40. Killian
Franco’s lifeless body has appeared in my dreams more than once. Many times, it happened because of me, thanks to something I did. Other times, the Irish or the Albanians caught him and prevented us from suffering his presence any longer.
I hate the man who donated his sperm in order for me to be in this part of the universe. In the past, I didn’t understand how it happened that I ended up living under his tyranny.
I had no goals for myself. I lived in the shadow of my sperm donor, trying to save the one who carried me in her womb for nine months, the one who saved me and, despite everything, educated me. Now, the same woman will punish her tormentor and mine.
The knife she’s holding can’t be any more significant than a stiff cheese knife, but it’s still stuck into his cheek, leaving the first evidence of damage. If the horrified look on Franco’s face is anything to go by, that little knife has a history connected to something he’s done to her.
“Stronza di merda,” he barks as she removes the knife from his face.
“It’s going to take a while. This is only the beginning, amore,” my mother says in a distant voice.
A voice I’ve never heard from her. I’ve heard and seen Isabella happy when I collected my law degree in front of everyone.
I’ve heard her pain when I told her I did what had to be done, and she realized I had taken a life. I’ve heard her try to hide her mental pain as Franco took a little piece of her soul every time he touched her, but I’ve never heard Isabella Fierro so determined.
“You won’t do it,” Franco says with false confidence.
I’ve studied the expressions of the man before me for a lifetime, and this is not the first time he’s tried to hide fear. The man in front of me may be a psychopath, but he isn’t as emotionless and fearless as many of his people think. He’s the most cowardly man I know. Franco has never been willing to go out and kill his enemies with his own hands without protection. He always had to see them tied up and powerless beforehand, hitting them where it hurt the most.
“But I will do it, just like you did to my brother. Like you almost did to me. Do you remember what stopped you from removing the skin from my body?”
What did he do? I knew that my mother’s little brother was murdered for treason, but I never thought it was done by Franco and in such a cruel way as skinning someone.
“You’re not that cruel,” Franco argues. “You’re just a weak woman. Salvio deserved it,” he almost begs as she approaches, his eyes now as small and sharp as the knife.
“Santino didn’t. Maddox didn’t. Killian fucking didn’t, and Raven—” Isabella chokes on the name.
“Raven most definitely didn’t,” she says and thrusts the knife into Franco’s eye.
The scream that comes out of him shakes the walls, but for me, it’s like being in a show where an opera singer makes all the crystals around him crack due to the extraordinary voice that comes out of his throat. The eye pops like one of Connie’s dreaded slime toys she loves so much.
Isabella doesn’t hesitate and pulls the knife out of his socket along with the eye. He cries out for help again, but he knows that no one will help him this time.
“This is for Salvio,” she states before examining the rest of his skin, which has never been beaten, not even by Franco’s father.
He always bragged to me he was born a monster and that his father didn’t have to take the effort to make him one. Isabella continues looking for more places to hurt the man, stopping on his left ear. She takes a while to saw off his earlobe with that little knife, but she does it in stride.
Franco doesn’t try to avoid his punishment because he simply can’t. I’ve made sure to inject him with a bit of poison that would weaken his body every day since he started receiving medication.
“This is for Santino, for not allowing him to grow up to be a good person, for giving him everything to the point he killed himself.”
I want to correct her on that. To tell her that Santino was born a monster just like his father, but that’s no longer an issue. He’s no longer a problem, and the loss of her firstborn is valid.
I know that. She lost her eldest son several times when he murdered for fun, when he abused just because he could, and when he raped. And finally, when he murdered his wife and committed suicide.
“Enough, please. Kill me. No more.”
The most fearsome man weeps incessantly, his tears mixed with blood. And I experience it as a film worthy of an Oscar, a Golden Globe, and every award that producers, directors, and actors receive for such films.
“You didn’t stop when I begged you to leave me alone or when I begged you to leave Killian alone. You didn’t stop when I told you Santino would lose it. You didn’t listen to me or stop when I tried to protect Maddox and Raven. None of that mattered to you, so why should I feel sorry for you?”
Every word from Isabella’s mouth comes out quiet and full of confidence as if she had planned Franco’s death more than once. I can’t blame her if she did. I imagine we’ve all done so many times over.
“Dario, can you help me, please?”
Why does she ask Dario for help out of all the people around her? As if she feels my gaze, she adds, “I want to leave the rest of the pleasure to my boys, but you deserve a little pleasure, too, for what he did to your father, addict or not.”
Dario approaches her with slow, confident steps. I never trusted him. He’s the one bodyguard to survive the longest with my mother. I always thought that was because he was participating in her abuse all these years, but from what I see now and have seen recently, I realize that isn’t the case at all.
From what I know of the woman in front of me, she must have done everything to protect him and came to love him as another family member.
“Where do you want to give him your punishment?”
From the angle where I stand, I see Franco’s expression, and the betrayal in his eyes makes me glad Isabella chose to give her bodyguard the opportunity to punish him.
“Where he always hit you, My Queen.”
His nickname bothers me. My mother is indeed a queen. She always was. But why would her bodyguard grant her a nickname?
Something doesn’t sit right with me, but my thoughts are immediately interrupted as Dario punches my sperm donor in the stomach as he counts the blows.
After twelve strikes, he stops and says, “That’s for everything you’ve done to a woman who deserves to have you kiss the ground she walks on.” Dario hits him once more. “And that is for my father and for her.” he looks at the ceiling as if speaking to someone in his head.
After spitting on Franco, Dario walks away from the man, who is no longer able to scream. He’s already at the stage where the pain permeates all his bones. If we continue like this, he’ll stop feeling the pain altogether. Our body mechanism is annoying in such cases.
“Mom, we need to stop,” I say as she points the small knife at his other ear.
Franco knows what I’m doing because he’s howling like a cat that’s just been abandoned by its mother.
“He’ll soon stop feeling the pain, and that’s not what you want.”
She nods and decides to abuse him differently.
“You know something, Franco? You never knew how to please a woman. Every whore you fucked next to me suffered from your cock. It may be long, but you never learned to satisfy a woman with it. Maybe now I’ll have the chance to find a man who knows what they’re doing.”
That’s the last thing a man wants to hear from his mother, but I don’t stop her. This is her game. If she wants to humiliate his fragile ego, I’ll let her do it.
“How many girls did you rape, Franco? Do you even remember?”
It appears that my mother has decided to go for psychological warfare. He’s looking straight at her with no remorse. It’s a sign that his body is beginning to try to produce oxygen. It’s just a shame that his lungs aren’t working correctly anymore.
“Answer me, or your cock will be next.”
“Eighty-three women.” She nods as if she knew he would give her the exact answer.
Eighty-three women whose lives he ruined.
Eighty-three women who can’t sleep at night knowing he took something from them, and there’s nothing they can do about it. And one of them was my fucking little girl.
My perfect woman. I may not make her forget all the difficult memories, but I can rebuild our life, knowing that he suffered in his last moments.
“Where are their names?”
I look at my mother, not understanding where she’s going with this. “Where are the notes and diaries you kept?” I see the pleasure in his eyes as he no doubt recalls the atrocities he committed.
Did he write down everything he did to Maricela as well?
I take a step toward him, but Maddox stops me.
“This isn’t our show, remember? Don’t let him win by ending it too soon. Maricela deserves better.” I listen, awaiting his dreaded answer.
“In my drawer, in the office.” Franco’s voice is choked, and every word he says comes out of his mouth like concrete falling on my heart. “Page seventy-six. It’s marked diary eleven.”
He grins at me, and I turn on my heels, planning to head toward the office, but this time it’s Kai who stops me. He stands before the door and blocks the opening with his body.
“Not now. There will be time. This is what he wants. He wants your rage, a clean end.” We’ve all gotten to know Franco’s psychology in one way or another.
“I hurt her,” Franco tries, sounding utterly insane. This time, I stay put.
“I’ll save every girl I can. All the money you left behind will go to these girls. Each of them will have a full life with your money. We’ll finance them with proper care and a new start. I promise you.”
My words wipe away his ugly grin. He’s going to die today, and he knows it. He has no power at all. Why would he care where his money goes?
“You’re miserable, Franco,” I say, continuing my verbal assault. “You don’t want your money to go to those you hurt, but that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
“My Will does not include you,” he says almost hysterically.
“What Will? The Will of a crazy man who came to my office and threatened me in front of all my employees? The one who said that everyone thinks he’s crazy? The Last Will and Testament of that man? The Will of the man who will kill himself with the candles he likes best?”
“You’ll lose her. You won’t be able to look her in the eyes after you know everything I did to her, and that will make you lose her.”
“Wrong again, stronzo. I’ll make Maricela a queen. She’ll sit on the throne and use your dirty money for whatever she wants while I fuck her and give her what she needs.”
Even if it means leaving me, I’ll give her everything. Even if it means raising our children away from me. I can never blame her for not being able to forgive me.
“Enough talking,” Isabella instructs, thrusting the bloody knife into Franco’s hand.
He howls again, and the anger I felt a moment ago fades slightly.
“Dario, go get the diaries. I’ll take care of them and all the rest.” Dario waits for Kai to move and disappears through the doorway.
“Now your sons and your real enemies are left here with you,” Isabella adds. “I’m tired. How about I sit and watch from the sidelines? Liam, want to start?” I look toward the woman who brought me into this world, pride boiling in my veins.
“You know,” Liam begins as he arranges the candles around Franco,
“I like the smell of freshly burned skin. It makes me hungry.” Liam lights each candle, and the room is filled with the scent of expensive wax and apples.
“I never understood how this could be your favorite smell,” Liam says as he finishes surrounding Franco’s bed.
“It’s the smell of heaven,” Franco explains to him as if it were a lesson, not the last hours of his life.
“And because you knew you’d never experience it when you got downstairs, you chose it as your favorite scent? You’re pathetic to a fault, you bloody git.”
Liam lifts one of the candles he brought and stands beside the bed. He burns Franco’s palm, and the room fills with the stench of burnt flesh. He proceeds to burn the same spot again, getting as deep as he can to prevent the white blood cells from reaching the area.
Our body is limited in this case, and Liam knows it. We all do.
Franco’s shrieks aren’t as loud as I’d like, but I know Liam, and this is just the beginning. He moves to Franco’s other hand.
“You are a sick bloke, giving me Raven after what you did.”
Liam takes a pair of scissors and plunges them into Franco’s wounded flesh, only to pull them out and insert them into his left leg.
The scream, this time, satisfies the wounds beneath my tattoos. Compared to Isabella, Liam knows the art of abuse firsthand. Every broken bone and every burn is done in a calculated way, which shows how much he’s thought about this moment.
“Liam, I think it’s Kai’s turn. He also has reasons to take revenge.”
Liam raises his hand to Isabella in a salute to my mother. Covered in blood and wax, Kai takes a step back.
“This is your moment, moy Pirajok.” Even now, Liam can’t help but tease Kai.
“I’m not going to draw this revenge out for long. I’ll leave that to your sons. They deserve to see you reduced to pieces. I’ll even forgive you for the marriage you arranged for me, but I won’t forgive you for what you did to Newt. He was a little child, dermo ne dadelnaya.”
Rare are the cases when I heard Kai swear in Russian. Kai doesn’t use a weapon, even though he brings a lot of danger. He hits Franco again and again and again until the man passes out.
“I think you killed him,” Liam says in amazement.
“He’s alive.” Isabella yawns as if this whole show is starting to bore her.
I don’t want her to see what Maddox and I have planned to do to him. We agreed that we would hurt him together, but nothing that’s happened here so far was as wrong as what was intended to be done to Franco.
“Mom,” I begin.
She stands like a queen rising from her throne and looks into my eyes and then into Maddox’s.
“I know what you’re both capable of. I’ve seen much more than you think, and I know. I’ve done much more than you could ever imagine, and I’m sure that if God exists, he’ll punish me and put me in a place of honor next to your father when my day comes.”
“Mama, Che dici?”
“Mom, don’t say that,” Maddox and I say at the same time, making her laugh.
“My children. You know that none of us will get to sit next to that one up there. Our souls belong to hell.”
“Mom,” Maddox says, “we’re going to take his dick off for what he did to you and Maricela.” He’s trying the scare effect, but Isabella smiles.
“And I’ll watch the show with a bright smile. I promise it won’t change me.”
I don’t know how much time passed since he left the room, but Dario returns with several thick stacks of notebooks. Each group of notebooks has its own color, as if each color signifies something different.
He passes the notebooks to my mother and gives her a quiet smile as if he’s accomplished an important task. I’ll have to investigate this man more after this is done.
“I want those,” I say to my mother in a voice I’ve never used on her before. She’s not frightened because she knows who I’ve become.
She nods and gives me the notebooks, but not without telling me, “That’s not who she is. Even if you choose to read what he did to her, don’t blame her for the victim she was. It’s not fair to her.”
I kiss her cheek, prepare the chair for her again, and decide it’s time to wake Franco for the last hour of his life.
It will be long and tedious for him, but I’ll enjoy every moment. Franco will learn the hard way why I’m his best killer.