Does she know you’re staying here?” Sharon inquired, obviously wondering whether Vittorio’s nonna knew she was staying there in her absence.
“Yes, she knows we’re staying here,” Vittorio emphasized. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here by the time she gets back.”
“So… why are we really here?” Sharon kept her eyes carefully on her plate, cutting her beef as she spoke.
“No reason, really,” Vittorio insisted. “Not an urgent reason anyway. I’d been itching to get out here and after I heard about Rocco going sour about you. I figured a trip to the country couldn’t hurt.”
Sharon nodded, accepting his answer. She busied herself with her food and, before long, she’d cleared her plate.
“Do you want more?” Vittorio asked, his mouth full. Thinking that his nonna would definitely disapprove of his terrible table manners, Vittorio covered and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“No, I’m good,” Sharon replied, patting her full belly. “I was just so hungry.”
Vittorio finished his dinner a little slower, but eventually pushed his plate away. Between the red meat, the red wine and the excellent company, Vittorio felt himself begin to truly relax for the first time in months. Maybe even years.
He reached over and grabbed Sharon’s hand across the table, wrapping himself around her long, delicate fingers. She blushed, her rounded cheeks tinting pink as she smiled bashfully at Vittorio. He started to lean closer to kiss her, when he heard a noise from somewhere else in the house.
A door swung open and bashed into a wall. Vittorio perked up, immediately assessing that it sounded like it was most likely the front door. He dropped Sharon’s hand and stood in a tense crouch.
“What’s going on?” Sharon asked, confused.
Vittorio held a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. He crept quietly towards the dining room entrance and heard footsteps clear as day in the hallway, heading right towards them. He balled his fingers into fists, his molars ground against each other as Vittorio readied himself for a fight. He couldn’t totally rule out that one of his crazy relatives had popped by unannounced for a visit, but he needed to be ready for anything.
“Hello?” Vittorio called out. His deep voice echoed down the hall to no response.
There were no longer any sound of footsteps in the house and Vittorio began to wonder if he’d imagined the door crashing in.
“You heard that, right?” Vittorio asked Sharon.
When she didn’t reply right away, he turned around and said, “Babe?”
A man Vittorio didn’t recognize stood behind Sharon, his black-clad arm wrapped around her throat and the muzzle of a gun against her head.
Chapter 16
Vittorio
Her blue eyes were wide and brimming with tears, a look of shock and dread painted across her lovely face. Vittorio felt his stomach drop into freefall and his resolve harden.
“Put the girl down,” he commanded the stranger, injecting as much venom into his voice as he possibly could. “She didn’t do anything. She’s innocent.”
The potential shooter shrugged, mocking Vittorio with a sniveling look. “Doesn’t matter how innocent she is,” he cackled. “I just kill who I’m told to kill.”
“She… she’s your target?” Vittorio asked, incredulous and instantly guilty.
The man gave Vittorio a rat-like smile. He had dark hair and a tiny dark mustache along his upper lip. He was maybe in his mid-twenties. Vittorio felt a rolling in his stomach as he thought about his life’s work, the business he’d been molded by and for, and the fact that, thanks to stupid crime politics, he was at immediate risk of watching his second lover die in less than five years.
“I’ll pay you,” Vittorio bargained, keeping his voice flat and even. “Whatever Rocco’s giving you, I’ll double it.”
“Ha!” The man laughed, jamming the gun harder against Sharon’s head. Her bottom lip began to tremble and a single salty tear slipped free of her eye to trickle down her face. “You think I care about the money?”
“Every man has a price,” Vittorio argued.
“Trust me, Contarini, you couldn’t afford me.” The strange, gun-wielding villain’s left eye kept twitching as he spoke. Every few seconds his bottom lid would creep up and his head would jerk violently to the side. Is it a tic or drugs? Vittorio wondered. He could handle either one.
“Are you kidding?” Vittorio scoffed, baiting the crazed man. “Look at my house. I could afford your work, your life and then some. Drop the gun.”
“Fat chance,” the man smirked. He pulled back the hammer and cocked the gun. The heavy click spurred Vittorio into action.
He lunged forward, closing the distance quickly on his long legs and punched the man’s forearm. While it wasn’t the most efficient place to hit a person, the sudden force caused the stranger’s hand to spasm and loosen his grip. The line of fire dropped and Vittorio reared up to punch him again, harder this time, across the face. With a spurt of snot and saliva, Vittorio’s solid hit sent the now-dazed shooter’s face whipping backwards. He stumbled to catch himself but maintained a hold on his gun. Once he’d recouped, he aimed it squarely at Vittorio.
“You worried about paying me off, Contarini?” the man warned. “Have any idea how much your head is worth? Take another step, I fuckin’ dare you.”
Vittorio froze. He usually kept a sidearm on him at all times, but he’d forgotten it in his rush to get Sharon out of the city. Lot of good that did you, Vittorio chastised himself. Here he was again, letting love distract him. The shooter had a clean line of fire and Vittorio waited for an idea to come to him. Sharon sat, frozen in her chair, staring at the business end of the stranger’s weapon. Her entire body quaked, shivering in icy fear.
Her terror inspired a ru
sh of courage inside Vittorio and he rushed the shooter. His opponent was a little guy and, as Vittorio hoped, his great size and startling speed surprised the man. He pulled the trigger, the loud gunshot ripping through the tense silence, but the bullet cut to the side and embedded itself in the floor. The ancient wood splintered around the shot, just inches from Sharon’s bare feet. She quickly pulled herself into a ball in her chair, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.
Without thinking, Vittorio wrapped his hand around the little man’s throat and lifted him clear off the ground. He slammed his greasy head into the wall so hard it bounced. He pinned him there so he was face to face with Vittorio. Unfiltered rage brewed within him, his strong hands closed the shooters windpipe and the red-faced man gasped for air.
“Who the fuck sent you?” Vittorio demanded, his voice deeper and darker than he’d ever heard it. He’d be happy to watch this man wither and die, right there, right then. When the darkness consumed him this way, like it rarely did, Vittorio felt like an entirely different person.
“You… know… who…” the shooter smarted through heavy breaths.
Vittorio squeezed his neck harder until he squeaked. “Say it,” he spat. “Out loud. Tell me who the fuck sent you.”
“Ana… festo…” the man choked out. His fingers clawed desperately at Vittorio’s strong arm, but Vittorio could barely feel him and didn’t budge.
The man’s face continued to redden as Vittorio deprived him of oxygen for longer and longer. Strangled sounds struggled out of his mouth and his eyes began to roll upwards.
“Stop!” Sharon shrieked in horror. “You’re going to kill him!”
Impulsively, Vittorio released the man’s throat and he dropped into a crumpled heap on the ground. Vittorio leaned over him, malice shooting like daggers from his almost-black eyes. His breaths were ragged as he rose his gun back towards Vittorio, his feeble hands shaking as he fought to aim. Vittorio kicked the man’s hand hard, sending the gun flying across the room. It skidded noisily across the floor and knocked into the wall
The beaten man looked up at Vittorio from where he lay on the floor. “Please,” he begged in a hoarse plea, “I was only doing what I was told. You know how it is…”
Vittorio silenced his pathetic attempts at garnering mercy by kicking the man across the face. His head knocked against the wall and a spatter of blood and a broken tooth spurted out of his mouth. The man groaned and raised his arms in a pathetic attempt to protect his face from further damage.
“Please,” he continued to beg, sounding less and less like a man as the pain overtook him.
“Fuck you,” Vittorio sneered. He leant forward solely to spit directly into the shooter’s face. “Get on your fucking feet. You took a fucking order, right? Get up, show me what the fuck kind of man you think you are.”
Vittorio stepped back, his posture still offensive and ready to fight. He Vittoriobounced on his toes, mocking the man as he struggled to stand. Eventually the man steadied himself with the wall and found his footing. The stranger couldn’t seem to keep his eyes all the way open and he swayed from side to side while blood ran out of the corners of his mouth.
“Vittorio,” Sharon warned, but Vittorio couldn’t hear her anymore.
Chapter 17
Vittorio
That Anafesto piece of shit, mother fucker, Vittorio grumbled to himself. Who the fuck did Rocco think he was, sending fucking assassins to Vittorio’s family home? These types of properties were usually off limits by the mobster code of ethics. Who knows how many people Anafesto would have put in danger if the house had been full of family? This was personal, and Vittorio planned to deal with it as such.
“You wanna kill the girl?” Vittorio taunted the weak man. “Go ahead, try. I fucking dare you.”
“Look man, I’m sorry,” the shooter pleaded. “Please, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll tell Anafesto you weren’t here…”
“But I am here.” Vittorio growled. “You found me. You found your target. Go ahead, scum, finish the job. What the fuck kind of man are you if you can’t even do a simple job?”
“Vittorio!” Sharon cried, her voice squeaked as her terror escalated.
Vittorio ignored her. “If you were one of my men, I’d kill you, just for being so weak. So utterly and completely useless.”
With those words, Vittorio punched the man hard across the face again, causing him to stumble on his already-shaky foundation. He felt the man’s nose break under the hard punch and two fresh geysers of blood burst forth from his nostrils. He swung an uppercut into the man’s stomach and laughed sadistically as the man doubled over in pain.
One hand over his bloodied, mangled face and the other over his achy midsection, the man leered at Vittorio. “Fuck you, Contarini,” he spat.
“Excuse me?” Vittorio asked. He cupped a mocking hand behind his ear, as if he hadn’t heard the shooter. “What’d you say?”
“I said,” the man wheezed, “fuck you.”
“Funny,” Vittorio laughed. “That’s what I thought you said.”
He swooped the man’s legs out from under him with his foot and dropped to his knees to pin the man to the ground. He straddled him and unleashed hell on the man’s head. His hits were so hard they practically echoed around the formal dining room. Blood spattered every which way like a rogue sprinkler, staining the impeccably painted walls.
“Fuck me, huh?” Vittorio taunted as he bounced the man’s head off the floor like a basketball.
“Vittorio, please, stop!” Sharon sounded desperate. Had Vittorio looked up, he would have seen her crying, seen the kindness and goodness in her face and gotten himself under control.
He didn’t look up, though.
The man started to sag, no longer sitting up or attempting to defend himself as his consciousness faded. The rage in Vittorio’s veins felt like fire, burning from the inside out. Even after the man stopped moving, Vittorio continued to hit him.
He felt a tugging on his arm as Sharon tried to drag him off the limp stranger. Vittorio shoved her off, so hard she stumbled back and landed on her ass on the floor.
“What is wrong with you?” Sharon whined.
Vittorio got up on his feet, wiping the stranger’s blood off his stubbled face and flicking it away. He crossed the room to where the handgun lay discarded on the ground. He checked it and confirmed that it was loaded and cocked.
“Don’t!” Sharon begged as he strode back across the room.
Vittorio stood over the shooter and leveled the muzzle of the gun at his brutalized face, reduced to nothing more than a puddle of blood, pus and mangled flesh. A strangled sound came from the man’s mouth, so Vittorio knew he wasn’t totally knocked out.
“I’m not going to kill you because you’re weak, or because you fucked up,” Vittorio told him. “I’m going to kill you because I enjoy it.”
The man choked on one last desperate plea for his life.
“Fuck you.”
Vittorio pulled the trigger and the bullet drilled right through the man’s skull. His body went fully limp, his ruined face relaxing to look off towards the wall. The thrill of the kill coursed through Vittorio’s veins. His mouth watered and he felt a twitch in his pants as the sense of power, of domination, of the true ownership of someone’s last moments buzzed through his mind like a high.
Chapter 18
Vittorio
Sharon’s high-pitched screaming finally brought him back to reality.
When Vittorio finally relaxed and turned towards Sharon, he had never seen her look so horrified. Even the night he’d rescued her, he hadn’t seen her look so shaken up. He looked back toward the body, surveying the carnage he’d inflicted. Crimson blood spattered up the walls and pooled around the corpse’s head. The mangled face sent a wave of regret crashing through Vittorio. He realized he had very likely overdone it.
“You’re a monster!” Sharon cried. Vittorio watched her stumble to her feet and reached to help her, but she winced
and drew away from him.
“He was going to kill you!” he argued. “I can’t, I don’t… I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Stay away from me,” Sharon insisted. Unfiltered fear shone in her eyes. She slowly backed towards the door, never taking her fearful gaze off Vittorio.
“Please, Sharon, I love you.” he insisted. “I’d never hurt you. I only want to keep you safe.”
“You didn’t have to kill him to keep me safe!” Sharon yelled. Once she bumped the doorway, she turned and ran from him. Her bare feet sprinted down the hall and Vittorio hurried to follow her.
“Come on,” Vittorio tried to reason with her as she ran up the stairs. “You’re being ridiculous.”
