CHAPTER ONE #2
“This,” I continue, pulling out a scythe, brandishing it in my hands. I had it made specially. It’s smaller than the average scythe, still curved and sharp with a dark handle that fits perfectly in my hand. “This is perfect for rats.”
Finally, Robert lunges. He rises and tries to make a run for it just as I’d been expecting. Before he can take a step though, I stand up. With a swift kick, he’s sprawled on the ground again, writhing in pain. The expression on his face lights a match in the darkness within my chest.
It’s the face of a man that knows his actions are futile, hopeless.
I’ve seen that look time and time again. The despair and fear in men’s eyes as they look at me, knowing I’ll be their executioner. A rush rolls through me at the sight of it, doesn’t matter how many times I get to see it. That look never gets old.
“Please,” Robert starts to beg. “I’ll do anything. I have a lot of money.”
I scoff, “You think your paltry dirty money compares to the wealth of the Vitales?”
Getting bored, I gesture towards the chair with the weapon in my hands.
My men move immediately, reaching for Robert and tossing him into the chair.
They wrap some ropes around him, tying him despite his pleas for mercy.
Once he’s sufficiently bound, I walk over and reach for the back of his head, gripping his hair tight enough to rip some strands.
I drag the scythe slowly across his face, ignoring his blubbering.
“Shhh,” I murmur, trying to concentrate. “This will only hurt a little.”
I slice across his cheek, earning a whimper. Tears fall from his eyes rapidly, mixing in with the blood sliding down his face.
“This building isn’t exactly soundproof, Robert, so I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t make too much noise, I’ll cut back down to two hours, okay?”
He doesn’t reply. I smirk before grabbing his hand. I pause to watch him and he swallows thickly at the expression on my face.
“Remember, Roberto, don’t scream,” I state and then I’m slicing the scythe through his thumb.
It cuts away cleanly, the appendage landing on the floor with a little thud. Robert gasps for a second and then he’s howling loud enough to wake the dead.
I sigh softly. We’re going to be here for a while.
Three hours later and the man on the chair in front of me is more dead than alive. He’s bleeding from a hundred cuts, slashes across his skin, his arms and legs. I took my time carving into his body. Right now he’s like a canvas, an art form of my very own making.
“Hey, Elly,” I call, looking back at my brother who surprisingly hasn’t left.
He’s taken a seat at the edge of the room, watching the entire process curiously.
There’s no maliciousness in his expression and I can tell he has no interest in taking part in the torture.
He’s simply observing quietly. Usually I would have told him to fuck off, but he’s a grown man, and if he wants to watch me cutting up a man for three hours, he’s more than welcome to.
“Yes, Rafaelle,” he replies dryly.
My gaze turns back to Robert. His head dangles forward and I can’t tell if he’s still breathing or not. He should be though. I made sure to pull back a little.
“You think blood loss counts as a natural cause of death?”
Elio pauses before finally huffing out a breath, “I suppose so.”
“Alright,” I nod, dropping the bloodied scythe.
I take a step back to marvel at my creation once more before turning away from the dead man. My men are already at attention, waiting for me to speak.
“Once he takes his last breath, put his body in a casket and ship it to his brother,” I command. “He asked for proof of his death.”
My lips curl in disgust as I say the words. Every day of my life, I’ve had evidence of the truth of that saying.
Hell really is empty. All the devils walk among us.
Some of them even worse than me. They hide in the shadows and pretend.
I provide no one with the luxury of pretense. When you look at me, you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into. The darkness lives within me, sliding through every inch. I embrace it, I submit to it.
It’s a part of me, one I welcome wholeheartedly. I don’t know how to be anything else.
“Let’s go, Elly,” I call, reaching for my brother so we can leave.
He shifts out of my grasp, eyes narrowing over my appearance.
“You’re not touching me while you’re covered in blood,” he states.
I pout, “You wound me, Fratello.”
“Whatever. I’m leaving. See you later.”
“Bye,” I return, waving my hand as he walks out the door.
I’m in high spirits. I usually am after a bout of torture. One of my men brings me a change of clothes and wipes to clean off the blood. A shower would be more efficient but it’s best not to walk out here with blood all over me. You never know who’s watching.
Once I’m cleaned up enough, I head downstairs to my car and slide into the back seat.
“Where to, boss?”
“Home,” I reply, grabbing my iPad.
The car starts and I settle in to watch a football game. The closer we get home, the more dried out I feel. The rush starts to dissipate, leaving emptiness in its wake.
It’s the same old story. Apart from murder and torture, sex is another efficient method I employ to feel alive. Without them, I’m a corpse traipsing around, with nothing but my demons to keep me company.