Page 57 of Giovanna

“Sandy, mate! She’s mad as a cut snake!” Paul appeals again.

“You make me sick!” I shoot over my shoulder at him. “She’s your daughter, Rossi! You’re seriously defending this piece of shit after what he did?”

He goes silent, dabbing at his nose with his sleeve.

My fist connects with David’s abdomen once, twice, three times. He tries to double over, but I still have him pinned to the wall. He gurgles, trying to speak and his hands claw at my arm, leaving bright red gouges up my forearm.

“Shut the fuck up, David. Take the fucking beating,” Dad’s voice is cold. “The girl was sent away. You’ve had it easy. Just take your medicine.”

My head explodes. His medicine? This is hardly enough of a punishment. We don’t involve the police in our business, obviously, so Francesca will get no justice from the system. But if I was in Dad’s seat, our justice would have David wishing he had the police to deal with instead. He deserves to suffer a painful death after his genitals have been separated from his body. Cinder Block round the ankles and into the harbour.

Our world is run by men and I’ve transcended a lot of the bullshit despite my sex, but the old boys will protect each other to the bitter end. No consequences when you’re at the top of the mafia tree. That’s why I’m here to dole out my own justice.

Raining punch after punch down on David’s paunchy body, I don’t ease up until he is struggling to stand. Withdrawing the pressure on his neck, I stand back and allow him to slide down the wall to collapse on the carpet. His breathing is laboured, but he has suffered no major damage. Unfortunately.

Pulling a small hammer out of my jacket pocket, I kneel next to him. “Spread them!” I shout in his face, tapping his hand with the head of the hammer. David whimpers and slowly splays his fingers on the small wooden side table next to him.

“You. Will. Not. Be. Able. To. Wipe your arse. Or pick your nose. Or touch things you aren’t fucking supposed to. As each of these fingers slowly heals, I want you to remember that if you touch another girl, I will chop your hands off.”

One by one I slam the hammer into every single one of his knuckles, shattering the bones. He wails, snot and tears running down his face and I have never hated someone so much in my life. Revolting.

I tuck the hammer away and produce an ultra-sharp hunting knife from another pocket. David begins to whimper and tries to drag himself away. A pool of urine accumulates on the carpet between his legs and I sneer at him, “You’ll clean your piss off Dad’s carpet, mangled fingers or not.”

I bring the knife down swiftly and slice through the buttons on the monster’s dress shirt like butter, exposing his bare chest. I crouch next to him attempting to avoid the yellow puddle.

“Ppppplease,” he stutters through swollen lips.

“Get fucked. You don’t deserve my mercy.” The tip of the knife pierces through the skin in the centre of his chest. Dragging the knife slowly down the centre of his torso to the top of his belly button I split him open just enough to scar. Back at the top of the cut I slice a curve out towards his nipple and leave him with a giant bleeding ‘P’ that will scar and be with him forever. Let him explain what it stands for. Paedophile or predator works for me.

Standing, I send my boot into his side a handful more times before spitting on the cowering bleeding mess.

“I will kill you. I promise you that David. One day Dad won’t be here to protect you and I will finish this. Time won’t make me forgive you and I won’t fuckin’ forget either. You are on borrowed time.” With one last kick, I storm out of the office glaring at the pathetic men who have enabled and protected a predator.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Francesca

Despite knowing I am jumping to conclusions and that I should give Massimo the benefit of the doubt, my Uber ride back to the Marino house could have been powered by my rage alone.

The kind of fury that only last night saw me destroy a luxury vehicle worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The percolating bile that poisons me from the inside is foreign to me. I’ve done sad. Boy, have I done sad. The kind of depression that settles on you like a damp blanket of misery weighing down your limbs and dousing you in lethargy. But anger has always been a secondary emotion of little potency for me. Probably smothered by depressed apathy so that it manifests only bouts of frustration that giveaway to self-pity and sorrow.

Somewhere over the ocean on my Air New Zealand flight to Sydney, something shifted in me. Or maybe it was the moment I found out my future had already been packaged up and traded to a man incapable of chivalry and common decency.

I don’t know.

I just know that I am not the Francesca who dragged her feet into Heathrow, unwilling to return to Australia but putting up little fight.

And now, if I am to find out that the one person I trust in this world has been involved in the whole sorry affair, that might just be the final crack in the veneer. My heart will break and my faith that this world holds anything decent for me will seep out.

The sounds of laughter and music can be heard the minute I step onto the staircase from the underground garage at the Marino House.

Another party? Christ.If I have to see another influencer humping Elio’s leg I’ll get the itch to take the baseball bat out for another swing.

I’m not exactly dressed for a party either. I wore gym gear to Stefan’s house to support the alibi I gave Massimo. Leggings, sports bra, and trainers. All in black.

“Tiny, you shit cunt!” I hear Bluey’s booming voice as I enter the kitchen and grab sparkling water from the fridge.

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