I pointed at Camila. “Everything I do to her will be because of your disobedience. If I slap her, it’s because you spoke out of turn, if I fuck her, it’s because you can’t admit to wanting me, and if you dare speak of my famiglia again, I will torture one of hers. Understand?”
Rita remained still, looking as though she wasn’t sure how to reply to my angry words, then ever so slightly, a nod came, my first breakthrough. To train her I needed leverage, and Camila was going to be just that.
I turned and walked over to my knife, swiping it up off the floor. “Up,” I said, heading for Camila.
Keeping her eyes on me, she got to her feet, her chain jangling from the movement.
“Take two steps forward.”
She obeyed me, the chain stopping her from moving any further.
I moved behind her and sat down on the chair. “Sit on my lap,” I said, taking a hold of my hard cock.
Camila looked down at it and shook her head.
“Sit on my lap,” I repeated.
“Fuck you, Frano!”
I placed my knife next to my cock. “Which one would you prefer to sit on?”
“The knife.”
“Okay, sit on it then.”
She shook her head again.
“Don’t say something you don’t mean, cara.”
“I’m not your dear!”
“You used to call me caro, even using the endearment after I left you.” I ran my hand up and down my cock. “You also used to beg to ride my cazzo, yet now you would rather sit on my knife? Make up your mind.”
“You have imprisoned my famiglia!”
“Which means I have leverage over you. By the way, your mother isn’t too happy with her accommodation. I guess she doesn’t like damp cells. Do you wish for her to be moved to a nicer prison, maybe her own bedroom?”
“In exchange for you fucking me?”
“No, in exchange for you capitulating to me. It can be you licking my feet, bouncing on my cock, or whatever the hell takes my fancy. I don’t really care, just as long as you submit.”
Her jaw clenched. “If I do this, you must put my mother in her bedroom.”
“Now, that’s not what submitting means. It means you must do what I say; then I might think about being nice to your mother instead of letting her rot in your family’s prison.”
She grimaced at me, but still nodded. “Where are the condoms?”
I smiled. “If I wear a condom, I can’t get you pregnant.”
“Which is the point!”
“But I want you pregnant with my bambino or bambina.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“To eliminate the Donatelli line by making them D’Angelos.” I ran my hand up and down my cock again. “So, sit on my cazzo.”
She shook her head.
“Do it or I will slice your throat open.”
She raised her chin. “I’d rather die than spawn your devils.”
I stood up and placed the knife to her throat. “Do you truly choose death over getting pregnant by me, Camila?”
She tilted her chin up even more. “Sì.”
I drew the knife across her throat, but only enough to sting. She hissed and stepped away from the blade.
I lowered the knife to her stomach. “How about I gut you instead?”
She shook her head and went to take another step back, but the chain attached to her snapped into place, stopping her from moving any further.
I ran the knife’s tip across her soft belly, making her flinch. “I have only stabbed one person in the stomach before.” I paused, my emotions choking me again, something I didn’t want her to see, the woman not giving a shit about Alberto. I breathed out, forcing myself to say the words. “It was my brother.”
Her eyes went wide, the gasp from the other side of the room telling me that Rita was also shocked.
My hand clenched around the knife, my knuckles hurting from the pressure. “Which means stabbing you would mean nothing to me. Nothing. If anything, it will make me feel better, because at least I will have someone else’s blood on my hands.” I sat back down on the chair. “So, sit on my fucking cock!”
Camila stepped closer, her chain jangling. She turned around, showing me that peachy ass of hers.
“Take a hold of my cock, and if you hurt it, I will color my hands with your blood,” I said.
She grabbed my cock, slowly lowering herself onto it, pushing me inside of her inch by glorious inch. I gasped, the woman tighter than I remembered. She came to a stop on my lap, finally sitting on it like I had asked, her long black hair tickling my chest. I brushed it over her shoulder, then pushed her head forward, so I could see Rita. “Move up and down,” I said, staring at Rita. She was watching me with wide eyes. Her face was flushed, her mouth was open, and her brown hair was wild—the woman beyond sexy.
“Faster,” I instructed Camila. She picked up speed, making me groan. Even though my ex’s grip on my cock was exquisite, I still wished I was filling Rita instead.
I smacked Camila’s ass. “Faster.” She started panting, her groans breaking through, the woman thirsty for my cock. She rode me hard, causing her big tits to bounce. I reached around and grabbed one of them, tweaking her nipple. Her pussy clenched in response, making me gasp.
My eyes returned to Rita. Looking embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. I let out a loud groan for her benefit. She glanced back up. Her face was redder than her natural hair color, the roots starting to become noticeable. She reminded me so much of my murdered lover. I groaned again, imagining the time Sophia had come to my bedroom seven years ago. She’d been distressed over something, my beautiful amore looking so fragile. I’d sat her down on my bed, asking what was wrong. She’d burst into tears, so I had pulled her into my arms, giving her comfort. Although I had wanted to give her more, to have her beneath me, naked and writhing in ecstasy as I filled her. I don’t quite remember who had made the first move, who kissed who, whose hands roamed over the other’s body. I groaned, remembering how we had ripped each other’s clothes off frantically, and how I had pushed her down, entering her with nothing between us. She had been much tighter than Camila, so tight that it had been painful, but I still wanted her wrapped around me, squeezing the life out of my cock. I groaned, remembering how she had cried out, telling me it hurt her too, but she still begged me not to stop. I knew she was a virgin, Jagger had told me. He’d asked me advice about how to have sex with her, the boy rather clumsy with women back then. I was such a bastardo for stealing his love, but she was my love too, and she had come to me, kissed me, wanted me as much as I had wanted her.
“Sophia, ti amerò per sempre,” I said, telling my dead lover I would love her forever.
The woman I was in stiffened, but it wasn’t Camila’s reaction that got my attention, it was Rita’s gasp and the way her hand went to her heart as though I had spoken the words to her. But I hadn’t, because she wasn’t my Sophia.
She squeezed her eyes shut, appearing upset. I had no idea why my words would elicit such a reaction, because even though she lusted after me, she hated me even more.
I hit Camila’s back. “Get off me,” I snapped, not wanting to finish inside of her.
She rose to her feet and glared down at me. Her face was just as flushed as Rita’s, but with anger instead of desire. I pushed up and shoved her roughly to the side, making her curse. She went for me, telling me I was a stronzo—an asshole. I shoved her harder, sending her to the floor this time. “Stay down there, or I’ll bring you to a completion you don’t want.”
She glared back, but didn’t get up, the woman for once showing some intelligence. I turned and headed for Rita, stopping just outside of her reach. I took a hold of my cock, running my hand up and down the shaft, wanting to come on her. She stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. I leaned my head back, and continued to stroke myself, now desperate to come. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Sophia standing before me—her gaze filled with love, not hate.
/> “Sophia,” I gasped, moving my hand over my cock faster, groaning as I came, drawing it out, making it last. Once I’d finished, I opened my eyes and almost laughed. Rita’s legs and stomach were splattered with my cum, a true work of art.
“Next time I’ll aim for your mouth, it’ll be less messy,” I said, using her own words from the other day against her.
Rita’s face darkened, but she kept her mouth shut. I turned to Camila, who was looking furious, her gaze going between me and Rita. I wasn’t sure why she was including Rita in on the glare. Maybe it was jealousy, or more likely over the fact that it was Rita who had gotten her fucked.
Still holding the knife, I swiped up my clothes and headed for the door, wondering how things were going to play out between them. I hoped for the worst, which was a distinct possibility with Camila, who hated me lusting after anyone but herself—whether she wanted me or not. And I wouldn’t put it past her to try to seduce me in an attempt to escape. If anything, I was surprised she hadn’t already tried, but I guess the hurt I’d done to her famiglia was probably too fresh, the woman needing to vent her anger instead. Though, it was just a matter of time before her calculating mind started working, and I looked forward to the games. I also looked forward to seeing her lose every battle we fought, tearing a piece of her hope away one bit at a time until there was nothing left.
I banged on the door for the guard to open up.
“What about me?” Camila said. “I need to be unlocked so I can clean myself.”
“You can keep my smell on you.”
“But I need to use the bathroom.”
I sneered at her. “You can piss yourself for all I care, like your famiglia made Mario do when they locked him up.”
“I didn’t know anything about that, and if I had, I would have gotten him released.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true! He’s my cousin.”
“It’s too late; he suffered, and now you will too.”
The guard opened the door, his eyes widening when he saw me naked. He might as well get used to it, because it was going to be a frequent occurrence. Or maybe I should bring a towel with me the next time, like Jagger used to. My cousin had a habit of walking around the house in a towel, going between his room and the cells, not giving a shit who saw. If only he’d known my sick brother had been watching him. I gritted my teeth, upset with myself for thinking about Alberto again. It made me want to stick the knife in my chest, to cut out the pain, anything to forget about what I had done.
I headed up the staircase, ignoring the other guard’s look of surprise. I crossed the entrance and dining-room, ascending the main staircase, going straight to my bedroom. After a quick shower and shave, I dressed in my best black suit, and then went to Jagger’s room. I ran my hand over his door, wondering whether I should leave him in peace. No, I wanted to find out how he was doing. He hadn’t left his room since I had carried him there, and worse, he was refusing to eat, his nurse now having to force feed him.
I knocked softly, then opened the door. Honey glanced up. The blonde slave was sitting on a chair next to Jagger’s bed, reading a book as my cousin slept. She looked like an innocent Marilyn Monroe, all sweetness and light. She was wearing one of Bianca’s dresses, the soft pink against her honey-colored skin lovely. Slaves weren’t normally permitted clothing, but she was Jagger’s nurse now, so I had given her some liberties.
She smiled at me sadly, her gaze flicking to Jagger, who was sleeping soundly, probably from being sedated. He needed time to heal, if in fact he could. Though, I believed in him, my cousin stronger in mind than body. He had lived through five years of abuse at the hands of the Padre, had escaped the psycho a second time, and he would live through Alberto’s abuse as well. I was certain of it.
“How is he?” I asked Honey.
“Better. He actually allowed me to feed him today.”
“That’s pleasing to hear.” I smiled at her, wondering whether she could make Jagger happy once more; if he had ever been happy. My cousin was a melancholy person, which was understandable. His childhood had held nothing but pain, even before the Padre. His dead mother had been a nasty battle-ax, a fire-breathing dragon.
Honey’s cheeks reddened, probably from my stare. “Is there anything else you want me to do?” she asked.
“No, my cousin is your top priority.”
She smiled. “He truly is. I love him with all my heart.”
“Buono. And if you succeed in making him happy, I will give you my blessing to be with him—that’s if he still wants you.”
A huge smile split her features. “I will make him happy; I will do anything for him.”
“I believe you. Just one more thing, Bianca is returning home tomorrow and will also need to be taken care of. She’s had plastic surgery due to the damage my brother...” I paused, Alberto constantly coming to mind. I pushed the pain down and continued, “She can only eat through a straw at the moment, so you will have to feed her cool soups and soft foods.”
Honey blanched, but still nodded. I knew Bianca hated her, Honey knew it too. Bianca was jealous of Honey’s connection to Jagger, but Honey was an actual nurse, and I wanted Bianca taken care of properly, so Honey would just have to deal with Bianca’s jealousy.
I said my thanks, then headed for Alberto’s room. I stopped outside his door, running my hand over the wood. My chest hurt at the emptiness both inside the room and within myself. My actions towards Alberto may have been justified, but I still should’ve done more for him, anything that would have stopped me from having to attend his funeral. A funeral I was responsible for, one I shouldn’t attend, but who else would go, the cook? She was the only other person who would mourn Alberto, my brother having been a favorite of hers, because of his love of her cooking.
I headed down the staircase, and across the floor to the front door. The guard opened it for me. I stepped outside into the bright daylight. The sound of gulls filled the air, the shore practically kissing my driveway. Pulling out my sunglasses from my pocket, I slipped them on and walked down the path to Mario, who was standing by one of three armored vehicles that Pedro Landi had given me.
Once we were inside, the driver started the engine then pulled out, following the first vehicle while the other one shadowed us. Both of them contained soldiers whose job was to protect me and Mario.
I looked out my window as the chauffeur drove past the shore, startling a flock of seagulls. I counted them as they flew across the water. It brought back memories of Alberto and I fighting over who had counted the most seagulls, a game we used to play as children.
Countryside flew past my window: steep hills, vineyards, stone houses, horses... My thoughts shifted to the times Alberto and I went out riding. We would never do that again—all because of me. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, wishing I was going anywhere but my brother’s funeral.
***
The sound of gravel caught my attention, making me open my eyes. We were entering the cemetery, sneaking in through the back entrance, although I didn’t know how we were being inconspicuous since we stuck out with our procession of four-wheel drives.
Our vehicle came to a halt. The guards from the other vehicles piled out. They got into position, pointing their guns up at the hills, which surrounded the cemetery, making sure I didn’t get picked off by a sniper during the funeral. Stepping out of the vehicle, I glanced up at the hills, at all the possible places a sniper could hide. I wondered whether the Donatelli rebels were up there now, just waiting to take me out with a single shot to my head—the way my father had died. If they succeeded in killing me, then so be it, but if they didn’t I would find them and gut the bastards. No, I would shoot Matteo in the head like he had done to my father.
I headed through the gate, my gaze falling on the old cook. The battle-ax was standing behind the young priest, with her daughter next to her. Four people and the priest—the only ones who cared enough to see Alberto off. It just made my
pain deepen, that this was what Alberto’s life had amounted to.
I stopped a few feet from my brother’s coffin, which was now resting in its grave. I breathed out, the sound shuddering, pained. I blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry.
This was my doing.
I shouldn’t cry.
I put him there.
I did this.
Being here was as much my punishment as it was his.
I was a monster, a killer of famiglia just like my goddamned father. If anything, I deserved to be in that coffin, not Alberto.
Mario gave my shoulder a squeeze, making me wish it was my brother comforting me instead. I envisioned Alberto telling me he forgave me, that he understood why I had killed him. Although that wouldn’t be what Alberto would’ve said. Instead, he would’ve told me that he hated me for what I had done to him, and that I would burn in Hell for it, something I deserved without a doubt.
The priest started talking. I ignored him, my mind too focused on my brother’s coffin.
I put him there, I put him there...
Those words were the only ones that filled my head, repeating over and over again. I knew many people hated Alberto, and for just cause, but they didn’t know him as a child, didn’t feel his loving hugs or hear his funny laugh. They didn’t swim in the lake with him, or paddle down the river. He was my closest companion, the one who laughed at my stupid jokes, who roughhoused with me, who, who...
I heard a choked cry. The cook’s gaze moved to me, making me realize it had come from me. Her harsh face softened; her features full of sympathy. I had known her all of my life, the woman a part of my famiglia, but I didn’t deserve her sympathy. Instead, I wanted to yell at her that it was me who had put Alberto in his grave—that I was his murderer.
I looked down at my hands, seeing his blood on them. They were clean, but my mind wasn’t. I had scrubbed my hands raw after I had killed him. But no matter what I did, no matter how clean they were, I would forever see his blood staining my palms, my mind punishing me for the remainder of my life.
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Ep. 6 Consequences Page 2
