Page 16 of Alliance

My right eye has sealed itself shut. I don’t blame it, I wish I could seal off my entire body, curl inside myself and protect my fragile bones and broken flesh.

“Again,” LaFontaine says, and Damien shakes off his wrist. He winces ever so slightly. Hurting me must be taking a toll on him. He steps back and pats Marcus’s shoulder. Guess he’s up next.

Every inch of mehurts.

Pain that never felt imaginable to me. I’d been in fights before, I’ve held my own, but nothing compares to this.

The tape bites into my wrists, the flesh there is raw and rough.

Marcus doesn’t have rings, a small blessing, but his punches are harder than his uncle’s. He gives my face a break, instead, going for my stomach.

I’m thankful I didn’t eat this morning, leaving me with nothing but acid to spit up.

I try to distract myself while Marcus continues the assault on my body. I bring my mind to a different place. I imagine the feeling of my ma’s carpet beneath me, the shiny plastic of a PlayStation controller in my hand and Anthony laughing next to me. That kid loves video games, much to Ma’s dismay. He’s good too, his fingers are quick with the triggers.

Smack.

I feel the sting of Marcus’s hand as it collides with my face, whipping my head to the side and jolting my neck. The fire burns down my spine again.

I need a better distraction from the pain. I let my mind wander to the last place, letting a vision of Lana fill my head. Her lipstick smeared so prettily when she took my cock in her mouth, her head bobbing up and down. Her tongue felt like velvet, washing over my cock in the most delicious ways.

The door opens again, letting in a small sliver of fluorescent light from the stairway.

“Stop.” The two men who entered the basement are blurry. I have to blink a few times with my good eye before they start to come into focus. The older one has a head full of dark but graying hair and a thick mustache. He crosses his arms over his bulky chest and glances at me briefly before looking at his brother-in-law and nephew.

I don’t interact with Carmine Costello Junior often. Marcus and Damien run their side of the organization separate from the man. Old Carmine had a division in his ranks, one he tried his hardest to ignore, forcing the men to gather around his dinner table and talk often. But when the old man wasn’t around, things were different.

It was apparent, even to soldiers like me, that there was a fracture between Junior and Damien. Junior was the only Costello son, but also the youngest, and for some reason his sisters’ husbands felt the family was better off with them.

There’s a legend, told in whispers between soldiers, when none of the Costellos are listening. Talks about how the oldest Costello girl’s husband was killed. Marcus’s father married Caterina Costello when they were only eighteen, much to the dismay of her father. Carmine apparently hated Marcus’ father, Al Ricci. The guy was notorious for bombing buildings back in the nineties. He handled any situation he didn’t like with fire. I had to admit, I kind of admired the guy, except for his psychopathic tendencies and his love for a blow torch, he stood for what he believed.

When Carmine was done with his son-in-law’s antics, he gave Junior the okay to kill the man. And Junior took him out with fire, singeing off his skin until his body couldn’t take anymore. Fitting, I think.

I would pass it off as talk, blown out of proportion as the years went on, but the way Marcus looks at his uncle now confirms there’s bad blood there.

“What are you doing here?” Marcus asks, shaking my blood from his hand.

Behind Junior is his mini-me, Sam. He looks like a younger version of his father, dressed in all black with a dark head of hair. His eyes are glued to me, assessing every cut and bruise decorating my skin.

Junior and Sam run one faction of the Costellofamigliawhile Damien and Marcus run the other.

How did I find myself wrapped up in a family war?

I should have known better, should have known that the stories of this family are true. That they’re the brutal, uncaring monsters that the press has made them out to be.

But the money was too good.

And I’d been poor for too long. The cash lining my pockets was addicting. There was food on the table, clothes on our backs. The water was never shut off, the lights were always working. Coming home to no crisis, to no issues, was nice. There had been too many years where all we did was work, each of us holding down multiple minimum wage jobs just to keep the lights on. With this money though, Elly could be home with Anthony, and Ma could finally take a break. Age had worn out her joints, making her stiff and achy. Now she could afford a doctor, could get treatment for her arthritis.

Money opened up so many doors we hadn’t even known existed.

I got greedy, taking on every job I could because I never wanted the cash flow to end.

But I guess it ends here with my blood being washed down a basement drain.

“I heard you were torturing someone,” Junior answers Marcus’ question, his words laced with annoyance. “Stupid, ya know,” he adds, plucking a cigarette from the pack and bringing it to his lips. He doesn’t finish until after he blows out the smoke. “Can this place be traced back to you?”

Marcus grinds his teeth, clearly annoyed with his uncle’s statement. I’m guessing that’s a yes then.

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