7. Chapter 7
“It’s the day after your wedding,” Ettore said. “Shouldn’t you, just maybe, be with your wife?”
We were in the van and had just parked in the back of our main warehouse. I stepped out of it and slammed the door behind me.
“We aren’t each other’s biggest fans.”
To say our wedding night had gone horribly was an understatement.
I was already hesitant about having sex with Luciana. Not that I didn’t want to - she was fucking beautiful - but when I learned she was a virgin, I immediately knew she wasn’t ready. The reaction she had on our wedding night finalized my decision.
But it was fucking hard to tear myself away from her. Every inch of her perfect body, clad in that lacy lingerie, was a temptation unlike any I had ever encountered. The way the fabric hugged her curves and accentuated every line of her body was maddeningly alluring. It felt like my eyes were drawn magnetically to her, unable to resist the pull of desire. To leave her side was to deny myself a feast for the senses, a sight that would be etched in my memory forever.
But I meant what I said. When we have sex, she was going to be begging for it. And she would look fucking good screaming, split open with my cock.
“No one in an arranged marriage likes each other at first. You have to work at it.”
“Didn’t we just have a discussion how I’ll take relationship advice from you when you’re in one?”
Ettore and I stood outside the van’s backdoors, ready to retrieve the contents in the back.
“Anyway, talking about it is a waste of time. Can we please get back to business?” I said.
I yanked open the car door. A Mexican man, his hands bound behind his back and a rag stuffed into his mouth, glared up at me with wild, desperate eyes.
Ettore and our crew had received intel about the attack after they left the wedding. I was frustrated that they hadn’t told me immediately, but they thought I was busy having sex with my new bride.
In reality, I was flipping through the TV channels the hotel offered while Luciana slept next to me.
I grasped onto the man’s hands, tightly bound and struggling against my grip. Ettore followed suit, taking hold of his feet, which were also bound securely. Together, we dragged him through the darkened warehouse, past a few scattered grunts who barely gave it a second glance. These sorts of situations were normal around here.
We hauled our captive into a side room where Felix, Rocco, and Vincenzo waited for us.
Felix and Rocco were twins. Although it was near impossible to tell them apart by looks, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Felix was loud and brash; always dominating conversations and wanting to act immediately. Rocco was cool and collected, and chose to think through situations before making a decision.
Vincenzo was Ettore’s underboss. It was clear why Ettore had handpicked him; Vincenzo was incredibly intelligent and sharp.
As it turned out, the “Albert” the kid before had been talking about was actually named “Alberto,” and was a member of the Mexican Cartel.
The Mexican Cartel almost had a monopoly on drugs by the border. It made little sense why he would be this far north.
Alberto was older than the rest of us, with a thick, graying mustache that seemed to curl his upper lip upward like a sneer.
Ettore and I sat Alberto on an old wooden table, turning him over so that he faced us. The Mexican man’s eyes were wide with fear, and I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead. He was still struggling against his ties, but we could tell it was futile.
Felix and Rocco, as always, looked on intently, their faces a mirrored mix of rage and anticipation. I couldn’t help but notice the look of indifference on Vincenzo’s face. It was difficult to read him sometimes.
“Now,” Ettore began, “We need to get some information out of this guy. It’s time to show him what happens when you cross us.”
Felix, as always, was eager to act. “Let’s start with the usual,” he barked, gesturing to the array of power tools and other items we keep stored for these scenarios.
Rocco, ever the voice of reason, took a step back and ran a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know, man. Let’s give him a chance to talk first. We haven’t figured out who we’re pissing off yet.”
Ettore surveyed the scene, his eyes narrowing as he considered his options. He was a man who knew how to navigate the intricate web of loyalty, betrayal, and violence that made up our world.
“Alright, let’s give him a chance.”
He nodded towards me. I walked up to the cartel member and ripped the gag out of his mouth.
The Cartel Member started cursing us out in Spanish at a breakneck speed. The language is about eighty percent similar to Italian, so I could pick up on most of what he was saying.
His words hit a nerve as he threatened to break into our homes and rape our wives. I punched him without hesitating.
I had interrogated a lot of assholes in my life. They always said cruel things to get under your skin, and I had never let it bother me. But now that I had Luciana...
Forget it. It was stupid, anyway. We were in an arranged marriage; it was just a facade.
“Why did you destroy the warehouse?” Ettore asked.
“No hablo ingles,” he responded.
“Oh? I guess we’re just going to help you learn,” I said. I looked towards Ettore, silently asking him where he would like me to start.
Ettore pointed at the saw. I grabbed it off the wall and walked over to the man.
“Which parts do you think we should take off first?” Ettore asked.
I lifted the man’s hand and pointed to his fingers, as if I was a teacher. “Dedos. Fingers.”
With a swift, forceful motion, I slammed the man’s hand against the wooden table, causing him to cry out in pain. I used the saw to sever his index and middle fingers, and blood oozed from the wounds.
Blood sprayed across the table, painting red streaks on the worn surface. The man’s screams echoed off the walls of the dimly lit room, filling me with a twisted sense of satisfaction. As I finished severing his fingers, I tossed them onto the table with a sickening thud, relishing in the sight of the mangled appendages. It was a gruesome scene, but I couldn’t help but revel in the power coursing through my veins as I exacted my revenge.
“Well?” Ettore asked.
Alberto spat in Ettore’s direction.
“It looks like we’ll have to keep teaching you,” I said.
I paced around the table, finally stopping by Alberto’s right side. I clenched my fist and drove it into his open palm, the sound of bones cracking echoing throughout the room.
“Mano. Hand.”
I grabbed the saw and starting carving away at the man’s wrist. It wasn’t long before the bone and sinew underneath appeared.
“Stop, stop!” Alberto said.
“Hm, it looks like you’ve learned something,” Ettore said. “Tell us what we asked for. Or Emilio will give you more ‘lessons.’”
“The Cartel has decided to expand where we do business,” he answered in perfect English.
“Why? You have a near monopoly on all states along the border,” I asked. “And it might be a logistical nightmare to get drugs from Mexico to New York.”
He laughed. “With a monopoly comes much wealth. And what do you do when you have a lot of money?”
The Cartel member paused, waiting for us to respond. He answered himself when we didn’t.
“Make more.”
“While I agree with the sentiment, that’s not going to be done in New York,” I said. “Now, who is your boss?”
“I have a twenty million dollar bill to send him,” Ettore muttered, obviously still upset about the lab situation.
“Pinche pendejos. You can chop off all of my body parts before I answer that.”
“I guess we’ll have to test that theory,” I said, picking up the saw.
A normal day at work for “The Butcher.”