Page 98 of Monster in Disguise

Everyone is staring in horror at the unfolding scene.

Franco is wailing in pain, clutching his bleeding eye. His knees give out, and he's on the floor, his body quivering.

Marcello looks at him without an ounce of empathy in his gaze. The change is so sudden, I can hardly believe my eyes.

I've never seen that expression on his face before. He turns slightly towards me and gives me a comforting nod.

What is he doing?

Marcello casually takes a glass of red wine from a nearby waiter and swirls the liquid inside.

"What did you say? I didn't hear you?" He plants himself in front of Franco and stoops down so he's on the same level.

"What did you say about my wife?" He asks again, his voice hard and unyielding.

Franco, like a fool, doesn't know when to stop.

"That she's a lying whore. And I bet her daughter's the same."

"Is that so..." Marcello narrows his eyes at him. "Should I remind you that the daughter in question is alsomydaughter?" Him claiming my daughter as his warms my heart in a way I'd never thought possible.

He doesn't wait for an answer as his hand grips the end of the fork and pulls hard. In one fluid motion, the fork comes off, together with Franco's eye. The blood pools down his face, and his screams echo in the room.

Marcello swirls the fork up in the air, looking at it with a bored expression.

"Anyone else have anything to say about my family?" He turns to face the crowd and dares anyone to say something.

There are hushed voices in the background, but no one outright intervenes. In a shocking gesture, Marcello drops the eye into his wine glass. He tips the glass up.

"Cheers," he says before downing the contents.

Some women are passing out, others are heaving and emptying the contents of their stomachs. Even some men look a little bit yellow in the face.

But no one says anything.

Marcello stops again in front of a bawling Franco and tells him something that I can't quite make out. Whatever it is, it's making Franco look even more ill than before.

"Did you say anything? I didn't hear you," Marcello says out loud.

A bloody Franco, still on his knees, does his best to crawl towards me.

"I'm sorry." His head is hung low, his voice laced with pain.

"Still didn't hear you," Marcello echoes, and Franco grits his teeth.

"I'm sorry." This time it's loud enough for everyone to hear.

Benedicto emerges from the back of the crowd, clapping.

"Bravo!" He shakes his head in admiration. "Bravo!"

He takes the glass still housing the eye from Marcello and comes towards his brother.

"What did I tell you,fratello?" He makes a tsk sound.

"How... how can you let him do this to me?" Franco stammers, his face taut with shock.

"I didn't. You did." He shrugs and then flips the glass so that the eyeball falls out on the ground.

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