Jagger hesitated then pushed off me. He got to his feet and moved in front of Alberto. “You can shoot me,” he said, holding his arms out wide.
Alberto leered at him. “Only with cum.”
“I’m not your puttano!” Jagger yelled, looking ready to attack.
“No, you’re my lover.”
“I’m no one’s lover! And Frano won’t stand for this.”
“He won’t have a choice. He should never have gone to the Donatelli to get you back.”
“What?” Jagger croaked out.
“He went to the House of Whores.” Alberto laughed. “And now you turn up here, naked and ready for my cock: it’s fate, Jagger, you’re mine and he can’t do merda about it.”
“Where’s Thierry?”
“With Frano.”
Jagger put his hands to his head. “Phone Frano, tell him I’m safe.”
“The only person I will be phoning is the Black Russian.”
“No, we need to warn Frano and Thierry or the Donatelli will kill them.”
“They won’t kill them, they’re in mourning. My stupid wife accidentally poisoned Don Donatelli and Lucky.”
Jagger’s face fell. “Where is she?” he croaked out.
“In hospital, and unfortunately breathing—for now.”
“You bastardo!” Jagger yelled, taking a step forward.
Alberto aimed the gun at me. “Unless you want her dead, I’d suggest you get your pretty culo down to the cells, so I can make that call to the Black Russian.”
“Why are you calling him?”
“To tell him about what the Donatelli have done to his guards and Sasha.”
“You can’t, you’ll get Frano killed.”
“He won’t kill Frano, he likes him too much. Apparently, he wants to lick him. And since Frano won’t let me have you, then the Black Russian can have him.”
“He’s your brother!”
“He threatened to kill me today if I touch you again. If anyone else had said that they would be dead, but I love Frano, so this is my only means to keep him alive and out of my way.”
“By letting the Black Russian use him?”
“Only as a trainer. Frano will be safe, and I’ll finally get what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours!”
“Sì, you are, but that wasn’t what I was talking about. I meant the house.”
“That’s in Frano’s name.”
“Not after I petition the court.”
“They won’t give it to you.”
“They will once they find out Frano’s not even a D’Angelo, and since he’s being a prick, I don’t care if he finds out anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“His father was my mother’s lover.”
“You’re lying.”
“My father’s the one who told me. And now that prick’s dead, I’m claiming my inheritance.”
“No!” Jagger went for Alberto, a gunshot stopping him in his tracks. His eyes shot to me, fear coloring his face.
I touched my neck and looked down at my hand. Blood smeared it, the bullet having grazed my flesh.
“That was a warning shot,” Alberto said, “the next one will hit the jugular. So, get your ass downstairs. Now!”
Jagger grabbed my arm and yanked me along with him. With Alberto following us, we headed down to the slave cells, walking right back into captivity. Alberto smiled at us from the other side of the door, then pulled it shut, locking us in.
Jagger groaned. “From one prison to another.”
“Frano will help you,” I said, not confident in that, knowing he was walking into a snake pit at the Donatelli.
Jagger breathed out, his expression sad, his eyes even sadder. “That’s if he’s even alive.” He looked up at the ceiling as though talking to God. “This can’t be happening, I can’t take Alberto anymore.” He dropped his gaze, giving me a pleading look. “Kill me.”
I shook my head.
He screwed up his face. “Please.”
“I can’t,” I said, feeling uncomfortable, his expression so familiar, his eyes ... that pleading. It hurt and not just because I felt sorry for him, no, I wanted to protect him, had always wanted to protect him. Where the hell did that come from? I thought.
“Then if you won’t, I’ll make Alberto kill me,” he snapped, his face turning angry. “I’ll push him so hard he loses his temper, because anything’s better than existing like this.”
“Just calm down,” I said, reaching for him.
He hit my hands away. “Don’t touch me!”
I lowered my hands. “We escaped from the Donatelli, we’ll escape from him too.”
He shook his head. “I will never escape him—other than through death. Like the Padre, he has ruined me.” He closed his eyes. “Even when he’s not here, I can see him,” he ran a hand down his stomach, “and feel him.”
“I understand how you feel—”
His eyes snapped open. “You can’t!”
“I do, and you’ll get through this.”
“The priest trying to drown you isn’t the same thing. I was eleven when he first raped me. Eleven!”
“I was sixteen when he raped me.” I froze, those words coming out of nowhere.
Jagger’s face dropped. “What did you say?”
I stared at him, confusion taking over me as the memory flooded my mind. The priest was raping me, pushing his cock inside of me, making me bleed, scream, and cry. He was too big, the man laughing as he split me in two. I’d fallen unconscious during it, then had woken up with my head being pushed under water. A male voice had screamed at him to let me go, that he would do anything if they just let me go. And the priest had—literally, allowing my body to drift away on the lake. No, it wasn’t a lake, it was a river, because the flow had taken a hold of my body, battering it against rocks, until someone had pulled me out. A mouth had touched mine, breathing air back into my body. I had coughed out the water, then had opened my eyes and looked up at a kind face: my foster father’s.
Looking concerned, he’d brushed my wet hair aside, the name that fell from his lips stunning me.
Jagger grabbed my arms, snapping me out of the memory. “What did you say?” he asked, his face filled with concern.
I stared up at him, remembering everything and not understanding any of it. He’d been a skinny boy the last time I’d seen him. I’d gone to his room to give him his sixteenth birthday present, but he’d wanted something else instead. He’d kissed me, then had tried to undress me, ripping my blouse in his excitement. I’d panicked and pushed him away, making him fall onto his bed. He’d started crying, saying that he knew I’d turn him down, that he wasn’t good enough for me, that he was tainted and dirty. Then it had all spilled out, Jagger confessing what the priest had done to him. I’d stared at him in horror, not wanting to believe any of it. He’d got off the bed and walked towards me, holding his arms out, wanting me to comfort him, but instead I’d ran to his cousin, needing Frano to tell me that Jagger was lying. But when Frano had opened the door, I’d burst into tears, unable to say a word, because deep down I had known that Jagger was telling the truth, my mind unable to handle it. Before I knew it, I was sobbing on Frano’s shoulder, then kissing him in his bed. My boyfriend had just told me he’d been raped and sexually abused for years, yet I’d made love to his cousin straight afterwards. I’d hurt Jagger like everyone else had, had walked out on him when he’d needed me the most.
The realization hit me hard, the missing pieces of my memory finally clicking into place.
I was Sophia Salvi
Jagger’s girlfriend
And Frano’s lover
4
Frano
I turned into the Landi driveway, and drove up the steep incline. The Landi famiglia lived on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Their three-story house and its ten-foot wall were constructed out of imported white rock, an impenetrable fortress, perfect for a famiglia of gunrunners and mercenar
ies.
I parked next to a row of armored four-wheeled drives. The front was a hive of activity with men everywhere. Many were carrying guns while some were loading them, getting ready to storm the House of Whores.
I patted Thierry’s leg. “Time to get out.”
The boy remained still. He was staring out the window with eyes so round, his fear palpable.
“They won’t hurt you, bambino,” I said. “They will protect you with their lives.”
He turned to me. Even after all he’d experienced, his eyes were still brimming with innocence, the boy such a sweet kid. It hurt me deeply to hear about what my brother had done to him. I knew I should’ve killed Alberto for it, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it—he was my brother, my closest relative, someone I had grown up with. How could I kill him? But what he’d done was truly evil, something even I couldn’t comprehend. Because no matter what Alberto had said, Thierry was a child, someone who needed to be protected, not preyed upon.
Pushing my thoughts down, I got out of the car and went around to open Thierry’s door, the boy obviously too scared to get out. He was a timid little thing, effeminate too. It was inherent in everything he did: the way he talked and walked or even how his hand fluttered about when he was excited, and most definitely in the squeals he made while playing football. He wasn’t very good at sport, but still liked to kick the ball around with me, his eagerness making up for his lack of skill.
I held out a hand for him to take. He took a hold of it, allowing me to pull him out. He blushed furiously, making me grin. He really was a peculiar kid.
Someone called out my name. I let go of Thierry’s hand, and turned around to find Pedro Landi heading for me. Don Landi was a big man, someone who enjoyed his food and wine far too much, and his women even more, my friend preferring hedonism over politics.
“Frano!” Pedro said, giving me a crushing hug.
I hugged him back, then pulled away after some pretty hard, albeit friendly backslaps from the big man. I placed my hand on Thierry’s shoulder. “I don’t believe you’ve met Jagger’s younger brother, Thierry.”
Pedro’s smile widened, then before I knew what was happening, he was hugging Thierry, probably knocking the wind out of the poor kid. After a few seconds, he let go. “What a beautiful ragazzo you are.” He took a hold of Thierry’s cheeks and pinched them. “But you, my handsome one, are not to have any hanky-panky with my daughters.”
I laughed, knowing that wasn’t something Pedro needed to worry about. A few weeks back, I’d accidentally walked in on Thierry putting on makeup in his room, the boy too caught up in what he was doing to notice me. But what made it even funnier was what he was wearing, something Bianca no doubt would’ve told him off for. He had been dressed in one of her shinning ball gowns along with a pair of her stilettos, the heels sky high. He really was a peculiar boy, if I could even call him one, because I was sure the kid didn’t own a set of balls.
Pedro and Thierry both looked at me, giving me quizzical stares. I patted Thierry’s back and grinned at Pedro. “I am certain that he will show your daughters the full respect they deserve,” I said, restraining a snigger. If anything, poor Thierry needed to be protected from those girls, because the three sisters were spoilt tarts. I could just see them fighting over him, two of them tugging on his arms, while the third screamed that he was hers, like they’d done to Jagger.
“Actually,” I said to Pedro, “I think you need to have a talk to your girls, I don’t want what happened to Jagger happening to Thierry.”
“What happened to Jagger?” Thierry said, looking worried.
Pedro laughed. “Don’t worry; I will make sure my girls don’t fight over you. Threatening to chop up their credit cards will do the trick.” He laughed again, then indicated for one of his guards to come over. “Davido, take this young man inside and show him his room.”
Thierry turned to me, looking scared, those puppy-dog eyes of his yet again begging me to save him. “I want to stay with you,” he said.
I placed my hands on his shoulders, massaging them gently. “You will be safer here, the Landi famiglia are good people. They will protect you with their lives.”
Thierry screwed up his face, looking as if he was about to cry.
I cradled his face. “Ragazzo, I give you my word that the Landi will look after you well, and at least they will put some meat on your bones. You’ve become too skinny, you need to eat more.”
Thierry blushed fiercely.
I smiled and kissed his forehead. “I promise I will visit you tomorrow,” I said, letting him go. I placed a hand on his back and directed him to the Landi guard. “Now, go with the man, I have business to attend to.” I watched as Thierry walked away, the boy glancing back at me. Once he was inside the house, I returned my attention to Pedro. “Are the Santini ready?”
“Sì, they will head for the Donatelli household while you and my men take the House of Whores.”
“Buono,” I said. “And after I take over the House of Whores and get my people out, I will go to the Donatelli household and stake my claim.”
“And about time too. You should lead this island, not those perverted freaks.” Pedro’s face soured. “I will take great pleasure in helping you wipe out their line.”
I shook my head, not wanting to go down that path. “I cannot allow the women and children to be slaughtered, and if your men are to help me, they must abide by my wishes.”
“Then you will be putting your own famiglia at risk. You must wipe them all out so that no one can take revenge, whether that revenge is now or in twenty years time. If you wish, my men will take care of it for you.”
“No. Anyway, Lucky has too many offspring. It will be impossible to get them all. And if we kill the ones here, the others will return in force, which means for the time being we can only take prisoners, killing only when we have to. Except of course, that fucking Padre will be killed, but by Jagger’s hand, and of course I will personally take out Matteo along with Nino.”
“But what about Christo? If you kill his twin, you will have to take him out too.”
“I’ve already ordered a hit on him.”
“Buono, and about time, he is a disgusting man. And what of his son Mario?”
“Mario won’t take vengeance, he’s not a killer. And he hates his father, though I don’t want him to learn from anyone who ordered the hit.”
“Still, it’s a risk leaving him alive, because often sons become closer to their fathers in death.”
“I doubt that; they have him locked up in the slave cells because he chose my famiglia over his own.”
Pedro’s eyes widened. “To lock up and abuse one of their own: I cannot understand that.”
“Me neither,” I said, thinking about what Alberto had done to Jagger and Thierry. “Me neither.”
Pedro nodded. “Okay, I will think of Mario as a D’Angelo from this day forth. Now, go take care of the House of Whores...” He laughed, “...because my men have been looking forward to this very much.” He let out a loud bellow. “Tomiso, take Frano to your vehicle.”
I turned to address his second-in-command, a tall man with a battle-scarred face. Tomiso smiled at me, although it looked more like a grimace, the man not a pretty sight. He directed me to a black armored vehicle, instructing me to put on the body armor. I grabbed the bulletproof jacket, knowing the Donatelli would curse the day they didn’t kill me.
***
I frowned as I neared the destroyed gate leading to the House of Whores. I wondered what had happened and why there wasn’t a guard like there usually was. I let the bigger vehicles clear the way, then followed them down the long driveway. Tomiso, Pedro’s right-hand man was in the passenger seat, gripping his gun, looking excited over the battle ahead, although right now I was wondering whether someone had beaten us to it.
I pulled up in front of the House of Whores, where gunfire was bouncing off the armored vehicles—mine as well as all the others. Tomiso cracked hi
s window open, along with the other Landi soldier in the backseat, both of them aiming their guns up at the windows. They fired off a hail of bullets, their machine guns wiping out the windows on the top floor.
Once all the gunfire had ceased, the first wave of Landi stormed the door, their full armor saving them as more gunfire started up. Tomiso fired off rapid shots, then let out a whoop of joy. “I got the bastardo,” he said.
One of the men at the door signaled that it was safe for me to get out. I jumped out and ran for the door, Tomiso and the other man covering my rear.
As I entered the house, two Landi soldiers emerged from a door on my left, dragging a Donatelli guard behind them. They threw him at my feet, the man smelling of urine, no doubt having pissed himself after seeing the vicious looking men.
“Where is Jagger D’Angelo?” I said, glaring down at him.
“H-He’s n-not here,” the guard stuttered, barely able to get the words out. His face was red and his breathing was heavy, the fat man sounding as though he was having an asthma attack.
“Then where is he?” I added.
“I d-don’t know; a slave u-u-sed him as a hostage to-to escape.”
“What slave?!” I said, now alarmed.
“The Salvi woman. She k-k-killed a guard and beat Matteo Donatelli into unconsciousness.”
My body stiffened, knowing he was talking about the FBI agent. I turned to Tomiso. “Phone your don and tell him to send out a search party for Jagger and a brunette woman who resembles the Salvi,” I said, both furious with Rita and proud of her, the woman having done what few could.
I turned back to the quivering guard. “Where is Matteo?”
“In hospital.”
“And Mario Donatelli and the Russian?”
The guard pointed to the door he’d emerged from. “Two floors down in the women’s cells.”
I gritted my teeth, knowing that my men had been slighted even more by their placement. “Take care of him,” I said to Tomiso as I headed for the door.
The guard started begging for his life, a gunshot silencing him.
I descended the stairs, coming to a stop at the first floor. My eyes moved to the terrified group of women huddled together on my right, the line of beds behind them telling me what type of whores they were: the dehumanized puttane known as holes. Their scared faces were all trained on the men surrounding them, the Landi staring at them with pity rather than lust.
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 5 Escape Page 5
