by Jen Davis
“What does it matter, Castello?” She grabbed the crucifix around her neck and rubbed the silver between her fingers. “None of this matters now. He is dead, and so is your father. Your responsibility is to make sure those guilty of taking their lives pay for what they have done. That woman needs to die. Every member of her family needs to suffer—just as we have suffered.”
Every word my mother spoke was coated with sheer venom, like she hated Tatum enough to poison her with insults and slurs. And she had a way to make everyone around her feel her pain, feel her hatred, feel everything she was feeling by using perfectly chosen words, body language, and facial expressions to suck a person into her world, into her dilemma—which was probably why Uncle Gino thought her to be a master manipulator.
I placed my hands in my lap. “Don’t you think you should call it a night, Madre?”
“No. I’m fine. I want to be here.”
“I don’t think it’s good for you to be around her. Your wounds are still too raw to face the demon that caused them.”
She glanced around the room and sighed. “Perhaps you are right, mio figlio. I can feel her presence tainting my soul.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. My mother had always been a religious woman who believed in outside influences shaping our souls, either lifting our spirits or breaking them. Me, I never could decide on which side of the religious line drawn between good and evil I stood. It was too daunting to think we didn’t have control over our spirits, our own souls, that mere meek individuals had the power to influence us. I preferred to think our souls were free and took the shape they were destined to be, whether tainted by blood, greed, lust, or any other sin you could think of. Needless to say, I never shared my mother’s outlook on the topic of religion. Carlo did, though. Carlo would sit next to her in church every Sunday, reciting Psalms and taking part in mass. On occasion, I would join them, but then I’d end up thinking it all was just an act, everyone attending church only doing so to keep up appearances. No one was without sin, yet everyone who sat there pretended they were, when I knew for a fact that Mr. Terelli cheated on his wife every chance he got. And Mrs. Cassia, whose eyes hid behind the veil of her hat, stared at all the young boys, her mind filled with perverted images of each and every one of them.
Then there was Father Ginelli, the priest, the shepherd supposed to lead his flock to eternal life, to save as many souls as he could. At night, when the darkness cast shadows over the city, he fucked every male prostitute he could find. So how could I sit there, searching for redemption and spiritual leadership, when I was surrounded by sinners pretending to be saints? I couldn’t—which was why I stopped going to Sunday mass and started ignoring my mother’s backhanded remarks about my spirit and soul needing guidance.
I would guide my own damn life, do with my spirit and soul as I pleased.
I stood and leaned over to give her a loving kiss on her forehead. “Go rest, Madre. Leave the family business to me. I won’t let you down.”
“I know, Castello.” She placed her hand on mine, resting on her shoulder. “Your father would have been proud.”
Her words spoke to the broken heart beating miserably inside my chest. Making my father proud wasn’t something I was able to do while he was alive. I hoped I could do it now, in his death.
With a heavy sigh, I watched as my mother exited the dining hall. Letting her find peace, honoring her, and taking care of her was what my father would have wanted. Carlo too. Which was why I couldn’t fail.
Renewed determination filled the center of my belly, burning through my veins. I grabbed my newly filled glass and a knife, clinking to get everyone’s attention.
Silence settled over the room, and eyes focused on me.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I know this is quite a somber issue we’re addressing here tonight, but nevertheless, it is what’s required of us as a family—and that’s what each and every one of you are. Family. Whether by blood or by proven loyalty, we stand together and unite against those who have wronged us.” I turned my attention to Tatum hanging from the ceiling, her big, fearful eyes focused on me. “Which, in this case, is her.”
Curses, profanities, and disrespectful sneers erupted her way. I started toward her, our gazes locked on one another. She swayed, trying to cower away, but the chains kept her in place, and she sucked in a breath when I stopped right in front of her.
Her crystal blue eyes were clouded with fear, but I saw the way her pupils dilated the second she felt my breath on her lips. And there was no way I could have missed how she sucked in a breath when I touched her collarbone, slowly easing my fingertip between her breasts, down the middle. Something inside her liked my touch; I knew it by her slightly parted lips and the way her body trembled.
I leaned forward, whispering so no one else could hear me. “Be brave, little mouse.”
Abruptly, I tore through the rest of the rag, leaving nothing to cover any part of her front. Her whimpers quickly turned into sobs, and I smiled, loving how humiliation brought the faintest of pink to her cheeks. A quick glance down to what hid between her legs and my cock responded, instantly pushing painfully against my pants, wanting inside her bare pussy.
Fuck, I needed to get my shit under control.
I stepped to the side and pointed toward her naked front. “Take a good look at this woman before you. This is the reason we buried my father and my brother. This is the reason we have all been grieving for the last few months.” I glanced at her, the tears on her cheeks glinting under the lights. “But tonight, this family starts its journey to healing.” I looked back at the crowd. “I swear, on my life, that I will not fail this family and that I will make them pay for taking my brother’s and my father’s lives.”
Cheers echoed through the dining hall, men clapping and clinking drinks. I saw pride in all the eyes focused on me. This was what a leader did. He motivated, he inspired, and he provoked strength in each of his subjects. This was what I was meant to do. Inspire. Not think about sinful acts and sordid fantasies about the enemy.
Tatum stared at me, her eyes pleading for mercy, but there would be none. Not for her.
I turned around and started to walk away.
“Castello.”
I paused when I heard Vico from among the crowd. There was a prickle of warning in the back of my skull, knowing my little brother was up to no good.
I turned to face him. “Vico.”
“Don’t you think we deserve to see her punished?” The way he squared his shoulders, pushing out his chest, made him look like a damn arrogant peacock.
“She will be punished, brother.”
Nicollo stepped beside Vico, his black hair slicked back. “You say that, yes. But as you so eloquently put it, we are all grieving. So don’t you think we all deserve to see her be punished?”
His gaze was etched on mine, filled with amusement and vindictiveness. If I ever had the option to eliminate one person from the Fattore family, Nicollo would be that person.
With controlled calmness, I straightened my shirt sleeves while I secretly fumed on the inside. “Miss Linscott will be taken care of as planned.”
“That’s not enough,” Vico said, loud enough for every member in the dining hall to hear. “We want to share in it. We have the right to witness some of the penance she pays for her sins.”
This wasn’t a mere request. It was a challenge, in front of all the men of our family. He might never admit it, but I knew that deep down he thought he was the better man to lead the family. On numerous occasions, he would make it known that I didn’t have the spine or the balls to take our family to the top. What his idea of “the top” was, I didn’t know. We already had everything—money, power, respect. What the hell more did he want?
“What exactly did you have in mind, little brother?”
Vico lifted a brow, clearly taking offense in my use of the word little. Good. It was intended to be offensive.
Nicollo leaned in, whispering somethi
ng to Vico. Immediately, I knew whatever was about to come out of Vico’s mouth next, I wasn’t going to like it since Nicollo was the devil sitting on Vico’s shoulder, urging him to do his wicked bidding.
A sly grin started at the corners of Vico’s mouth. “Lashing. The slut needs to be punished with lashes. Let her experience just a sliver of the pain we have to bear because of her.”
There were a few voices echoing around in the dining hall in agreement, and I knew right then that this was a request I couldn’t ignore or deny.
Vico stepped forward. “You are the boss, and the pleasure of taking revenge is yours. But I lost a brother too, a father. So let me be the one to deal the lashes. Give me the chance to feel like my pain is also being acknowledged.”
Motherfucker. He was playing the sympathy card. And by the way most of the men nodded and answered in agreement, it was fucking working. Vico was forcing my hand, putting me in a corner where I had no choice, unless I wanted to show weakness—which in this case, I didn’t. I couldn’t afford to show any kind of weakness, not when everyone came tonight to see me play the part of the new Boss.
I glanced at Uncle Gino, who gave me a slight nod, confirming I had no choice.
“Fine.” I didn’t look at my brother. “Five lashes.”
“Ten,” Vico countered, his eyes sparkling with malice. The solid determination on his face and the clear support of the crowd left me no choice but to concede.
With a deep sigh, I lifted my hand, gesturing for him to go ahead. Another round of cheers erupted, the sound of glass clinking together echoing in my ears like nails on blackboard. As I watched every face around me, beaming with excitement at the prospects of a woman getting beaten, a chill ran down my spine. We were fucking savages. I was a fucking savage.
I gritted my teeth as I watched Vico remove his belt, folding it in half and snapping the straps together, sounding like a gunshot.
Tatum squirmed, more blood running down the side of her mouth from the rope cutting into her flesh. Vico stalked around her, circling her while never taking his hungry, vicious, black eyes off her. It was there, on his face, his intention to hurt her as much as humanly possible. I’ve never seen this amount of hate, this intense need to harm and destroy in Vico before. It was like he flipped a switch and went from just a mere arrogant pain in the ass to a resolute warmonger.
But did I not have the same intention when all this started? Did I not still have that intention brewing inside my gut, to destroy and harm Tatum Linscott?
I moved through the crowd, unintentionally stepping in next to Uncle Gino. He didn’t say anything, but I felt the apprehension radiate from his stance.
Vico came up behind Tatum, placing his hands on her shoulders, whispering something into her ear. I could just imagine what kind of disgusting, perverted things he was saying to her. Her eyes closed, more tears streaming down her face. I’d never seen a person cry so much.
The sound of fabric being torn resounded around us. Vico had torn the entire rag off her body, leaving her completely and utterly naked.
A slight twinge throbbed against my ribs, but I ignored it. I also ignored the urge to walk up to Vico, punch him in the face, then carry Tatum out of there, to my room, where I would be the one dealing the lashes…right before I fucked her.
My heart stuttered as Vico took a step back, lifting his hand in the air. And then the sound of the first lash caused my ears to ring. Tatum moaned with the rope in her mouth, the chains above her rattling and clinking together as she swayed from the force.
The second lash was even louder, Tatum’s scream muffled by the rope. Then the third blow fell. The more Vico struck her, the darker his eyes became, his features hard and unyielding. He loved it, and the worst part, I couldn’t blame him. All I could think about was whipping her ivory skin into a gorgeous shade of red, to give her pain…but for an entirely different reason.
Four…five…
Tatum’s screams and moans got softer and softer, her head no longer held up high. It seemed like she had somehow cut off from what was happening to her, like she no longer registered the pain being inflicted on her body. The very unwelcome twinge inside my chest intensified with every lash. I bit the inside of my mouth, desperately fighting the urge to stop it all. Her soft cries and whimpers, the way her body swayed, and the sound of the chains complaining above her had me feeling like I could tear my own goddamn skin off—or Vico’s.
Six…seven…
“You need to stop this, Castello.” Uncle Gino turned toward me. “Stop this now.”
I didn’t think. I just acted by storming through the crowd toward where Tatum hung like a rag doll from the roof.
“Stop!”
Vico’s hand paused mid-air, and I grabbed the belt from his grip. “That’s enough.”
“You said ten.” Vico’s dark eyes glared at me, malevolence pouring from his gaze like molten lava.
“I said five. You wanted ten. Seven is a great middle ground.”
Vico leaned closer. “Do you dare show weakness in front of all these men, big brother?” Another challenge.
I moved even closer, gritting through my teeth, “It’s not weakness I’m showing, little brother. I’m showing my dominion…over you.”
His eyes instantly burned, his cheeks blood red from fury, and I tasted the goodness of victory.
“Now back the fuck off, Vico.”
After a few seconds of never taking our eyes off each other, I wasn’t sure whether Vico would back down. But then he did.
Of course, in typical Vico style, he had to make sure he got the last laugh. He pulled out his cellphone and aimed the camera at Tatum.
“Smile, slut,” he taunted before his flash started going berserk with all the photos he was taking.
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Having a little photoshoot.” He looked at me and shrugged. “You know, to send to daddy dearest.”
Well, fuck. Vico might be a motherfucker, but right now he was being a real sly, clever motherfucker—I had to give him that.
As soon as he felt like he had enough pictures and stepped away, I started on getting Tatum down from the chains. I had no idea what it was, but there was something inside me urging me, fueling me to do it as quickly as possible.
Uncle Gino came up to help, and when her wrists were finally free, she collapsed like dead weight. Before she hit the ground, I swept her up into my arms and cradled her against my chest.
I glanced at Uncle Gino, and he nodded. “Get her out of here. I’ll take care of the guests.”
“Thank you.”
Carefully, I made my way out of the dining hall, carrying Tatum’s seemingly lifeless body in my arms. The corners of her mouth were cut and bruised, and I didn’t even want to think what her back looked like. Vico didn’t hold back. He was merciless with each and every lash he dealt.
That twinge that thumped against my ribs earlier was now a pounding ache, and for the life of me, I didn’t understand it.
Where was my hate? Where was my hunger for revenge? Where was my need to break this woman now that she seemed battered and beaten with no guarantee that she could be mended?
Where was Castello Fattore now?
Chapter 13
Tatum
I was in hell. The way my body ached, my back burning like it had every inch of skin torn off, was like being tossed into the flaming pits of Hell.
My head pounded. My mouth hurt, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue. There wasn’t a part of me that didn’t throb with pain. I couldn’t feel the lashes anymore, but I heard them. I still heard the sound of it cutting through the air, the crack as it landed on my skin. Over and over and over I heard that sound reverberating in my head, making my body shiver as I waited for the pain to slice through me.
But it never came.
Instead, I felt heat that slowly flowed through me, thawing the cold that had possessed every bone, every blood vessel. I grabbed hold of that hea
t, squeezing it tight against every inch of my body. I never wanted to let go of this heat.
“Tatum?”
I didn’t want to open my eyes in fear that the welcome heat would disappear.
“Tatum? Open your eyes and look at me.”
Even my eyelids ached, felt heavy, and I wanted to keep them closed. I wanted to sleep. Just let me sleep.
“I need to put you down now, okay?”
Some of the heat dissipated, and I groaned, clutching harder, not wanting it to go.
“Tatum?”
Finally, with effort, I managed to open my eyes. Big, brown, almost black, familiar irises stared back at me.
“Tatum, you need to let go of me so I can put you down.”
I noticed the scar next to his eye, his elongated pupil, and everything came rushing back like a disease.
Castello…Vico…the woman…the lashes…
Fear, panic, pain, every bad, soul-sucking emotion known to man crawled its way back into me. My lungs no longer took long, deep, steady inhales. I only managed a few shallow breaths, my chest too tight to allow anything more.
“Tatum. Loosen your arms so I can put you down.”
Flooded with confusion, I glanced at my arms, only noticing now that I had them tightly clutched around his neck while he cradled me against his chest. That was the heat I felt—the warmth. It was Castello. How was it possible that a hard, stone-cold man like him could be so warm to the touch?
With a jerk, I pulled back my arms, but Castello’s eyes remained focused on mine.
“Can you sit?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks flushed crimson thinking that I had held onto Castello for dear life—a life he was determined to take.
“I’m going to start the shower, then I need you to get in, okay?” I heard the concern in his voice, saw it in his eyes, but I didn’t trust it. Especially since his words kept repeating in my head…“I swear, on my life, that I will not fail this family and that I will make them pay for taking my brother’s and my father’s lives.”
