Page 105 of Of Murder and Matrimony

“Sorry to interrupt your weekender,” Cosimo said dryly. “I hear DiSanto’s place is ritzy.”

“Fuck off.” I walked around my father, trying to reconcile the nearly naked man hanging in chains with the same man who terrorized my brothers and me for most of our lives. His icy glare followed me. I stopped before him and shoved my hands into the pockets of my travel-wrinkled suit. “I hate traitors.”

“You are nothing but a sad excuse for my heir,” my father hissed, his muscles tensing like he wanted to strike out at me. He couldn’t move much, or he’d lose what little footing he had and dangle helplessly by his wrists.

I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, considering I’m the one standing here with the power, and you’re wriggling like a bait worm on a hook in its last moments before being devoured by a bigger predator.”

Cosimo stopped beside me, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a suit tonight, a sign of a special occasion. I supposed my father’s execution could be considered an auspicious moment.

“How do you want this to go, Don Neretti?” he asked, honoring my authority as my father looked on.

I took in the marks already marring my father’s flesh. “How much have you gotten out of him already?”

“He’s not denying anything,” Cosimo offered with a shrug. “We can keep going.”

“I think it’s only fair that everybody has a turn,” I announced, looking at my brothers. “Youngest to oldest. Romeo, you’re up first.”

My youngest brother stepped forward, popping his knuckles. He looked like he’d come straight from a workout in his grey joggers and a black sleeveless shirt with the Flex logo. Balling his fist, he let loose on our father’s torso, drawing a series of grunts and moans from him.

He stepped away when he’d worked up a sweat and left bruises on both front and back. I moved forward to get some answers. “You betrayed the family.”

“I took control,” my father countered defiantly. “You’re all soft, falling for your wives and showing the ultimate weakness. None of you were fit to lead my men.”

There was no use arguing the merits of love. My father didn’t know the meaning of the word. “And my mother?”

“She fucked me over,” he hissed angrily. “Defied my orders and coddled you until you turned against your own father. She was a rot that grew from the inside, and she had to be stopped before she destroyed the next generation.”

“Turned us against you?” My voice vibrated with barely contained rage as I stepped up to my father and spat in his face, laughing when he recoiled in shock and disgust. I doubted anybody had treated him like that before. “We were never with you. There’s a difference between those who follow orders out of fear and those who are loyal out of dedication to a fair leader. You were never fair, using coercion and violence to secure compliance.”

“I made you respect my power! My position!” he ranted, puffing his chest out. “If you want men to bow, you take them out at the knees so they can’t rise against you!”

I tutted, shaking my head. “Yet you’re the one in a precarious position. Niccolò, your turn.”

Cosimo motioned to his younger twin, showing him a black chest against the wall. They spoke quietly, then Cosimo left him to sort through whatever was inside. Niccolò returned with items that looked like they belonged in his sex dungeon at The Edge rather than Cosimo’s torture chamber.

He punched our father square in the face with his good arm, then slipped a bright red ball gag between his lips, fastening the leather straps behind his head. Taking a knife from the selection of implements on a metal table, he sliced through my father’s boxer briefs, exposing him to the room.

“You hurt my wife,” he murmured, returning to the black chest and producing a wicked-looking bullwhip. “Terrorized her. Tried to force her to carry my child as some part of your sick desire for vicarious progeny.”

Niccolò let the whip fly, the crack making me wince. The ball gag muffled my father’s shrill scream. I knew he was a master at his craft, usually preferring knives, but this display of sadism wasn’t intended for pleasure. The leather flayed my father’s back open with wounds deep enough to require sutures he’d never receive.

Cosimo pulled Niccolò away when our father lost consciousness, and I watched as Niccolò slumped against the wall to recover. It was probably the most physical exertion he’d had in a few months, but I was proud of him for following through.

We waited silently for our prisoner to awaken, the tension in the air palpable until he finally did with a pained groan. He struggled to stand, but finally got his legs under him. Cosimo took a knife and sliced the gag from my father’s head, carelessly yet intentionally cutting through layers of flesh.

You’d think he would be done running his fucking mouth, but Ettore Neretti was an egotistical fuck. His eyes narrowed at Niccolò. “You thought you were so smart, figuring out that Mia’s uncle killed her baby. You were too blinded by love to see the larger picture. Who do you think he was doing a favor for? Not the fucking feds, you imbecile. Me. Once I saw your pathetic devotion, I knew you weren’t fit to carry on the family line. You were too stupid to figure it out.”

Niccolò’s face went blank, and I knew he must have been reliving the horrific loss of Mia’s first pregnancy. Cosimo walked over and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear. Niccolò nodded, and Cosimo’s eyes turned dark and eager.

I motioned for him to begin. “It’s all you, Cos.”

He whistled as he pawed through the black chest, producing another gadget with leather straps. Two circular metal rings fit in the mouth, with the strap around the head, keeping my father’s mouth open. Cosimo kept up with the creepy whistling while he casually took bits of skin off here and there.

Unlike the ball gag, this one made every cry project across the space until the sound panels absorbed them. The word traitor was crudely carved into my father’s chest when Cosimo stepped back to admire his handiwork.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked, pulling out more items. “I can’t guarantee he’ll talk after this.”

“I think we have it already,” I said, looking back at my grandfather, who stood passively behind me. He shook his head, indicating he was done as well. “Go ahead.”

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