Page 43 of Mafia and Protector

I pulled a pair of pliers from my pocket and then a knife from my holster.

I saw the panic in his eyes as I slowly set them on the desk out of his reach, letting the ruthless metal of the sharp knife blade glint under the electric light.

I brought the pliers next to his face while keeping hold of his throat with my other hand. “Should I start with your fingernails or teeth?” My voice dripped with my dark intentions.

“How dare you t-threaten me like this,” he said hoarsely, trying to exert his authority but unable to prevent the break in his voice.

“Or should I start with my knife? Do you want me to cut out your tongue or hack off your dick first?”

This time he didn't even try to mask his fear.

“What do you…want?” He had to push his words out against the grip of my hand around his neck. “More money? I can give you however…much you need.”

A harsh laugh escaped my mouth. “I’ve got more money than I’ll ever need. No, what I want is to see you suffer.”

I delighted in seeing the slick of sweat over his face as he scrambled under me. But what I really wanted were his screams.

“I’m your f-father…”

“You're nothing to me. And Mother will be better off without you. You’re a pathetic piece of shit. I want to gut you like a pig and see your blood pool on the floor.”

I grabbed his chin and dug my fingers in, forcing his jaw open. “This is what it feels like to be powerless, to be someone’s victim…”

I grabbed his tongue and his eyes almost popped out of his head as he waited for me to slice it off.

He tried to get more words out to plead with me.

But I didn't let him say anything else.

I was playing a game with him though. As much as I longed to and as much as he deserved it, I couldn't use the pliers or knife on him today. I couldn’t leave their harsh marks on him.

Not if I wanted Gabriel to become Capo and the Santino family name to stay strong—and I needed both those things as they were my guarantee of keeping Jessica and her secret safe. I would have the power to get rid of anyone who jeopardized her safety or threatened to reveal what had happened to her, and no one would dare question me as long as the Santinos remained at the head of the Società.

Instead, I pulled from my pocket a pill and jabbed it down his throat with my fingers, causing him to splutter as he tried to draw a deep breath while attempting simultaneously to keep the tablet from going down his throat.

I’d obtained the pill from a clandestine contact and had been carrying it with me every day since I’d found out about Jessica’s rape. Once it took effect it would simulate a heart attack, leaving no traces behind. It would look like natural causes.

He continued to struggle under me, not even bothering to hide his terror now. This was the end of this life.

“How I would have loved to have tortured you to death,” I spat out, as I watched his face pale as the pill started to slow his heart.

I knew his vision was starting to blur as the pill worked to deprive his brain of oxygen. His limbs quivered, and he could no longer talk or pathetically beg as the life was sucked out of him.

I watched his face with satisfaction as his skin turned blue, his body grew limp, and his mouth began to froth.

I had been waiting for this opportunity to present itself. That came tonight when my father had dismissed the soldiers who usually kept a very close guard around him, and they had retired to the guard room beside the front gates. He obviously thought that he didn't need their protection given that he had three of his sons in his house tonight. That he thought he was safe around me was arrogant beyond belief.

He grew more desperate, weakly clutching at his throat and chest, reaching out with his hand to plead with me as the life ebbed from his body.

And vengeance flew through my body as I watched him take his very last breath.

As I looked at his lifeless body, I recited the words every Made Man said upon a death: “Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, adesso e nell’ora della nostra morte.”

I thought about the meaning of the words: “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” He would need every bit of this prayer where he was going: straight to Hell.

I called my mother to the drawing room and broke the news to her. “It looks like our father has had a heart attack. You should call the doctor, but he’s already dead.”

She had been in this life long enough to know not to ask questions. I doubted my mother would miss him—he had been a cruel husband to her.