The Mafia Contract Series

Massimo is angry. I could see that the moment Angelo told him about the deal with Jasmine’s father. It caused my skin to tingle as if a swarm of bees were settling over me, preparing to sting on repeat.

As soon as they left, he snapped and grabbing my hand, he pulled me roughly from the room in a frenzy of anger that left me reeling and afraid for my life, and it didn’t surprise me that he brought me straight back to Hell.

I try so hard to remain unaffected, but as soon as we reach the door to my prison, I can’t stop my legs from shaking and it’s not because of the cold damp interior.

“Strip.” He yells as he slams the door to my cage behind us and as I remove my clothes with trembling fingers, I try to stop shivering, which is not easy to do when the temperature is almost freezing.

Massimo paces the cell like a demented demon as he mumbles to himself. I just thank God Angelo got away before he did something stupid because my brother is the thorn in Massimo’s side and his biggest fear. He would never accept that because according to him, he has no fear and as I fold my clothing neatly and place it on the ground along with my jewelry, I loosen my hair and shaking it out, stand before him with nothing. It’s how he likes it. A blank canvas to decorate as he pleases and the fact he is angry means a bad experience for me.

“Get on your perch, little bird, and sing to me while I think.”

While I fight back the tears, I sit on the flower decorated swing he has strung up in the white cage set inside the cell and I sing a soft lullaby that brings tears to my eyes. I’m not singing to Massimo, never to him. But to my angel, who sleeps peacefully in his crib upstairs. Somehow, I hope my voice reaches him through the open bars in my cell and carries along on the wind into the cracks of his nursery. Alessandro’s son. Frankie. My angel, my obsession, and the only reason I have for living. I do everything I’m told just for stolen moments with him, and Massimo uses him against me at every sick roll of the dice. I crave the sleepovers he allows me if I have pleased him in some way, but they are getting few and far between as the madness continues. I need to find a way out, but I must bide my time because when Massimo’s end comes, it will be savage and violent.This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

“Enough!” he almost screams at me to stop and my heart sinks when I see the sick look on his face as he plans a twisted revenge.

“I have a treat lined up for you, my darling.”

His mood swings like a pendulum and he says roughly, “Come, we have a visit to make.”

He offers me his hand and my skin crawls as I rest my hand in his and he walks beside me along the long dark corridor to hell. I am still naked and shivering from the cold, but there is nobody around to see me. This is Massimo’s playroom. His own personal paradise and normal societies idea of hell.

Most of the time, I live upstairs in my own suite of rooms. More of a gilded cage than a prison, with only the pleasure of time with my son to look forward to. Then there are the times Massimo brings me here. Sometimes for days if he’s in a particularly vengeful mood. I am starved both mentally and physically until he comes and releases me and pampers me like a living doll to bring me back to him.

It’s a vicious cycle that I live on repeat and only love for my son keeps me going.

In my darkest hours, I allow myself to think of him. Alessandro Majerio, the only man I have ever loved and given my heart to. He took the whole of me and gave me a son and even though our time together was brief, it means everything to me.

Sometimes I wonder what he is doing now. Has he met someone else? Is he married with a family? Does he even remember me?

Sighing, I push all thoughts of Alessandro away and focus on getting through the night instead and as Massimo stops outside a similar door to mine, I wonder what horrors lie inside.

His fingerprint releases the lock on the door, and I stare at a limp figure hanging from two rings on the stone-cold wall. I can’t make out if it’s a young boy or a woman, but knowing Massimo, it’s probably the former. He loves to torture a poor unfortunate soul until they die a slow and unimaginable death. Sometimes he makes me watch and those images are seared on my soul for eternity and star in my many nightmares.

“I thought you would like to revisit an old friend, Winter.”

My heart starts racing because God help me for what I am about to see and if it’s anyone I love, he may as well kill me first because I cannot deal with that.

He flicks on the bare bulb that hangs from the rafter and I don’t recognize the person slumped hanging on the wall. They are naked and in a very bad way, and I gag a little as the scent of rotting flesh and blood mingles in a cocktail of hell and damnation. Only a low moan reveals the person is still alive and I gag when I register the absence of several parts of their body. The shaven head offers me no clue as to who it could be and I watch in horror as Massimo picks up a broken doll from the stone window ledge.

“Do you remember, Miss. English, darling?”

I can’t control the small gasp of horror that escapes before I can contain it, because this person is nothing like the vivacious teacher who delivered me to this hell.

Massimo head across and lifts her face, and the world spins as it catches the light and I watch my world crashing as I stare at the remnants of a face I have hated after what she did to me.

Massimo speaks as if he’s discussing the weather. “Yes, somewhere inside this shell is the woman who brought you here. The woman who brought many treats for me to enjoy and betrayed me so foolishly.”

He lifts the doll and laughs. “This is what happens when you lose interest in a once favorite toy.

You grow tired of it, and it becomes more interesting to destroy it piece by piece.”

I feel sick when I see what he’s done. The broken doll resembles my unfortunate teacher, and he laughs like the lunatic he is. “First, I shaved off her hair, how she moaned. You should have been there; you would have loved it, my darling. Then I broke her arm. So much pain it was a joy to behold. I hated the way she was looking at me, so I gouged out her eyes. That did the trick.”

He laughs like the sadistic bastard he is and grins. “The tongue was next, so she couldn’t scream and answer me back. Her hands were interesting to remove. I forgot how much I love doing that. You see, my darling wife, all the time my toys please me, I treat them well. Lavish them with attention and everything they desire. The moment our Miss. English told your brother my biggest secret, she became disposable to me. She had served her purpose and needed to be put out with the trash. So, my darling, I’m certain you have your own problems with our lovely teacher and so I brought you over to play.”

A white-hot rush of terror floods through me because this is new. He has never involved me in anything but observation before and I almost pass out with fear at what this may involve. He handles the doll and spins it around in his hand and then with a cruel twist, he snaps off one of the arms.

“There you go. Your turn.”

I stare at him, unable to disguise the terror in my eyes, and he hands me a machete and grins, “Hack away, darling; get that anger out of you. This is the woman who tricked you after all. Oh and just in case you get any ideas about using it on me, word of warning, don’t, otherwise you will take her place.”

He hands me the machete and lifts a gun from the side and trains it on me as he growls, “Go and play, darling. You can thank me later.”

I have no choice. This is an impossible situation, and only the thought of my son upstairs is keeping me from using the machete on myself. I can’t leave my baby with this bastard. A sadistic monster that makes the devil seem like an angel. I must wait for the opportune moment to strike. Is that now? I know it’s not and so with a sob, I unleash the tension that has been building ever since I was brought here and with a howl of rage, I attack the woman who ruined my life in a blood bathed frenzy of sadistic revenge.

I don’t hear her pitiful moans. I don’t register the madman laughing as if he’s enjoying the funniest show. I don’t picture anyone I love and give into the white hot burning rage that fills me entirely as I picture Massimo Delauren in her place as I carve him up inch by inch.