Page 54 of Villainous
The police officer shakes his head. “But I will get one.”
“You know Jacob Washington, the governor and former judge. He does business with me. If you don’t leave my property now, then I’m going to call him to tell him to call your chief to let him know you’re harassing us, and you don’t want that,” I snap.
“What was your name again?” The cop’s voice breaks.
“Aiden Vitali.”
His eyes get big. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Vitali. It won’t happen again.”
He gets into the police car and drives off. Once he’s out of view, I say, “Grab her,” in Italian to my soldiers. They grab her arms and drag her to the back of the manor. Once we get into the dungeon, I slap her across the face, yank her neck, and shake her like a dog with a chew toy.
“You fucking bitch. You forged Maya’s signature so she can’t get AJ.”
Then I drop her like the trash she is, and she coughs, then pukes on the concrete floor.
“You beat my child, and you think you’re going to get away with it.” I kick her in the stomach, and she cries out.
“Please stop,” she whimpers. “My family knows where I’m at, so if I come up missing, then they know where to look.”
She stands up, dusting off her clothes, holding her head high as if she’s the president of the US. “What I did to her was the right thing to do. She shouldn’t spread her legs for trash like you.”
Maya and her mother have the same smart-ass mouth.
“AJ only got beatings because he’s a disobedient little shit like his mother. And as far as Maya goes, her father dumped me, so I couldn’t stand the sight of her, but I wanted to be in my grandson’s life, so I tricked her. He reminded me so much of Declan, and I wanted to feel a connection with him. She wasn’t smart enough to take care of a child. She doesn’t even have enough sense to take care of herself. And you, I saw the dysfunction in your family, and I didn’t want that for him.”
I don’t give a fuck about her situation with Maya’s famiglia. I just want my son back. I want to be his father.
A smile spreads across my face, and horror paints her eyes.
I beckon one of my soldiers to me. “Boil some water and put sugar in it,” I say in Italian.
He disappears from the room and several minutes later comes back with a pot of boiling water.
“Chain her to the wall,” I say in Italian.
I speak Italian so it gives the person I’m about to hurt the element of surprise.
I lean against the concrete wall as they grab her by the neck and wrap the chain around her arms and ankles. She kicks and fights, screaming at them to let her go. I take my knife from my holster and cut the sleeves of her shirt and pants legs, exposing her delicate flesh. I’m going to have fun torturing her smooth skin. I’m going to show her how handy my artwork is when it comes to torturing. One of my soldiers hands me two oven mitts, and I wiggle them on and hold the pot.
“I can’t kill you, bitch, but I’m going to torture the fuck out of you until you wish you were dead. What happens when you pour sugar and boiling hot water onto the flesh?” I smirk. “It melts the flesh right off the bone.”
Tears trickle down her cheeks as she holds out her hands. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“It’s too late. Stretch out her arms,” I yell at one of my soldiers, and he does what I say.
I pour the hot water onto her skin, and blisters form and her flesh melts and falls to the concrete floor. Kennedy screams so loud it hurts my ears. I pour water onto her other hand, and this time the blisters pop, exposing the raw skin. This is my favorite form of torture, burning flesh without having to start a fire. I set the pot down and grab my knife from my holster. I begin to cut the sugar off her skin, and a chunk of flesh falls to the floor.
“Every day, I want you to pour boiling water and sugar on her skin until I say stop,” I order my soldier, and he nods.
“You stupid son of a bitch! When I get out of here, I’m going to make you and Maya pay for the shit you do.”
I loosen my tie as I leave the dungeon. When I get to the living room, Maya is pacing the floor. AJ has his headphones in the shape of cat ears on, playing on his tablet. When her gaze meets mine, she grabs me by my forearm and ushers me into the foyer. Fear plays in her irises.
“What did you do to her?” Her tone is filled with panic.
She doesn’t need to know the extent of how I’m torturing her.
“Nothing she can’t handle.”
