Arranged love

I throw my head back, laughing.

“I mean it!” he screams. “I already cut you once. I’ll do it again.” He swings the knife around aimlessly in the air.

Nite goes to him, gripping Bernard’s wrist and squeezing so hard that he releases the knife with a cry.

“Pathetic,” I spit.

As a member of the Mafia, you are trained for situations like this. And this guy has apparently forgot all his beatings. I never will.

“Luca?”

I turn to face my father’s right-hand man, Diaz. He made it sound as though I needed the protection, but we all knew Diaz was sent to spy. To report back to my father how I did and whether I passed the test.

He holds his finger to his earpiece. “We have another one. Snake pit, sir.”

I smile. The snake pit is another trap I set for these sorry bastards. A ten feet deep hole that I had my men dig last night, then place five snakes in. None of them venomous. I wanted them captured and scared, not dead. “Tell them to take him back to the cabin.” Then I turn back to the man. “We’re going to wrap this up.”

Diaz hands me a pair of Lineman’s pliers and a razor blade. “Nite, you may do the honors.” I pass him the razor blade. He stares down at it, his eyes glazing over with excitement. I watch the vein in his neck throb with anticipation.

Payback is sweet. And bloody.

Walking over to Bernard, I grab his arms and pull him toward me. He screams out as the chain on the bear trap pulls taut, stretching his body. Falling to my knees at his head, I order, “Open your mouth.”

He clamps it shut, brown eyes glaring up at me. They promise retribution. He knows his hours are numbered, but he also knows his men will retaliate. It’s just a matter of when, so I’m going to make it worth it.

“Nite,” I call out.

He stomps on Bernard’s trapped leg, and the man screams out in agony. I use the opportunity to reach into his mouth and grab his tongue with the pliers. He mumbles a few choice words and tries to shake his head. His tongue instantly begins to bleed when I squeeze, securing the grip. His arms flail around, trying to push me away, but he is unsuccessful.

I look up at Nite as he bends down next to me. And without a second thought, he takes the razor blade and slices it through Bernard’s tongue, cutting it off.

I stand, the pliers still in my hand and his tongue hanging on the end. Bernard thrashes on the ground as blood gushes from his mouth. The sounds of gurgling and vomiting follow.

I hand the pliers to Nite, and he stares at it as if it’s his firstborn. The most prized possession he’ll ever own.

“We could make him swallow it,” I offer.Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Nite shakes his head and hands it to Diaz to hold.

“Good idea. Keep it as a souvenir.” I pick up the knife from the ground. “You had your chance at freedom. You should have taken it.” I place it back in my boot. Bernard lies there. He’s twisted around to where he’s on his hands, his mouth wide open as the blood continues to run down his chin and cover his shirt along with the ground. His body shakes, his leg yanking on the bear trap and causing the chain to clank. His skin is so tore up, you can see the tendon and muscles.

“Diaz?” I snap my fingers, and he hands me the ice chest.

I bend down, opening the small red cooler. Most of the ice has melted, leaving it full of water and a white washcloth. I make sure to dunk it into the freezing water and turn to Bernard. I kick his shoulder, pushing him onto his back, and straddle his chest. He fights me, but again, he’s unsuccessful as I cram the washcloth into his bloody mouth. “We need to apply pressure,” I tell him while he tries to breathe. Blood sprays me from around the corners of his mouth as he coughs and chokes on the water. His body convulses while trying to breathe. “To make the bleeding stop.”

His hands slap at my body aimlessly. I stand and step away from him. His shaky hands yank the washcloth out and throw it to the ground before he grabs at his blood covered chest and neck.

I snort, watching his sorry ass flop around like a fish out of water. I turn, giving him my back, because I’m done playing with him. I get bored easily. “Boys, shall we?”

We walk off, leaving the man behind us with his leg in the trap and bleeding from his mouth. An animal will smell the blood, and he’ll either be eaten alive, or he’ll eventually die from blood loss or dehydration. Either way will be painful.

Nite slaps me on the back.

“You okay?” I ask, giving him a quick glance.

This week has been rough for him, and I hate it. I’ve always looked up to him like an older brother. And he’s the reason we’re five hundred miles away from home to begin with.

He nods because, well, that’s all he does. That sorry bastard we just walked away from cut out Nite’s tongue seven days ago because he wouldn’t give up intel on my family.

We’re the Bianchis, the Italian-American Mafia who runs most of Las Vegas. We’ve all got bounties on our heads and are always a target. If you don’t take out your enemies, they will take you out first.

The Mafia is the world’s most exclusive men’s club, and once you’re in, you’re in for life. Nite and I both wear the ring on our right hand. It’s gold and big. Heavy. The thing is tacky, but it represents power. Nite is the only Bianchi who wears the ring that wasn’t born into the family. My parents adopted him soon after my father found him, making him Oliver Nite Bianchi for life. So, like me, death is his only way out.

I didn’t have a choice. Twenty-two years ago, I was born into it, and I’ve been proving my worth and loyalty to my father and his men ever since. This trip will not be any different. I made this trip to show my loyalty to Nite as he has shown to me and my family. Heads will roll. Literally. And it’ll be by my bloodstained hands.