My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 5 Escape

by Marita A. Hansen

  Not wanting to look at them, I descended the next staircase, stopping on the floor the guard had mentioned. A few Landi soldiers were opening the cells, checking each one. Mario’s shocked cry alerted me to which cell he was in. I rushed inside, finding a soldier pointing a gun at him, Mario looking as if he thought he was going to die.

  “Put your gun down!” I barked. “He’s one of mine.”

  “Mi dispiace,” the man apologized, “I thought he was Christo Donatelli’s son.”

  “He is, but he’s still one of mine.”

  The guard apologized again, then quickly moved out of my way as I headed for Mario. I grabbed Mario into a hug, Mario hugging me back tighter. After he had calmed down, I let him go, doing my best to ignore his smell, the man no doubt not having been allowed to clean—Hell having no showers.

  “It’s good to see you, Mario,” I said.

  Mario nodded, the pain within his eyes making me worry about what had been done to him.

  “You are safe now,” I added.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then reopened them. “I saw what they did to Jagger and Sasha, and...” He looked down, “to my slaves. They slit Julie’s throat in front of me,” he let out a shuddering breath, “while Cocoa is barely alive, the abuse they heaped upon her beyond what any human can withstand. And Red... They hurt her to hurt me, raped and beat her while I was tied up, committed horrible atrocities all because...” he let out a sob, “I love her.”

  I exhaled, having known it for a while, the privileges he’d given the slave something I had reprimanded him for. Though, I had allowed him to keep her, pretending to Mario that Red required more training so it would stop him from fixating on the other slaves, Red the only one getting special treatment. I really did need some proper trainers, because both Mario and Jagger were too soft for the job. Maybe I needed to get my own hands dirty, to do some training myself. Sì, but I still needed more trainers—and a lot of them, because after today my cells were going to be brimming with women.

  “We will go find Red now,” I said to Mario, hoping that his woman wasn’t dead.

  We left the cell and entered another, where a Landi soldier was unlocking Sasha. The Russian was facing a wall, the metal cuffs attached to his wrists the only things holding him up. His naked body was hanging limply from them, the man looking barely conscious. And across his ass, the word puttano was painted in blood. My eyes widened. No, it wasn’t painted; it was etched into his flesh.

  As the last cuff came off he slumped to the floor, exhaustion enveloping him. The Landi soldier picked him up, Sasha looking almost dead.

  “Sasha,” I said.

  He didn’t react, his eyes remaining glazed over.

  “Take him to your boss’s hospital,” I said to the soldier, then headed out of the room with Mario.

  On our right, a group of naked women were being ordered out of a cell. A redhead appeared, the woman’s eyes instantly snapping to us ... no, to Mario. She let out a cry, practically bowling others over to get at Mario. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms and legs around his body, looking as if she never wanted to let go. I watched them for a few seconds, seeing how Mario peppered kisses all over her face, not caring that it was smeared with dirt.

  “Mario,” I said.

  He turned his head to me, his happy expression dropping instantly. I knew why, because he’d always been told off for showing his slaves affection, the man impossible, but I could make this one concession, Mario deserving some happiness.

  “If you wish to keep her as your own,” I said to him in Italian, “she is yours to have. It is the least I can do.”

  Mario’s mouth dropped open. “Truly?”

  “Sì.”

  His face lit up, those bright blue eyes of his stunning. “Grazie, don, grazie mille.” He refocused on Red, the woman looking confused. Mario wiped the expression off her face as he latched onto her lips, giving her the kiss of a lifetime, because she was no longer a slave, she was his woman.

  I headed back up the staircases, knowing that my job was far from finished, because I needed to go to the Donatelli abode straight away.

  The Landi soldiers who had been ordered to protect me, followed me outside, piling into the four-wheel drive we’d arrived in, Tomiso taking the steering wheel this time. He backed out as I clicked on my seatbelt, then headed down the driveway. Within minutes he was driving down a much grander entrance, one that led to the Donatelli house, the beautiful Baroque-styled palazzo worthy of royalty, the line of statues leading to it reminding me of centurions, although in this case they could do nothing but watch their masters fall.

  Tomiso pulled the vehicle alongside a row of black vans. Several Santini men were patrolling the front with a few Rocco guards, which intrigued me. Although the Rocco famiglia were closely linked to the Santini, I didn’t realize they supported me, but then again, I was going to be the new head of the island and the Roccos always sided with the winners, their don a crafty and highly intelligent man.

  I got out of the vehicle and headed for the front entrance, the Santini and Roccos parting for me. I stepped inside and walked through to the formal lounge, where I had instructed the women and children to be taken. Chandeliers lined the ceilings while gold-framed pictures decorated the walls, and like outside, there were more statues, but in a much more extravagant baroque-style, their overabundance of swirls and saintly faces reminding me of Bernini’s work. The Donatelli were a showy bunch of thugs, who took great pride in displaying their wealth.

  More Santini guards parted for me, allowing me access to a scared bunch of women and children, who were huddled in the far corner, the marble angel overlooking the group unable to save them. The don’s widow was clutching onto two of her grandchildren while her daughter-in-law, Lucky’s wife, was holding her sixteen-year-old daughter. And in front of them sat the four sisters, Camila, my ex-lover, the only one not looking scared. Instead, she appeared furious, her eyes boring holes into the Santini men.

  Her head snapped around to me as I neared her, recognition flashing across her face, hate quickly following. She jumped to her feet and charged at me, but got shunted back by a Santini guard. She turned to him and slapped him hard across the face, screaming profanities. The guard went to hit her back, but stopped as I yelled at him not to. Only I had a right to slap the bitch, which I knew I would do many times.

  The guard quickly moved out of my way as I headed for Camila. She stormed towards me, waving her arms about, screaming, “Get out of my house!”

  I stopped a few feet from her and smiled, receiving great pleasure in saying my next words: “This is my house now, not yours, so you will be the one leaving.”

  “I will not!” she spat, her blue eyes blazing. She was a true beauty. Her long black hair was thick and luscious while her olive skin was flawless—and that body of hers ... it was a delight to fuck. But despite all of that, her personality was far too acidic for my taste, nastier than all the Donatelli put together.

  My smile widened. “Oh, you will be leaving here; your don has decreed it.”

  “My father is dead!” she snapped. “Show some respect.”

  “It’s you who needs to show respect, because I’m your don now.”

  “You are not my don, Frano. You are a manwhore who cheated on me.”

  “I didn’t cheat, I left you, and if you don’t get on your knees and accept your lot in life I will make you a slave like your vile famiglia did to me and my own.”

  She spat in my face.

  I wiped it, then slapped her hard, plastering her face with her own spit. She cried out and grabbed her cheek, then spat at me again, the witch knowing no boundaries or reason. The second slap sent her to back a few steps, the sound loud even to my ears. She went for me with her nails extended. I sidestepped her and grabbed her hair, then kicked the back of her knees, sending her crashing to the floor. The banshee screamed out, whipping the other women into a frenzy, her sisters jumping to their feet. The Santin
i men shoved them back down, the women crying out in anger and fear.

  The children started wailing as Camila’s mother screamed at me to let her daughter go, the old woman’s face swollen with grief.

  “Take the children out,” I yelled at the Santini.

  More screaming started up, the mothers and grandmother gripping onto the children as the Santini men descended upon them.

  “Shoot at the ceiling,” I told the guard next to me.

  The gun went off, freezing everyone in place.

  I raised my voice. “Unless you want me to kill all of you, allow the children be taken to safety.”

  The women started sobbing as the Santini men wrenched the screaming children from their arms, the oldest girl giving them the most trouble, the little spitfire reminding me of a young Camila. One of the bigger guards grabbed her and lifted her off the floor, following the others out of the room.

  I indicated to Don Donatelli’s wife and her oldest daughter, as well as Lucky’s wife. “Take them to the cells below.” I watched the women get dragged away, the don’s wife shouting at me not to hurt her daughters, the old woman even louder than her late husband.

  I waited until they were gone, then focused on Camila’s two sisters, the women beauties like their younger sister. They would sell well, although Camila would take a lot of work to break, the woman vicious.

  “Strip those two,” I said, pointing to her sisters.

  The women started screaming as the Santini guards descended upon them, the men ripping their clothes off them. Camila went crazy, trying to get free from me, but I held on tight to her hair. She twisted around and swiped out at my legs. I kicked her, then placed my boot on her chest and pushed her down.

  Once her sisters were stripped naked, they grabbed a hold of each other, sobbing uncontrollably. They were in their mid-thirties, their bodies still beautiful, although the older one’s breasts were too firm to be natural. The men leered at them, occasionally giving me looks, no doubt wanting permission to fuck the women.

  Camila screamed curses at the men, telling them she would slit their throats if they touched her sisters again, which made me consider letting the men rape them in front of her—just to prove her wrong.

  “Your uncle raped my cousin,” I said to her, making the witch stop screaming, “He did horrendous things to Jagger, yet I bet you didn’t care then.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Jagger,” she spat, looking as if she wanted to slit me from ear to ear. Even though she was only twenty-nine, the youngest of her siblings, she was by far the strongest willed, just a pity that her father never saw it, because she would’ve been a fine head of her famiglia, her womanhood the only thing getting in the way.

  I yanked her hair back so she was looking up at my face. “Which means I don’t give a shit about your sisters.” I nodded at the Santini. “You can have them as payment, they are yours.”

  The sisters started screaming again, desperately trying to cling onto each other as the men descended upon them, which set Camila off again, her words a blur, her struggles to get free from me almost noble. She turned and started hitting out at me, using her legs and arms, anything to get free. I let go of her hair and brought my heal down into her stomach, winding her as the Santini carried off her sisters. Her sisters’ screams drew further away, setting her off again. She went to get up, but I kicked her harder, making her splutter. I then dropped down on her and grabbed her blouse, ripping it open. I shoved her bra up then pulled her skirt and knickers down, exposing her. Feeling vindicated, I rose to my feet and spat down on her chest, the woman still stunned and unable to even speak.

  “You are my slave now, which means you don’t have a right to ask for anything. You are no longer Donatelli, you are nameless.”

  That seemed to kick her into gear again. She pulled up her knickers and screamed, “I am Donatelli! And I will kill you if you don’t kill me now.”

  “Don’t tempt me, bitch.”

  “Do it, just do it! I should be killed like the men.”

  “The men won’t be killed—for now, I have other plans for them.” I smiled.

  She went still, fear now darkening her blue eyes. “They have done nothing to you, so let them go.”

  “Nothing? Nothing?!” I spat, angered by her ignorance or lack of care. “I was stripped naked and almost raped by your uncle! Then I was paraded in front of other dons to be made a mockery of. I was beaten and knocked unconscious, told lies so my house could be stolen out from under me. And if that wasn’t enough, Matteo murdered my father, a defenseless old man. I will crucify him along with any other male who touched me and my own.”

  She stared at me, looking completely shocked. Maybe she hadn’t known what had been done to me: how the Padre had pawed my body, how her brothers had hit me over and over again, laughing as I was humiliated, as my father was shot... I blinked, realizing all of my memory had returned, everything now clear, including my brother’s betrayal. I took a step back, seeing that I was doing to her what had been done to me. I shook my head, not wanting to think that. I was a don, not a Good Samaritan, my role clearly written in other people’s blood. I was to bring my enemies to their knees so that my famiglia could rise up higher, making the D’Angelos a force to be reckoned with.

  I glared down at Camila. “You will suffer, trust me on that. I will break you until you’re a quivering mess and no longer yourself, other than a weak bitch who will kiss my feet. And then I will sell you for a pittance, which is all you’re worth.” I turned and walked away, yelling at the guards to take her to my cells. Ignoring the curses she threw at me, I headed into the next room where the Donatelli men were sitting on the floor. My face hardened even more, noticing some of them missing.

  “Where is the Padre and Nino?!” I snapped.

  The Santini guard on my left straightened. “They were last seen taking Matteo out of the hospital.”

  I swore, this being bad. I waved my hand up in the air. “Put them in the cells, I will deal with them later,” because the men were of little consequence, the weak ones of their famiglia.

  I headed for the front door, needing to return home as soon as possible, so I could phone the Black Russian, something I wasn’t looking forward to.

  ***

  A little over thirty minutes later, I entered my house after Tomiso had checked the entrance and adjoining areas. Three Santini men also followed me in, aiming their guns at different doorways, making sure I wasn’t walking into a Donatelli ambush, those missing men concerning me.

  I yelled out for Alberto, hoping that he didn’t answer me, because that would mean he’d done as he’d been told: packed and left. A female voice answered instead, hollering my name. I turned to Jagger’s slave cells, recognizing the American voice: it was Rita, the FBI agent, the person who Bianca and Alberto had told me wasn’t real. But, I had known all along she was, even when I didn’t have all of my memory. A sudden burst of fear hit me. Rita had escaped with Jagger, which meant...

  I rushed down the staircase and grabbed the keys off the wall, opening the cell as fast as I could. As I entered, Rita took a few steps back. Blood colored her face and knuckles, with a few streaks also on her naked body.

  “Where’s Jagger?” I said.

  “Alberto took him.”

  I turned and headed out of the cell, throwing the keys at a Santini guard, telling him to lock her in. I pushed past another man, who was carrying an unconscious Camila down the steps, then yelled at two more to follow me as I sprinted for the main staircase. I took to it two steps at a time, my heart racing ahead of me, because I knew what Alberto was doing to Jagger—or had done. In no time I was outside his bedroom, his door locked. I yelled out to Alberto to open up, then started kicking at the door, not willing to wait even a second, my need to save Jagger overtaking me.

  I continued to kick at the door until a crack sounded, the lock breaking free from its jamb, the door smashing against the wall. I rushed inside, freezing almost instantly, what I
saw on the bed making me feel sick. Jagger was splayed across the mattress naked. His wrists were tied to the headboard while his legs were spread wide and attached to the bottom of the bed. He was bleeding from the nose and his right ear, and below... I covered my mouth. The sheet between his legs... The cum... The blood... I wanted to shout out in rage, to curse and yell, asking God how my own brother could do such a thing to our cousin. He was sangue—blood, one of our own. But I knew how: through me. I was to blame for this. I was too soft when it came to Alberto, had always been. I had pandered to his sick whims for far too long, allowing him to think he could get away with anything, but he couldn’t any longer, and I was the only one who could stop him.

  I yelled at the guards to find him, knowing he’d escaped out the window, which was wide open. The guards took off out of the room. Instead of following them, I headed for the bed, pulling my knife from my pocket. I flicked it open and cut the ties from Jagger’s ankles, the blood staining them showing how hard he had fought Alberto. I moved up to the headrest and cut the ties from his bloodied wrists. His arms flopped down, almost lifeless. Although he was breathing, his expression was dead, the man broken. I smoothed back his hair, seeing Thierry in him, the vulnerability inherent within the brothers.

  “Jagger,” I said, turning his face to me.

  He stared right through me, lost in his own nightmare.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “So sorry. I should have believed you.”

  He continued to stare through me.

  “I will do anything for you now. I am forever in your debt,” I said.

  He blinked, a single tear running down his cheek. “Kill me.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not the one who should die.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead, then left the room, knowing what I had to do.