Long after Gianna had left, he was still rooted to the spot, barely in control of himself as the memories threatened to explode in his mind.
He wanted to believe he’d gotten better over the years at controlling them, but there were times, like this, when any mention of the past brought them to the surface.
He should have known better than to believe that his sister would be on his side. After all, when had anyone been on his side? He’d always been in the wrong, even when he’d been in the right, and the memories were killing him.
Why was everyone always against him?
He paced the entire length of his study, his thoughts an erratic mass of threats, accusations and what ifs. Because now that his sister knew Rafaelo was back in the city…
Would she help him? Would she go to him and warn him that Michele was planning something against him?
Of course she would.
His lip pulled up in distaste.
She’d sell him out like everyone before her. And he could bet it would be under some type of misguided guilt, thinking she could bring the brothers back together.
His ire increased the more he imagined the two of them, laughing together and mocking Michele for his little plans of revenge.
Stopping, he balled his hands into fists, feeling his control slipping.
The sound of their laughter was in his ears, their derisive comments and their mocking insults. Just like those kids when he’d been young, who’d shunned and scorned him for being different. Just like his father and stepmother, who’d accused him of being a monster just for the mere fact that he’d been born.
But maybe that was the issue. Why had he been born in the first place? His whore of a mother should have kept her legs closed for once and he wouldn’t be having so many problems.
A monster they’d branded him, a monster they’d created.
And after too long of hearing the same insult spewed all over again, he’d transformed its bite into a praise, faithfully earning that moniker.
Because he was a monster. He might have been one since birth—though debatable—but he’d certainly become one of his own making. And everyone had felt the wrath of the monster they’d created.
Everyone.
The laughter became louder, and he started hearing Cosima’s insults in a loop. He brought his hands to his ears, trying to block the sound. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn never enough.
‘They hate me,’ he started uttering, almost incoherently. ‘Everyone hates me. Everyone wants to end me,’ he shook his head, sweat clinging to his skin. His field of vision was becoming blurry, his emotions explosive and barely held in check.
Poof.
He grabbed the decanter, throwing it out the window. He repeated the motion with each of the glasses he owned, until barely a few shards of glass remained of the window, the chilly air swinging inside and brushing against his wet skin.
And in a bout of spent adrenaline, he fell to his knees.
Staring into empty space, it took him moments to get himself together—to get his mind out of the gutter it was currently visiting and pull it back up to the safety of this reality. Because he’d succeeded. Everyone who’d bullied him was dead. Everyone who’d mocked him was dead.
Everyone but Rafaelo.
But he would follow.
Then he would complete his last revenge, and he would reign like he was always meant to—a king among corpses.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his feed, a strange need growing inside of him.
And there she was.
He stopped at the photo. It was clear she’d taken it by herself, the angle telling. She tried to plaster a smile on her face, but even that was forced.
In all their time together, he hadn’t known her to smile too often, the gesture almost foreign.
In that, they were equally matched for he could not remember the last time he’d smiled of joy—had he ever?
He studied the contours of her face, marveling at her coloring and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle even in the darkest of corners.
For a toy, she’d certainly fulfilled her purpose, her mere presence offering him the calm of knowing he owned her—she was his and his alone.
He’d never had anything that belonged solely to him. Growing up, Rafaelo had received everything while he’d been forgotten, or purposefully ignored.
He’d never had a toy. He’d never had a possession that belonged just to him.
Not until her.
Perhaps that was why he’d become so obsessed with her presence, though she was just a means to an end. For the first time in his life, he had something. And with the way she was always gazing up at him as if he could pluck the moon from the sky and gift it to her, he didn’t think he wanted to give her up.
But give her up he must…at some point. Not now. Certainly not now. Not when his plan was going so smoothly.
He’d successfully implanted himself in her life so deeply, he knew that if he ordered her to die with him tomorrow she would.
He paused, the idea having some merit. He was sure her brother would grieve her loss. Still, eventually he would recover, and he didn’t want that. He wanted his revenge to be something that would hit deep and take root, create such a wound never to be healed again.
Through her, he’d gained inside access to her household. Now it was only a matter of figuring out when to hit where it hurt.
But until then, he’d just enjoy her and her unspoiled innocence. Because even that would not last much longer. Not in his caring hands.
He continued to study her profile, looking at every picture in part, though he’d already seen them multiple times in the past.
Research. This was all research. Because he needed to maintain his cover, and most of all, he needed to keep her in his thrall—his obedient little pet. And that meant knowing all of her patterns and everything that made her her.
He was nothing if not meticulous when it came to his vengeance. And having planned it for years, he’d ensured he’d taken every step towards establishing a connection with her.
His finger stilled on the screen as he noted a new notification of a picture she’d been tagged in. His brows furrowed, he clicked on it, only to be met with the last thing he would have expected.
There she was, his little pet, standing awkwardly next to another man who dared to lay a finger on his property.
There was no time to think. No time to control his actions. He just saw red in front of his eyes. Because his little toy was his and his alone. And anyone who tried to steal it…
Abruptly, he stood up. It took him less than a second to dial up his men—the ones who should have been watching her and ensure nothing of that nature ever happened.
And as they promised to promptly report for duty, they soon made their way to his office, their heads bent low as they entered the room.
‘Care to tell me what this is?’ he asked in a low voice, passing the phone to one of the men.
He’d chosen them specifically for the job for their unassuming looks. One was tall and gangly, resembling a postman, while the other was bigger and on the heavier side. They looked quite the pair together too, almost reminiscent of the Laurel and Hardy comedy duo.
‘That…’ the taller one, Kappa, muttered as he sneaked a glance to his partner.
‘It must have happened during our lunch break,’ the other blabbered, his eyes wide as saucers.
‘Lunch break?’ Michele repeated, pacing around before stopping in front of them. ‘Lunch break? You took a fucking lunch break while she was still out? While she was letting another fucking man touch her shoulder?’ His voice boomed, a twitch in his jaw denoting his mounting anger that would soon reach a critical point.
The men had the decency to look ashamed of having been caught slacking on the job, but it wasn’t enough.
Michele took a moment to take them in, ugly jealousy forming inside of him and seeking to be let loose.
He hadn’t trained his pet just so another man could avail himself to her charms. He hadn’t spent so much time courting her just for an insignificant little boy to swoop in and steal her from him.
No, his toy was his. And she would soon get her due, too, for having let another touch her.
But first, he needed to deal with the losers that were under his employ. If they couldn’t be counted on to skip lunch when his most important asset was out and about, exposed to countless dangers—and God forbid, temptations—then they didn’t deserve to live.
They didn’t deserve to draw another breath.
He regarded them through the red haze that covered his eyes, their punishment suddenly clear as a smile pulled at his lips.
Without breaking eye contact, he called his right-hand man, Andreas, instructing him to bring a few soldiers with him.
The two men cowered in fear, no doubt knowing what awaited them. Still, they didn’t beg for their lives, or seek to run away. They’d known what they were signing up for from the beginning.
Michele could respect the fact that they’d decided to go to their death with dignity, and that thought kept him from going all out. After all, there was quite an impressive collection of weapons displayed on his wall.
He pictured himself taking one of the long swords, cutting them to pieces. It might be satisfying to assuage the thirst for blood that one picture awakened in him. It was, however, not what he needed to ensure that everyone realized he wasn’t joking around when he assigned jobs.
He’d taken such care in selecting the perfect men to watch over his pet, yet it hadn’t worked out.
Andreas strode in, a couple of men in black suits following behind him.
Michele gave him brief instructions, after which he stepped back, lighting a cigarette and watching the ensuing spectacle.
The men in black were already taking hold of the two men, dragging them towards the window.
It was the thirtieth floor, so Michele imagined it would be quite the fall to reach the ground. And with his window already broken, leaving way for his men to hold the two failures over the edge, it was only a matter of giving the signal now.
They were being held tightly right on the edge, the danger of falling making them scream at the top of their lungs in fear.
Michele shook his head. And he’d thought they’d die with dignity.
He’d always thought made men knew what they signed up for when they entered a life of crime. He thought they realized what it meant to work under him. He’d made everything clear when he’d killed people left and right, cleansing the famiglia from the inside out. When they’d sworn allegiance to him they’d known he wasn’t lenient towards failure, and he was certainly not forgiving. If anything, his disposition bordered on the unnaturally maniac and vengeful. Certainly, with his tough beginnings in his position, he had a reputation to uphold.
If you slipped, you died.
It was as simple as that.
‘Andreas,’ Michele spoke, his voice steady for the first time since he’d seen the photo. ‘Start a timer. I want to know who crashes first,’ he said, nodding to the two men teetering on the edge.
Andreas grunted, and at Michele’s signal, the two men were flung down at the same time. Andreas’ hand was on the timer, and soft sounds signaled the crash.
‘Leo was first, but only by a millisecond,’ he reported back.
‘Good. Make it public that fatties crash faster to the ground. And if anyone thinks to neglect their positions again, they can explain it to me with their brains scattered on the pavement.’
‘The police will be here soon,’ Andreas continued, looking down at the mess down on the ground.
‘I trust you’ll handle it,’ he paused, looking around the room. ‘Get a cleaning crew in here too. And do replace the glass. Something more durable next time,’ Michele spared him one last look before he took his coat, breezing past the door and heading to his car.
There was just one more matter that needed his urgent attention.
His pet.
He knew she was at home, under the watchful eyes of her family, and the thought of defiling her right in the house of his worst enemy vastly improved his mood.
He drove at full speed out of the city, parking his car at a nearby motel and heading to her house on foot—the only way to avoid the tight security of the place.
It wasn’t the first time he’d come to her in her own house, and he’d taken fully advantage of each time he’d managed to successfully infiltrate it, planting bugs and other surveillance devices that were constantly feeding him information on his foe.
And soon his revenge would be done.
Michele might be unusually reckless on a daily basis, but his planning was meticulous and well thought out, probably borne out of his inherent paranoia and a need to control every aspect of his life.
When he reached the house, he used the feed from some of the cameras he’d installed to guide him towards her room, carefully avoiding the guards stationed outside and inside the house.
Only when he opened the door to her room to find her at her computer, her knees to her chest as she was watching a video, did he finally breathe relieved.
It wasn’t because he’d been worried about her. No, it would never be that. It was a relief that spoke of the continuation of his plans, because as long as he removed every temptation from her side, she’d be his and his alone. And then he could complete his revenge.
That’s what he continued to tell himself, though the sight of her in a long, oversized shirt did things to his body, waking him from the slumber he usually found himself in.
At the sound of the door clicking in place, she turned, gasping as she took in his appearance.
He knew he looked good and that she liked what she saw, which only increased the size of his ego as he saw the clear signs of arousal in her eyes.
She stood up, her long legs bare. Her shirt barely reached her ass, and he noted a blush staining her features as she tugged on the hem, trying to cover herself.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a breathless voice, not daring to meet his eyes.
She was shy. He knew that. She was even shyer in his presence, a fact which he enjoyed tremendously because it spoke of how much he affected her.
‘We need to talk,’ he snarled. Tugging on his leather gloves, he let them fall as he strode towards her.
She whipped her head up, her eyes widening in worry as she regarded him, her teeth slightly grazing her bottom lip. She looked like a fucking temptress and he found himself growing harder by the second. He liked the look of fear on her—it fed his inner demons in a way nothing else could.
‘What…what happened?’ She stammered ever so slightly, backing away from him.
In two steps he was in front of her, his hand on her jaw as he gripped tightly, forcing her to look him in the eye.
‘I saw the picture,’ was all he said and her eyes immediately widened with awareness.
‘It wasn’t…it wasn’t what it looked like. They were just making fun of me,’ she whispered, looking down.
‘Making fun of you?’ He asked skeptically.
She nodded, her lips trembling.
‘Tell me,’ he commanded her, and she did.
She recounted how she was known as the loner at her school. That some of the girls had wanted to make fun of her by having someone pay attention to her and then humiliating her in front of the entire school.
‘What did they say?’ He asked, a sudden tick in his jaw at the mental image she was painting.
‘That I was pathetic and that no guy would ever be truly interested in me,’ she sighed.
The more she talked, the more he understood what it had all been about, and for a moment he felt a sliver of guilt make its way into his chest at the fact that he had been the one to turn her into an outsider at her school. But he shoved it away. He didn’t do guilt, just like he didn’t do any type of emotions—except for anger. Anger was always good.
‘Don’t mind them, pet. You know you have me,’ he cooed in that sweet voice of his, a stark contrast to the tone he’d used when he’d first walked through the door. But seeing that his pet was only the victim of a malicious prank, he couldn’t exactly find fault with her.
He smiled at himself. He was nothing if not magnanimous. And his mood improved considerably the more he heard her talk about the bullying that went on at her school, and how now, more than ever, he was her safe space.
It was what he’d wanted from the beginning.
And because his anger was slowly melting away, he decided he wasn’t going to be too tough on those kids either. He was going to be just—though that didn’t exclude murder. He’d have to think about that in more depth later.
Now? He was in the same room as his pet. Hard. It was only fitting that she’d make it up to him for the upset she’d caused him at thinking she’d allow another to touch her.
‘I’m glad to hear that, pet,’ he told her affectionately, brushing his hand over her soft hair. ‘Because you’d never do something to hurt me, now, would you? You’d never let another man who is not me touch you, would you?’
‘Of course not,’ she immediately replied, her voice spry, not the dulled one she’d used to recount the incident from school.
Like a flower in spring, she bloomed under his touch, and the more he murmured sweet things to her, the more she purred her approval, almost nestling into him in her desire to get closer to him.
But he couldn’t allow that. Not when he found most human touch repugnant. He supposed his pet was the only one whose touch had a little more sweetness than bite, but even that was too much for him.
He gave her a strained smile, slowly disentangling her from him.
‘Why don’t you show me you’re only mine, pet?’ He asked, his hands on her shoulders as he pushed her down, her knees hitting the floor.
She peered up at him through her lashes, confusion simmering in those lovely eyes of hers.
He didn’t give her the chance to protest—not that she ever would. His hands went to his belt, quickly unbuckling it and taking his rigid erection out, he thrust it into her face.
‘Open your mouth,’ he instructed, his thumb parting her lips as he guided the head of his cock between her lips.
Eyes wide, she did as she was told, opening her mouth wide to take him inside.
He watched through hooded eyes as she started working on his cock, her hands stroking his shaft while her sweet mouth was sucking on the head, her tongue playing with the underside like she knew he liked.
He didn’t think he was going to ever tire of this sight—of her on her knees, absolutely at his mercy.
He had never let another this close to him, touching him so intimately. But with her—with her sweet natured submission—he knew there was nothing to worry about. She would do just as he told her, and she’d never push the boundaries.
She was just…perfect.
A sigh escaped his lips as she took him deeper in her mouth, and he placed his hands on her head, guiding her movements. His fingers lodged into her scalp, he tugged at her hair until he was the one controlling her movements, using her mouth as his very own fuck hole—thrusting in and out as he sought his pleasure.
‘Relax your throat, pet,’ he groaned as he hit the back of her throat, the warm heaven of her mouth making him shudder from an onslaught of pleasure.
Holding tight, he started thrusting aggressively into her hole, feeling every inch of that wet cave, but more than anything, enjoying having her at his mercy.
Tears were gathered at the corners of her eyes, spit dripping down her chin, yet she held on. She made not one sound of protest as she received his entire length—gagging loudly but still not trying to get away.
He closed his eyes, reveling in those sounds of distress that escaped her, the way he knew he could choke her to death with his dick and she wouldn’t protest.
‘Fuck,’ he cursed out as he felt himself near completion, his balls tightening before he released his hot seed into her waiting mouth.
He held her tightly, her lips near the base of his shaft as he shot his cum straight down her throat. Only when the last tremors had subsided did he let go, hearing a deep intake of breath as his pet struggled for air.
‘Good girl,’ he praised, patting her on her head. He quickly tucked himself in his pants, his eyes still on her small form on the floor.
She looked so tiny, so helpless. It would be so easy to kill her…
Sometimes, visions of her lifeless body plagued his mind, and he didn’t know whether it was his subconscious telling him he should kill her sooner rather than later, or just his ever-at-work mind trying to prevent that in order to complete his plans for revenge.
She brought her hand to her mouth, wiping the remnants of saliva and cum from her lips, her eyes big and innocent as she gazed up at him.
Fuck, but he could feel himself growing hard again. It was always her eyes. The way she looked at him as if he was her everything—as if he could take on the world for her, and win.
He’d never reacted to a woman like that in his life—to anyone. Before, even getting an erection had been out of question. The only way he’d ever gotten hard had been by mentally willing himself to do it, a fuck you to the world and what it had taken from him.
But with her? His body had stirred from the beginning, her innocence calling to him in a peculiar manner, making him want to preserve it and defile it at the same time. Even now, as he stared at her, the decision was still pending.
He’d defiled her alright. He’d made her his whore, and he wasn’t ashamed of that—because she was only his. Despite the things he’d made her do, despite the humiliations he’d put her through, there was still a glaring, almost intoxicating innocence to her that had nothing to do with her physical purity.
It was all in her eyes—in that trusting way she gazed upon him. For all her anger at the world and her abandonment issues, there was a purity to her soul that couldn’t be erased by anything—not even by his debasing touch.
He was perplexed. He was amazed. He was pissed.
He alternated between yearning for that purity of hers and wishing he could destroy it once and for all, step on it—step on her—until there was nothing else left of her.
Nothing.
His lip twitched the more he studied her, an ugly desire to see her battered and bleeding rearing its head.
‘Do you love me, pet?’ He asked, stooping down on his haunches, finally on eye level with her.
She gave a tentative nod, blinking as she gazed at him in confusion.
‘You’d do anything to make me happy, wouldn’t you?’ He continued, his fingers on her jaw as he stroked her soft skin.
Another nod.
His smile widened.
‘Good,’ he purred, removing a knife from his jacket.
Her eyes widened when she saw the blade, and she instinctively moved back. He didn’t let her retreat, though, his hand still holding tightly on to her jaw.
‘Shh,’ he murmured, placing the blade at her throat and tracing it down her skin. He could see her pulse hammer against the column of her throat, her terror unmistakable.
He inhaled deeply, the scent of her fear so alluring and oh, so arousing.
‘I need to put my claim on you, love,’ he cooed, bringing his face close to hers and nuzzling her cheek. ‘What better way to show you’re taken than by having me with you at all times?’ he whispered in her ear, his hot breath fanning on her skin and melting some of her apprehensions away.
‘What do you mean?’ She asked in a small voice.
‘You’ll see. Don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course,’ she replied right away, confirming the fact that for all her fear, she’d never turn away from him—never.
A twisted smile pulled at his lips, the satisfaction he felt at knowing he owned her even more potent than his orgasm.
‘Good,’ he rumbled, leaning back and taking her hand.
Before she could realize what he was trying to do, he ran the blade in the middle of her palm, the sharp edge cutting deep into her skin. Blood immediately started pouring out, and he was quick to remove the other items from his jacket—something he’d bought just for her.
‘What…’ she trailed off as her eyes zeroed in on the small vials.
He popped off the cap on one, bringing it under her palm and filling half of it with her blood. He repeated the action with the second bottle, before he finally let go of her hand.
She grabbed it to her chest, holding it up and staring at the blood still pouring from the wound, her lashes coated with unshed tears.
‘Look at me,’ he commanded, and she did—she was nothing if not obedient.
He raised the knife, bringing it against his own palm as he cut across it, red liquid reaching the surface as the blade ripped through his skin.
Her eyes were fixed on his new wound, watching his every move as he took the vials and poured his own blood into them, filling them to the brim before popping the lid back on.
She blinked in confusion, and before she knew it, he reached for her once more, his palm on top of hers, blood on top of blood.
‘We’re one now, pet. Don’t you see it?’ He asked in a sultry voice, urging her to look at the place where their blood mingled. He pressed his palm against hers, smearing his blood against her own.
‘Yes,’ she answered softly, a look of wonder on her face.
‘And this,’ he waved the vials. ‘You’re going to carry this with you everywhere. Is that clear?’
She nodded vigorously, finally understanding the complexity of what he’d done, her eyes already greedily eating up the vial and the prospect of having his very essence with her at all times.
‘You’ll…’ she trailed off, wetting her lips as she gained the courage to ask the question. ‘You’ll wear mine too?’
‘It’s ours,’ he corrected. ‘It’s our mixed blood. This way you have me, and I have you,’ he gave her one of his charming smiles, watching in satisfaction as she practically purred when he placed the vial on a makeshift necklace, tying it around her neck. She was on the verge of swooning when he did the same with his own.
When they were done, without even thinking, he brought her hand to his mouth, swirling his tongue across her cut, licking what remained of her blood and marveling at the metallic yet slightly sweet taste of her.
That ugly part of him that wanted to see her destroyed was momentarily appeased—the blood a temporary offering.
And as he watched the vial of blood against her pearly white skin, he couldn’t help the way pride swelled in his chest that now she’d be carrying him around everywhere.
He was, quite possibly, even more enamored of his own vial. Because it was proof that he owned his toy and that she was his—and only his.
Anyone who’d see it hanging around his neck would recognize the mark of ownership.
He knew to her it must seem the height of romanticism to wear their combined blood around his neck, but her mind was too simplistic to understand the bigger picture—the fact that this was proof of his impending vengeance.
Proof of his success.
He smiled to himself as he held her half-heartedly, allowing her some of his body heat while still keeping a distance for his own comfort.
Soon.
Soon, both her and her family would pay for what they did.
Very soon.
But first, he needed to deal with his brother.
‘Yes,’ the clipped tone of an older man answered the call at the first ring.
‘I have an assignment for you. Chase Fenix out of the city and I’ll sign the contract.’ Michele said, his fingers tracing the new window gracing his office.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
‘You have a deal.’
He’d been contacted multiple times by the same man seeking to expand his business in New York and wanting to make Michele, and therefore Guerra, his partner. On the streets, he was known as simply Ortega. He’d taken over a failing drug empire and was about to rehabilitate it by going into other business ventures. With Michele’s financial expertise, as well as his severed ties to all the other big players in New York, he’d thought Guerra would be the best partner.
They’d met a few times to discuss terms and division of power once they’d unite forces, but Michele had been reluctant because he hadn’t trusted the man.
He’d heard the rumors from Ortega’s time under Jimenez, and he knew he wasn’t the most loyal subject. And in Michele’s mind, once a traitor, always a traitor.
But given Rafaelo’s affiliation with Fenix, and subsequently to Carlos Jimenez, he needed someone who knew how to work in that particular area. He needed someone who could defeat Carlos and leave the way clear for Michele to get to his brother.
A smile pulled at his lips as he saw all the potential scenarios playing before his eyes.
He wasn’t the person Rafaelo thought him to be. No, far from it. Just like Rafaelo hadn’t been the person he’d portrayed himself to be.
They’d both played their roles. His brother’s had been driven by his insurmountable guilt, while his own had been a role given by his sire—playing the rogue, prodigal son and showing a careless face to the world.
Behind closed doors, they’d schemed and schemed, until all plans had reached their pinnacles as he’d killed Benedicto and Cosima and exiled Raf, finally taking the power for his own as it should have always been and paving the way for the ultimate destruction.
Too bad his sire had not been there to see it—his death an unforeseen bump on the road. Still, he wouldn’t let that stop him from accomplishing what they’d both so painstakingly planned.
Soon, his brother would cease to be a problem, his sire’s assassin would pay, and the architect of his greatest misfortune would perish.
The balance would finally be restored, with everyone getting their due.
Plopping himself on his chair, he leaned back, lighting a cigarette and staring at the cloud of smoke forming in front of him.
Ah, but victory would be sweet indeed.
