Page 64 of Mafia Princess

I still, not wanting to move, not wanting to draw attention to myself but let my gaze scan the room. Mould clings to the damp walls in slimy patches, and the strong distinct scent of rotting flesh makes me gag. I can’t see the dead body but I know it's been left here to rot for some time.

A man in a suit enters, his face is concealed under a balaclava, his strong cologne barely masking the rotting flesh smell. He strides up to me, bends down so his eyes are level with mine, and he winks. I throw my head forward trying to headbutt him, but he’s out of my reach.

“Feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” He chuckles, his whispered voice sends tingles up and down my spine.

I can feel his hatred and anger, mixed with ice-cold antagonism permeate the damp air of the cell. I stare at his every move, not letting him out of my sight, and watch him stride to the side of the room and drag down a screen from the ceiling. His movements are fluid as he makes his way back toward me, the set of his shoulders stirs an unwanted familiarity.

“So, Principessa, you seem to have fucked up my plans,” he growls, and backhands me, the sting making my eyes water.

“Fuck you,” I mumble through the gag, which makes him tilt his head and study me.

He lifts his arm, the movement reveals a gold watch on his wrist, making my heart jackknife in my chest. I struggle against the restraints and nearly tip the chair to the side but he catches me, his hand so close to my throat. My breath heaves as I try to ignore the closeness of him and glare up at him in pure hatred.

He removes his balaclava and studies me, his face just inches from mine. “Are you going to scream like your mother?” He taps me on the nose and winks.

Mother fucking Tommaso D’Amico got the upper hand. He and his evil ways are never going to be stopped. I want to rip out of my skin and strangle him with my bare hands, but all I can do is stew in my silence. I won’t give him the satisfaction of making me scream. He can go fuck himself if he thinks I’ll break.

“So, Principessa, you must have a million and one questions.” He stands up and taps his forefinger on his chin. “I’ll answer a few for you, then I have a little surprise.” His eyes light up in crazy amusement.

He walks slowly around me, taking his time, studying every inch of my exposed skin. It makes my skin break out in goosebumps that resemble hives. The feral movements of lips, churning my insides.

“The first answer I’ll give you is that your family was meant to be arrested after the wedding ceremony when you were officially a D’Amico. You see, I had plans to take the New York territory and expand my horizons. But the inept police department fucked this up. That’s okay, I will take it over once you disappear.” He smiles at me, the evil glint in his eyes serving as a reminder of the monster he truly is.

My gut coils at his words. How the fuck did it all come to this? Why is he doing this to my family? Fuck, I hope someone caught my babies and they didn’t get hit by a car on the busy streets. I’d never fucking forgive myself. His depraved voice startles me from my thoughts.

“Answer number two is, that above all of us Mafia families, there is a little society aptly named La Fratellanza. They’re ruthless fuckers, and you see, my sweet child, they take payment in the form of the lives of female born daughters. They allow the heads of the family to then carry on their business as they please.” He watches me as his sick words sink in. “Every favor earns a consequence. My daughter was sacrificed, as was my sister, and so on, and so forth.” He says this without an ounce of emotion like he’s devoid of humanity.

Staring at him in disgust, my mind reels with this new information. What kind of fucked up organization murders women as payment for their permission to live their lives?

“And my last answer to your non-spoken questions is that your dearest mother sacrificed herself to spare you.” His lips twist into a wry smile.

I nearly faint at his revelation; my mind is in a dizzying confused state. Is he for fucking real? I scream as I try to loosen the ties holding me captive, I thrash against them with all the strength I have, barely loosening them. It’s pointless. I’m fucking stuck here with this fucking vile piece of shit and I can’t do anything about it.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” I snarl through my gag.

Ignoring me, Tommaso stalks to the closed door and lets in one of his accomplices. I recognize him from my fake engagement party and wonder if Milan is in on this too?

This well-dressed man walks straight for me, his face shows no emotion, and he deliberately doesn’t make eye contact. In his grubby fucking hands are duct tape and a switchblade

I stiffen, waiting for whatever this asshole has in store for me, my anger erupting seconds later and I scream from irritation. Both fuckers completely ignore me.

The accomplice proceeds to cut a piece of the duct tape, and I watch his movements carefully, wondering what the hell he’s going to do with it seeing as I’m already gagged and tied up. In one swift motion, he grips my head in his bony fingers, pulling my eyelid painfully up, and presses the duct tape to it, taping my eye wide open.

I jerk out of his touch and my free eye blinks rapidly, as I try to move my taped eye, but it’s hopeless and aggravation settles in my gut. I have a feeling this is only the beginning of my torture, and by the time they’re finished with me, I’ll welcome death with open arms.

His hand moves toward me again and I thrash side to side, the pain in my neck excruciating with my jerky movements. His fist connects with my temple and a flash of light sparks across my eyes, momentarily blinding me. My head drops forward, and as much as I try to move it, my brain doesn’t connect with my thoughts.

His slimy hand pushes at me so my face is upwards, staring at the ceiling. My taped eye stings like a bitch, the dryness feeling like acid is eating away at my eyeball. The fucker tapes my other eye open and stalks behind me, holding my head forward in place in his firm grip.

“Showtime.” Tommaso claps like he’s lost his mind, acting like a deranged asylum escapee. He presses a button on what looks like a projector and the white screen lights up with an image. An image I am all too aware of. It’s this room.

I choke out in agony as my eyes adjust, and I see my mom laying on a filthy mattress, her beaten and swollen face staring at the camera. Her clothes are torn and her body is covered in dried blood.

“Stop!” I scream, the hollow echo vibrating through my pounding head. “Fucking stop!” I try to close my eyes as the tears pour freely over my cheeks in rivers of agony. My saliva drips down my chin, the gag already soaked through, unable to absorb any more moisture.

“See what a mother’s love means?” Tommaso tilts his head at the screen, watching his showpiece like it’s a blockbuster movie.

I try to look away but my eyes are glued to my mom, laying there motionless and battered. A movement on the screen makes me flinch and it’s like I’m seeing double, the same man here in real life and stalking toward my mom. I jerk in the chair, shrieking in agony as Tommaso kicks my mom in the stomach over and over again before he hauls her limp body off the mattress by her matted hair, gripping her throat.

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