My Masters' Nightmare, Season 1 / Episode 14

by Marita A. Hansen

  “He hurt Angelica, so we should hurt a female he loves.”

  “She’s already hurt enough, and I don’t like what’s being done to the woman. This is about Frano, not her. Break his fingers, cut his cock off, do whatever needs to be done to him, but leave the woman out of this. I’m sick of women being hurt because of us men. And if you dare rape her, you’re no heir of mine.”

  Guido placed a hand on my shoulder. “Looks like my father just saved your culo, troia, but his suggestion about Frano’s cock,” he laughed, “that’s a damn good idea. I think it would look good in his mouth—or maybe yours.” He walked around me, heading for Frano. Christo removed the knife from his belt and held it out for Guido to take.

  Frano started going ballistic, yelling, “No!”

  Knowing I had no choice now, I let go of my rope and went for Guido, whipping his gun out of his holster before anyone could react. I placed it to his back. “Drop the knife or you’re dead!” I yelled.

  He dropped it and raised his hands. My gaze moved to Christo, who looked shocked. Then his hand went for his gun.

  “Don’t!” I yelled. “Or he’s dead!”

  “You pull that trigger and you won’t have a hostage.” He cocked his head to the side. “By the way, look at his father.”

  I turned to see Don Rosso aiming his gun at me. My eyes shot back to Christo as he pulled out his gun. He placed it to Frano’s head. “Checkmate. So, drop your weapon, schiava.”

  “No, stalemate.” My eyes went to the Rosso Don. “Is vengeance worth more than your son’s life? Because right now I’m thinking about killing him.”

  “You’ll die if you do that,” he replied.

  “I’d rather die than watch you mutilate Frano. So, here’s a better option: you let Frano go, and after he’s gone you can do whatever the fuck you like to me, because I don’t give a shit anymore.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Christo said, “because if she doesn’t drop it I’ll shoot Frano.”

  “Then he’ll die a less torturous death. A second later this piece of shit in front of me will meet the same fate. Then I’ll take you out, Christo, before Don Rosso shoots me. So, make a decision, Don Rosso. What will it be?”

  “Let Frano go,” he replied.

  “No,” Christo snapped. “You wanted vengeance; I’ll give it to you.”

  “Drop the gun, Christo!”

  Christo whipped his gun around, shooting Don Rosso. The old Don fell backwards, his hand going to his chest. Guido yelled out and ran for his father, my gun meaning nothing to him now.

  Christo re-aimed his gun at Frano. “Drop the gun, schiava, or Frano’s the next one to die.”

  “You killed my father!” Guido screamed out.

  Christo smiled at him. “I planned on killing him anyway, you too. My schiava was right: I framed your famiglia. I let the oldest Landi girl live so she could tell her father what your foolish famiglia did.” He laughed. “Fuck, you are all so gullible.”

  Guido jumped up and charged at Christo, his face vicious. In the blink of an eye, Christo had a knife to Frano’s throat and his gun pointed at Guido. He fired off a shot, hitting Guido in the forehead, the man falling dead within inches of him.

  Christo returned his gaze to me. “Since those two are dead ahead of schedule, my plans have changed. I can now trade Frano for my nephew. I will also throw you in so my brother can keep his little fuck toy. So, drop the gun if you want Frano to stay alive long enough to send to the Black Russian.”

  My eyes went to the soldier. He had his gun pointed at me. Knowing I didn’t have a choice, I dropped Guido’s gun.

  “Actually,” Christo said, placing his chin on Frano’s shoulder, “maybe I’ll send Frano to the Black Russian in a body bag instead.”

  “You said—”

  “—a lot of things. Though, I’m not sure about this idea, so I’ll flip on it.” He focused on the soldier. “You got a coin?”

  The man pulled one out of his pocket.

  “Heads: Frano goes to the Black Russian alive, tails: he goes in a body bag.”

  The soldier threw the coin up in the air.

  7

  JAGGER

  The sound of water woke me up. I opened my eyes, not finding Camila lying next to me. Getting out of bed, I opened the bathroom door, instead finding her sitting in the shower. She had her back to me, the water cascading over her. Her shoulders were shaking, suggesting she was crying.

  I walked across the tiled floor and opened the shower door. She looked up at me with a tormented expression. I turned off the water, then grabbed a towel and bobbed down, wrapping it around her shoulders. “We’ll get Andriena back,” I said, pulling her into my arms.

  She leaned her cheek against my shoulder. “It’ll be too late; the Black Russian will ruin her.” She let out a sob. “When she came to live with my famiglia, me and my other sisters had to protect her.”

  “What do you mean, when she came to live with your famiglia?”

  “One of my aunties was barren. My mother allowed her to raise Andriena.”

  “She gave up her own daughter?”

  “She got postpartum depression after giving birth to Andriena. My auntie said my mother couldn’t bond with Andriena because of it. She wouldn’t even look at her, making the maids take care of my sister. When my auntie saw what was happening, she offered to raise her. My mother was happy with the offer, while my father didn’t care. Boys were everything to him. Girls in comparison were just an inconvenience he had to bear. If anything, he was probably the reason why my mother went into a depression after Andriena’s birth. He wanted more boys, yet she could only give him two. Anyway, Andriena was raised by my auntie until she died from a heart condition. She returned at fourteen, far too innocent to be living with us. She was terrified of our household. So, my two oldest sisters and I cocooned her, trying to protect her from everything.”

  “I had no idea.”

  Camila’s sobs started up again. “It’s why she’s so sweet. No one in my famiglia is like her. She’s good, unlike the rest of us.”

  I ran my hand down her wet hair. “You’re good.”

  Camila let out a half-laugh, half-cry. “I know what I am, and it’s anything but good.”

  “You helped me. You defended me against Honey.”

  She let out a choked sob. “No, I’m a murderer.”

  I continued to run my hand over her hair, wanting to comfort her. “I’ve killed before, snapped a man’s neck. It was at the House of Whores. We do things we have to. You did what you thought was right, so did I. Don’t feel guilty. Honey drugged and abused me.”

  She shook her head. “She didn’t abuse you.”

  “But, you said—”

  “I lied. I panicked and killed her, because she saw me covered in the soldier’s blood.”

  I retracted my hand. “What?”

  “I said anything to get you to help me. I’m despicable.” She wiped her face. “I killed an innocent person all because I panicked. I was scared she’d tell the other soldiers what I did. I should’ve spoken to her, not attacked her.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And now karma is punishing me through Andriena. It should be me suffering, not my sister. One sister dead,” she sobbed, “the other in the hands of a monster. I hate myself so much. I should be there in her place. I deserve to be punished for all the evil I’ve done, not Andriena.”

  Taken aback, I stared at her, unsure of how to react. She’d used my fears of being abused against me … but seeing her in torment … I couldn’t be angry with her. Although I felt bad Honey was dead, I was also relieved she was gone. She irritated me, and even worse, she’d drugged me, which meant she probably would’ve abused me eventually. I had victim stamped on my forehead, because no matter what I did, people became infatuated with me. And because I didn’t want them back, they usually ended up hurting me. I knew Camila was capable of doing it too, but for some reason, it didn’t worry or scare me. Maybe it was because she was the first person sin
ce my ex that had fully captured my attention.

  I wrapped my arms around her again. She jerked in my hold, probably surprised I wasn’t throwing a fit over her lie. I didn’t like that she’d lied to me, but I could understand it. I’d lied numerous times to cope with all the abuse I’d suffered. I’d lied about the bruises my mother used to give me when I was a child. I’d also lied about what the Padre had done to me when I was younger, fearing he would hurt my family if I didn’t. In addition, I’d lied to women so they would do what I wanted. The list went on. So, I couldn’t judge Camila, especially since she’d admitted to it.

  “I understand,” I said.

  She moved her head back, her expression confused. “But, I lied to you about something really horrible.”

  “You panicked, now you’ve owned up to it. It’s more than I ever did. That’s why no one believed me when I finally told them the Padre abused me. I lied for so long that when I finally got the courage to tell the truth, it was too late. Frano never believed me until the house was taken over. No one but my uncle believed me, and he kept it a secret too, not wanting people to know I was abused under his roof. He was ashamed of what he’d allowed to happen to me. But hiding it was wrong. If Frano had known the truth, then he could’ve been more prepared to defend the household. Which is why I can’t judge you; if anything, we’re similar in a lot of ways.”

  She shook her head. “We’re nothing alike. You’re fascinating, beautiful, the type of person people get obsessed over. You’re fragile, yet so strong—you’re a complete paradox. Me, I’m just Camila Donatelli, the rotten, spoilt troia who will lie and cheat to get what she wants.”

  “You hold me in far too high a regard. I’m crazy, not fascinating.”

  “The crazy ones are always fascinating.” She smiled sadly. “I like your unpredictability.”

  “You have strange tastes.”

  “No, you are a lot of people’s tastes. In case you haven’t noticed, everyone wants you.”

  “Not Rita. She always wanted Frano.”

  “I used to want Frano.” She ran the back of her fingers down my cheek. “Now, all I want is you.”

  I frowned at her. “Why?”

  “I already told you, you’re beautiful—”

  “No, I meant, why would you want me more than Frano? He’s stronger, has more power, and is better looking.”

  She smiled. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re drop dead gorgeous.”

  “He’s more masculine looking. That’s what women should want, not someone who’s pretty.”

  “You’re not pretty like a woman, if that’s what you’re saying. You have a masculine beauty that’s intoxicating. Also, Frano and I can’t get along. He’s too strong-willed and not to mention arrogant.”

  “Then why did you go after him instead of me in the beginning?”

  “I never considered you because you’re so much younger than me, plus no one was allowed to touch you because—”

  “—of the Padre.” I frowned. “You probably assumed I was gay because of him.”

  “Actually, I thought you were bi, since I’d seen you with women.”

  “I’m completely straight, but regardless, men still used me.” I breathed out. “It’s because I’m weak.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I am. I’m a loser in life.”

  “You’re wrong, you’re a survivor.”

  I pushed to my feet, pulling her up with me. “You should dry yourself, you’re shivering.”

  She looked straight at me. “You are a survivor, Jagger. Not many people would still be alive after what you suffered.”

  I frowned. “Do you know what was done to me at the House of Whores?”

  “No, but I can imagine it, as well as what you went through when you were younger. You survived all of that and are still alive—that’s true strength.”

  “Get dressed,” I said, not agreeing with her. Finished with the conversation, I went to leave.

  She grabbed my arm, making me stop. “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “You look it, and I’m sorry if I upset you, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you to know how wonderful you are.”

  I breathed out. “Again, you think far too highly of me.”

  “For good reason.”

  “No, you’re blinded by my looks. If anything, I should cut up my face like Matteo suggested, then see whether you think I’m still wonderful.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “It’s the truth, because my face is the only thing that people truly care about. What am I even alive for other than to be used as someone’s fuck toy or obsession? I have no fucking purpose in life other than that. I’ve also made women miserable by turning them into mindless sex slaves, while I’ve wandered around feeling sorry for myself. So, tell me exactly why I’m so fucking wonderful and not a goddamned loser?”

  “You’re only twenty-three. If you’re not happy with what you’re doing, change it. You have a whole lifetime ahead of you.”

  “I turned twenty-four yesterday.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

  “Why not?’

  “Because being born wasn’t a good thing.”

  “Is it because of my uncle?”

  “No, my mother never wanted me. She abused me well before the Padre got his hands on me. I was so used to the abuse that when your uncle started hurting me, I clamped up the same way as I did with her.”

  “She sexually abused you?” Camila said, looking horrified.

  “No, nothing like that. She used to strap me so hard I was left with welts and bruises. She also hated me being around and would constantly tell me how useless and pathetic I was.”

  Her eyes widened. “Your own mother?”

  “Sì.”

  “But, what about your father? Why didn’t he stop it?”

  “He didn’t know. He was always away with work. She would also make sure my injuries could be hidden under clothes, and because I was so scared of her, I never told him. Though, school discovered it once. I got a huge strapping because of it.”

  “Why didn’t the school take it to the authorities?’

  “Because we’re mafia.”

  “True. I remember many of the teachers treated us with kid gloves. I think they were scared of us.”

  I nodded, having experienced it. “Though, my auntie Concetta found out about the abuse. She almost killed my mother over it. I think she only stopped when she saw me by the stairs watching. I still remember what she said to my mother. It was the weirdest thing. She told her that she would pay for hurting her baby boy.”

  Camila frowned. “Her baby boy?”

  I nodded. “My auntie always told me she wished she could raise me instead of my awful mother. She was so nice to me. She often called me baby boy, though it was the first time she’d called me hers. But in the end, my auntie wasn’t able to take revenge. The next day your famiglia shot my parents dead.”

  “I thought another famiglia was responsible.”

  “They were set up. If anything, the Padre probably ordered the hit.”

  “But, I was told he met you when you moved here.”

  “No. The first time I saw him was at Sunday mass. I still remember him telling my mother that she was truly blessed by God to have an angel in her presence. A few days later her and my father were gunned down, and I was sent to my uncle’s house. Then your uncle came over to console me, pretending he was there to help me get through my parents’ deaths. Not long after that, he was helping himself to me.”

  Camila stared at me, her eyes sorrowful. “You’ve never known happiness, have you?”

  “I had moments of happiness with my father.”

  “You said he was hardly around.”

  “When he was, I treasured those moments.”

  “And since he died?”

  I grimaced.

  “Not
even one moment of happiness?”

  “I’d thought I had it with Sophia, but she deceived me.”

  Her face hardened. “That woman is a troia; she doesn’t deserve you.”

  I smiled sadly. “Who deserves me and my craziness, then?”

  She raised her chin. “I don’t, but I want to.”

  “You hardly know me, Camila, and when you do, you’ll either become obsessed with me or you’ll find a stronger man and cheat on me. That’s what women do.”

  “How many have cheated on you?”

  “Just Sophia.”

  “You shouldn’t judge all women because of one cheat.”

  “The other option isn’t good either. All the rest became obsessed with me, ending up dead or sold into slavery, or in Bianca’s case, beaten to a pulp.”

  She grimaced at Bianca’s name. “So, you don’t believe you’ll ever find someone who will stay?”

  “No. I’ll probably end up in a mental asylum. Anyway, I’m getting cold.” I headed for the wardrobe, stopping at the sound of footsteps behind me. I turned around, finding Camila staring at me strangely. “What?”

  “I want to look after you.”

  “I don’t need looking after.”

  “You just said you’ll probably end up in an asylum, which means you need looking after. I want to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to fix you.”

  “You can’t fix me; I’m completely broken.”

  “Let me try.”

  “Only the other week you couldn’t stand me. Why the sudden change?”

  “You couldn’t stand me either. And it’s because I actually got to know you.”

  I frowned. “Are you becoming obsessed with me?”

  “No, you’re just fascinating, not to mention I’m widely attracted to you. And,” she smiled, “you’re fantastic in bed.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should. And I’ll tell you another reason why I want you: I love bad boys.”

  I laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “Sì. You’re even badder than Frano.”

  “And you’re delusional. Guess my craziness is contagious.”