Page 2 of Twisted Obsession
“Please,” he begged, his voice quivering with abject fear and humiliation.
Just like his brother Alfonso, Carmine was no angel. He had cunningly deceived my younger sister into believing he loved her. He used her, manipulated her emotions, and stole her innocence to worm his way into our family. His ultimate goal was to uncover our secrets and to exploit the trust she had so willingly placed in him.
The day before the Cosa Nostra stormed our opulent mansion, my sister revealed the harsh truth. She had been secretly seeing Carmine Balestrini. When she confided in him about her pregnancy, he cruelly branded her a slut, denying any responsibility. He threatened her with humiliation, promising to ruin her reputation by labeling her a whore if she dared to speak out. It was in that moment of betrayal that I swore vengeance, determined to make him pay for the devastation he had caused.
In the early days of forming the Red Knights, I had moments of self-doubt, questioning my own nature. Before the intoxicating taste of vengeance, I feared there was a darkness within me, or something far worse, something sinister. I worried I was insane or psychotic for having spent most of my life as a killer, living in the shadows.
But then, clarity struck. I realized I did not kill for gratification or the thrill of ending a life. No, my purpose was clear. I would put despicable creatures like Carmine Balestrini downall day, every day,if it meant preventing them from inflicting the same suffering on others that he had on my sister.
Reaching out with determination, I ripped the blindfold from his eyes. I wanted him to see us, to truly grasp who his executioners were. I wanted him to understand the faces and the fury behind his judgment.
He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his blurry vision until his eyes finally focused on us.
“You. You fucking four are all dead,” he spat, defiance lacing his words.
I remained silent, my resolve unshaken, as I reached into my jacket and drew out a gleaming ten-inch blade made of titanium steel.
“Please, whatever you want, it’s yours,” Carmine screeched, desperation tainting his voice as he futilely struggled against his bindings.
“I’d like my mother and my sister back, but we both know that’s not possible. Did you know how old my sister was when you violated her?” I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. “She was barely sixteen. You, of all people, should know that under New York law, she was still a minor.”
“I never knew. She came to the club. She used a fake ID. I had no idea she was only sixteen,” Carmine squirmed, pushing himself further back in his chair as I carefully placed the cold, gleaming blade between his trembling legs.
“You know what, Carmine? I think you are a liar.” My voice was calm, yet it cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife.
Before he could utter another word, his eyes rolled back into his head as my blade descended, ensuring he would never again have the chance to impregnate an innocent girl. The roomseemed to close in around us, the air heavy with the metallic scent of blood.
“Carmine, focus,” I commanded, slapping his cheeks sharply to bring him back to the present. His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared at me with a dazed expression. I gripped his head with both hands, forcing him to look at me. “Did you also know that when you killed her, she was pregnant with your child?”
“Your sister was nothing but a slut. I wasn’t the only one she spread her legs for. I didn’t kill her, but I’m glad she’s dead.” His words dripped with disdain, a vile smirk twisting his lips.
Rage surged through me, a searing inferno blazing in my veins. With one swift, decisive movement, I swung my knife and severed Carmine’s head, watching it roll down to the floor to rest beside his severed cock. The finality of it all was as satisfying as the silence that followed—a silence that echoed with justice served.Cocksucker.
As I looked at what remained of Carmine’s body, I knew justice had been served, but my heart still ached. My sister’s secret would remain hidden forever. And now the last of the Balestrini’s heirs were dead.
Chapter One
3 years ago
Lara
Chloe had been my best friend ever since the fifth grade, but sometime her impulsive ideas weren’t very smart. And having a friend of a friend of a friend get us fake IDs so we could celebrate “turning over a new leaf,” as she worded it, wasn’t either. She convinced me it was our last hurrah before we went our separate ways to college, never seeing each other, which would never happen, and it might be the only time we could get away from the control of our overprotective fathers. Well, at least mine.
We finally reached the front of the line, where a muscular man checking IDs was standing. I wasn’t sure what I was so worried about. The IDs Chloe’s friend had made for us looked like the real thing. Chloe, always prepared, had her ID in her hand and held it out to him. She was Milly Andrews, calm, cool, and collected. I, nothing but a bunch of nerves, was stillfumbling through my purse, trying to find the damn thing. I could tell the people in line behind me were getting annoyed when I started pulling things out of my purse.It had to be in here. I would swear I put the damn thing in my purse.
“If you don’t have an ID, sweetheart, you can’t go in.” Mr. Tall and all muscles crossed his arms at his broad chest, stretching his black t-shirt to the limit.
I dug around in my purse until my fingers finally grabbed onto the thin card. I plucked it out with a smile. “Here you go.”
Mr. Tall and all muscles took a moment to look at my ID before handing it back to me and allowing us into the club. I had memorized everything on that ID just in case there was any question it was real—Sara Jones, 572 Brooklyn Street, Brooklyn, NY, yadda, yadda, yadda. The best part about the fake ID was it made me twenty-one, making me old enough to enter and old enough to drink.
Chloe took hold of my hand because God forbid we get separated among the hundreds of bodies gyrating to the loud music. There was so much energy inside this place, I could feel it bouncing off the walls. No wonder it was the hottest spot in New York City to party. All the girls wore short, shiny dresses that barely covered their asses. No wonder Chloe lent me this barely-there red number, with a high slit on the side and a plunging neckline.
We made it to the bar and looked at each other for a moment before Chloe called over the bartender. “Can we have two Sex on the Beaches?”
“Coming right up, beautiful,” he replied with a pearly white smile that probably got him more dates than time.
As we waited for our drinks, I took in the club. It was over the top, with cages suspended high above holding women dressed in various costumes representing different species of bird—hence the club’s name, Raptor. Only the girls in the cages weren’t dressed as birds of prey, but innocent ones, canaries, blue jays, red cardinals, and other harmless birds.
