Page 18 of Psycho

“Okay,” I say softly, because I don’t have a choice anyway, but there are things I want to know, even if I can’t ever do anything about it. More than anything, I want to hear him say it, admit what his family did to mine.

“You’ll go first, since you were a bad girl and started this.”

He moves closer to me, and his brows knit together, his anger crackling like a tangible force. If I weren’t tied up, I think I could reach out and touch it.

“Why my family? There is no open investigation, we both know that. So why?”

I tilt my head, and look at him with curiosity. There isn’t one, but why is he so sure about that?

“How would you know that?”

I know they obviously have some officers in their pocket, but not the DA’s office. There’s no way. I would know. Every day I go to work, and go through new case files, hoping to find one name that will give me the closure I need.

Bonetti.

When there’s hope, it’s only followed by disappointment, yet it’s all I have. I’ve lost everyone. Taking them down has become my reason for existing.

He drags the spine of the knife down his beard, as he stares at me with a curious gaze. I wonder if he does it to remind me about the blade. If so, rest assured I have not forgotten. My skin still stings, serving as a constant reminder.

“My question first, and if you’re a good girl, and tell the truth, then I’ll tell you how I know.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that I have to talk about this. The familiar lump in my throat grows, as flashes of his face form behind my eyes. The way I found him is seared into my brain. Time keeps going after we lose people, but the pain remains. Sometimes it dulls, but it never truly goes away. My voice comes out as broken as my heart still feels, as I speak.

“My father worked for your father. One day when I was a little girl, I came home, and found his head on our doorstep. Your father decapitated mine, and left such a vile image that it was burned into my brain. It destroyed my mother. His hands showed up a few days later. And his heart, days after that. Such brutality. I vowed, the day we put his severed parts in the ground, to get revenge for him, by putting every Bonetti in prison.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PSYCHO

I’m not surprised by much, but this absolutely floors me. I didn’t know her father had worked for our family, so that’s interesting, but it’s the manner of death that has me raising a brow. That’s not something we would do. Kage was the first in our family to decapitate anyone, I’m fairly certain. Sending a message like that to a family isn’t our way. If he worked for our family, they aren’t a rival family, so it doesn’t make sense for my father to do this. In a mafia war, anything goes, but this? No, she’s wrong.

I run my knife through my beard as I think. The Bonetti brothers all kill in their own ways, but my father was not into torture, he was quick, and to the point. The only time he tormented someone was for information. He was not one to send messages like she’s suggesting. It was not his style to leave a child to find her father that way.

“What makes you think that was our family?”

She shakes her head, like I’m an idiot, when, if one of us is an idiot, it sure as fuck is not me.

“He worked for you. It had to be you, well, not you personally, but your father.”

I gaze down at my lost little lamb, as I realize making her hate herself has just gotten a lot easier. When she realizes what she has done, for fucking nothing, the devastation will be visible to the naked eye. I almost feel bad for her.Almost.

“You came after my family, and brought this on yourself, when it wasn’t us that did this to your father. It’s not something my father would’ve done. If he thought your father had done something, yes, he would’ve been killed. I guarantee you, torturing an innocent family isn’t how he would’ve handled it. Perhaps another family may have done this, because he worked for us, but this wouldn’t have been our doing. Lorenzo Bonetti would never have done this. Instead, he likely paid for your father’s funeral.”

That’s our way. We take care of our men, and unfortunately shit like this happens, but not at our hands. If, for some reason, my father had wanted to decapitate him, he would have. Leaving the evidence for his child to find? Not a fucking chance. Contrary to what my little lamb thinks, we are not vile monsters. Don’t get me wrong, we are bad men, and we do bad things, but we leave children the fuck out of it. And the women too, unless, of course, they’re like Anastasia, and have come for us. There are families that would do this shit, but we’ve never seen the point of it. A mafia man should be powerful on his own, without the need to wave his dick around.

A tear rolls down her cheek, and it’s simply beautiful, but confusing.

“You don’t cry when I cut you, but now you do.”

It’s not really a question, but more of a statement. An observation.

“Do you think you’re the first man to torture me, Massimo?”

I arch an eyebrow in surprise, at her using my given name. It’s different, and confuses me. My mother is the only one that calls me that, ever. Bones has never even done that when he’s pissed at me. He has with my brothers, but not me. Although it might be coming, since I’ve been ignoring his repeated phone calls.

“Who else has tortured you, little lamb?”

She shakes her head, refusing to answer my question. I allow it for now, mostly because I don’t actually give a fuck. Judging her decision-making skills, she likely deserved it.

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