Page 21 of Mafia Boss

I turned to Marco. “Get me the mirror,” I ordered.

He disappeared into the other room for a few moments and reappeared with the floor-length mirror I always used in times like this.

Charlie shook his head and started to really shake the beams.

I poked the drill against his stomach. “Twelve holes isn’t a lot. Twelve holes is nothing. When I’m finished, we can call it quits, have some drinks, and shit-talk, like we always do,” I said, sending his words right back at him. “Right?”

“Fuck you, Cristian,” Charlie said, spitting at me.

After wiping the glob of spit off my cheek, I walked over to Roxie, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her in front of that desperate old man.

“Twelve holes,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “Where should they go?”

She shuddered underneath me, trying to stay strong and confident, like she always was, but I could see that fear in her eyes.

She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to go home.”

When she hadn’t given me the answer I’d wanted, I pressed my lips together and released her. “You’re mine now, Roxie.” I pushed her back down into her seat and turned around to Charlie, rage rushing through my veins. “One in each of your balls. One through your tiny little cock. Two in your head. The rest I’ll put where I think they look best.”

With the mirror placed directly in front of him, I smiled at Charlie’s pathetic reflection, placed the drill bit right on his right testicle, and started the drill, drilling right through the skin and pinning it to his pelvic bone. He screamed out in pain, the vein under his left eye pulsing.

“Watch yourself,” I ordered, drilling into his other testicle. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a Ricci.”

And when I finished there, I kept my promise and drilled a hole through his tiny dick.

Screams of terror echoed through the cellar. Roxie stared in horror at Charlie with wide brown eyes, her black mascara stained on her cheeks from earlier this morning. She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Full plum-colored lips parted, she dragged her chipped nails across the tattoos on her forearm.

“His hands,” Roxie spoke up. I glanced over at her, but she just stared at Charlie with distaste, shaking her head some more. “So he can’t touch anyone again.”

I drilled one hole into each of his palms, and then, for good measure, I drilled them into his thumbs at the knuckles until they both split open and fell off.

“That makes seven so far, Charlie.” I slapped him across the face. “Was it fucking worth it? Huh?” I slapped him harder, and his head slammed against the wooden beam. “Were all those late nights fucking worth it?”

When he didn’t answer me, I ripped open his shirt and decorated his chest with three more holes. I placed the drill down on the table and sorted through the other tools lying on it.

Picking up two nails and a hammer, I walked to Charlie and placed the tip of the nail on his temple. “Remember this,” I said to him, slamming the hammer against the top of the nail and impaling it into his head.

Charlie spit up blood, being the dramatic piece of shit he always was. I held out the hammer for Roxie to do the honors on the other side, but she just looked away, disgusted, with more tears spilling down her cheeks. I blew a breath out of my nose and impaled the last nail into the other side of his head.

I’d get someone to patch him up later.

“Sei bello,” I said, slapping his cheek. “Bello, bello.”

14

cristian

Charlie wasn’t dead yet.He would watch the blood leak out of each hole day in and day out, suffering until I ended his life for good. After what he had done, he didn’t deserve a quick death, but a long and agonizing slaughter.

I placed the hammer down, readjusted my tie, and nodded to the door. “Come with me, Roxie,” I said to her. Yet she sat there with her arms crossed over her chest, like the brat I thought she was. “I’m taking you home.”

She hopped up quicker than I’d thought she would and hurried to the door, brushing past me and nearly running to the car. She slid into the passenger seat, buckled herself in, and stared emptily at the windshield.

After ordering my men to clean up this little mess Charlie had made, I slid into the driver’s seat and started the forty-minute drive to Manhattan. Throughout the entire ride, Roxie didn’t say two words. I expected her bratty little mouth to say something, yet she didn’t look angry or scared about what had happened today.

Just numb.

Instead of heading to her apartment, I pulled into the garage of the building where I slept most nights after coming home from the club and guided her up to her new home. This was close to the club, where I spent most of my time, and I didn’t have to drive forty minutes to the main house every morning and evening.

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