19. Tommaso
TOMMASO
Everything is dark all around me for the longest time. There’s an ache in my neck that just won’t go away, and my leg is burning. Burning like fire is encasing it from the ankle up. My entire body feels heavy from my toes to my head. Even moving my fingers is difficult.
The only thing I can hear as my head starts to clear a little bit is the sound of mumbling. Or muffled speech. I’m not quite sure how far away it is from me. I try to focus on it because knowing just how far my captors are from me will help me decide what to do next.
A bit of light shines in from what I realize is a blindfold around my eyes. Just a streak of light from the bottom where my nose is pushing the fabric forward slightly. It’s not natural light, this much I know, but rather artificial light from an upwards source.
This means I’m most likely in a room with little to no windows. I inhale slowly, and the scent of the room is slightly musty. My nose tickles from dust with a sneeze that won’t make itself completely known.
As I start to wake up further, I can hear the voices more clearly. They’re quiet, but they bounce off the floors and walls of the room I’m in. No carpeting. Hard floors. Most likely no windows.
I must be in a basement. If I’m correct, I’m pretty sure it’s the basement of the Bianchi house.
I have no idea who dragged me out of my own home, but I’d place bets that it wasn’t any of the Carvels.
The Bianchis must have been in on the shoot out and taken the moment to grab me.
Why me and not Carmine, I’m not sure. Perhaps they think killing me will get them further.
That or they simply grabbed whoever was easiest at the moment.
Whatever the reason, I’m now stuck here with my wrists and ankles tied to a chair and my head heavy.
“Finally, you’re awake,” a voice says from in front of me. I vaguely recognize it as Butch Bianchi. I doubt he was the one who kidnapped me, but he’s the one here now.
I attempt to open my mouth to talk but realize there’s tape over it. My tongue darts out between my lips and tastes the adhesive. Duct tape. Typical.
I wonder why they have the blindfold on me? I know what they all look like and most likely where I am. The only reason I can think of is to disorient me in general.
As I’m thinking about this, I feel rough fingers poke and prod at the side of my cheek before grabbing hold of the edge of the duct tape and yanking it off my face. I hiss in pain and aggravation the second it’s gone and feel the throbbing sting left behind on my skin.
“Fucker,” I spit out.
“Now, now, be nice,” another voice says. Dante Bianchi. Of course.
“Daddy sent you to do his dirty work?” I ask them breathlessly. “Can’t face me himself, huh?” I pop a grin on my face and turn my head the direction of their voices.
I can see slight shadows moving at the bottom of my vision where the light peaks in.
I’m struck on the side of my head by a wide hand and my head goes dizzy for just a second.
“Shut the fuck up, no one told you to talk,” Butch huffs at me.
I cock my head to the side and don’t let them see that I’m hurt in any way.
I keep the smile on my face and my hands limp rather than balled into tense fists.
It’s quite a bit of effort for me to do this, instead of jumping immediately into yelling at them and trying to fight my way out of the restraints like I want to.
“What do you expect to accomplish from this?” I ask them. I’m feeling less like I’m floating on a cloud minute by minute, gaining more of my faculties back. “I ain’t telling you shit.”
“We don’t need you to tell us anything. This is just for fun, baby boy,” Dante teases me, and the sound of his voice calling me that name makes me sick to my stomach.
I don’t have time to reply before there’s a sharp object pressed to my cheek, and I immediately clock it as a knife. I’m not sure which one of them is cutting into my cheek, but they press just enough to cause blood to drip down my jawline and neck, before pressing even harder.
The pain ripples through my muscles and I ignore it. It’s deeper than I’d ever want to be cut, but it’s not so much that I can’t hold back my reaction to the pain now that I know what’s happening.
The knife moves down to my throat, teasing at it like they want me to think they’re about to cut me there but then they move to the other side of my face.
I have to admit, I feel a sense of arousal creep up my spine, and it makes me wildly uncomfortable, but I can’t stop it. Each cut on my face brings my cock harder and harder, and I hate it.
“Are you seriously getting hard from this?” Dante asks me. “You sick motherfucker.”
I feel a hand grab at my hair and yank my head back as blood drips down my face and neck. “Disgusting.” He curses at me under his breath and suddenly a knee hits my stomach.
Before I can get the next cough out, I’m hit in the stomach again, then the jaw, over and over again. Hit after hit strikes me as I’m stuck tied to this fucking chair. My hands finally ball into fists as rage fills up my chest.
“You stupid motherfuckers!” I hiss out at them. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
He lets go of my hair and another punch hits the side of my bloody face. I spit out the blood in my mouth right in front of me and hear a sound of disgust following it. I grin, though I’m seething through my teeth.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Butch tells me and his hand wraps around my throat.
I feel all of the blood in my body rush downward and I curse inwardly at myself. How fucked up can I possibly be?
The question of my own sanity is one I’m not asking for long.
Instead, I’m wondering about the morality of my captors.
They stab at me with sharp long knives in each of my thighs, and slash at my face and shoulders as though they enjoy it.
Maybe they do. Hell, I would too if I was on their side of things.
Fuck, wouldn’t I love to get one of them, Butch or Dante, in a chair and torture him for a few hours. Especially given what they’re doing to me right now.
Every slice into my skin fills me with more and more rage and frustration. I can’t help but growl out under my breath and try to shake the blindfold off of my head. It’s no use.
“Ready to behave now?” Dante asks me.
I notice that his voice is further away from me, so it must be Butch doing his handywork now and not his brother.
“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” I ask him, breathless, with blood dripping down from my lip and face. Everything is foggy, and I struggle not to slip into darkness, but I hold on.
“Shut the fuck up,” Butch hisses at me. He strikes me across the head and everything goes dizzy again, just for a second or two.
I growl in response and struggle against my bindings. I hate being blindfolded and not knowing exactly where I am. I can guess, but it’s not the same as seeing. I’m assuming they have me blindfolded so that it gets to me mentally, but it’s more annoying than anything else.
Just as I’m about to prepare myself for another cut or strike across the face, I feel the blindfold being taken off.
My eyes adjust to the light slowly, and I see that I am in fact in a basement. The basement of the Bianchi house no doubt.
“You’re fucking idiots,” I tell them. “They’ll be here to break me out before you know it.”
“Will they?” Dante asks. “Or will they decide that you’re not worth it? Or maybe, they’ll decide to finally concede to us.”
I snort. “Yeah right,” I say. “You’d have more luck getting Carmine to bottom for you.”
Dante’s face turns red and he steps over to me, putting both his hands on either side of the chair. “You’re pushing your luck,” he tells me.
“Oh really?” I ask and narrow my eyes as I look directly into his. I can see how worked up he is already; he’s trying to hide it. Trying to keep his breath steady and his head on straight; but it’s not working out very well for him.
His hands squeeze my arms tightly.
“I’m going to give you two choices,” he announces as he steps back from the chair and lets go of my arms. “Either you join us or you die.”
“Join you?” I ask, raising my brows. Frustration is rising inside of me more and more. The bindings on my wrists rub the skin raw and every wound on my body throbs with my pulse. Especially the bullet still lodged in my leg.
“Help us take down your family, and we won’t kill you.
You’d be an excellent addition to our family…
if we let you join us. We’re going to win either way; you may as well get a job and your life out of it, don’t you think?
” Dante presents me with an offer. An offer that makes me stare at him, wondering how he could possibly have the audacity.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I choke.
Butch steps closer to me and presses his gun to my head. The cold barrel actually feels quite nice against my hot sweaty temple. Every second that passes, I’m distinctly aware of the fact that his finger is inching closer and closer to the trigger.
“No jokes here,” Dante assures me. “Either you help us or Butch here sends a slug straight into your head. Bye-bye forever.”
I look up into Butch’s eyes and then back down into Dante’s.
“I choose death before I’d ever choose to work with you fuckers,” I sneer out at them.
“Death it is.” Dante glowers at me. A look of annoyance in his eyes.
I close my eyes, not wanting his ugly mug to be the last thing I see before I die.
A loud crash sounds up the chairs to the left of the basement. A shot rings out and suddenly an armed guard is tumbling down the stairs, blood gushing from his throat.
“What the f—” Dante starts, but it’s too late. Down the stairs several black-clad men and women rush down and point their guns at every person in the room except me. Dante, Butch, and the three guards in each corner of the room. I recognize two of them as Trish and Jake, from the Rose.
Aleksandr must’ve convinced them to help.
“Back off or we kill him!” Butch shouts, pressing the gun harder to my head.