Monster, For a kill

Bull

“Yes,” I say, snarling into the phone. I don't care who's on the phone. They only call when they have a job to do. Not that there's anything more important to me than killing the man I've been hunting for over a week. The stupid bastard keeps eluding me, and this phone call is the last thing I need. I cannot be distracted from this task, as part of Somos Familia I must do whatever my capo asks of me.

I just have no desire to answer the phone. Just the thought of being told to do it makes me angry. “I talked about your behavior on the phone. This time you will be punished,” says the capo on the other end of the line, mad as hell. I don't care about the punishment. Nobody can break me, especially not this man who pretends to be a good capo. There's only one monster in this family, and that's me.

I am the damned monster. I am the one with no feelings or worries. The one with nothing to lose. When you have nothing to worry about, you don't have to be afraid of losing anything. They are the ones who turned me into this killing machine. They beat all the love out of me when I was a boy.

Now I am the monster they loved and feared the most. If you think I still have an ounce of feeling left in me, you are wrong. From a young age, as a boy of ten, beaten almost every day until I bled, only to feel hatred and learn to kill for them. It is the only thing I know and love. If you can say I can love anything, this is it.

Now, at the age of thirty-five, I am more dangerous than ever. I have killed dozens of members and rivals of the family patriarch, Firandrio. Firandrio is a sick bastard who can only give me the punishment that has broken me a little over the years. Mostly he would plunge his knife into my flesh with that grin that could steal your blood if you looked at it too long.

The most painful thing he did to me was to cut off a toe during an incident with his daughter. I'm not saying I didn't deserve it, but it hurt. Not the most pain I've ever felt, but it wasn't. I was paying for what I had done that I should never have been involved in. I was the one who touched something that didn't belong to me.

That stupid bitch daughter of his! She should also pay for what she did. Of course, she was his precious daughter who could do no wrong. She was the one who started it all. That's the past, and I don't want to think about it anymore. She means nothing to me, she was just a nice distraction, nothing more.

If he had asked me to kill her, I would have done it. If I don't fuck a woman, I don't care what I have to do with her or what happens to her. I would never be the type to go after a woman. That's something I'm not into, it's only for stupid assholes who are tied to a pussy, nothing for me.

“Okay, boss. What's up?” I ask him sarcastically. This might look like a stupid move against your capo, but being the dumb fuck that I am, I don't care. “You're a handful, Bull,” he replies in a disappointed, deep voice. As if I care if he's disappointed in me or doesn't like me.

He's just a capo who kicked it so high because of his father. Yes, it's a legacy of his father's death, nothing to be proud of. The one who killed himself to get to the top, I respect that. But I have to keep up this charade to avoid being kicked out for treason. What a joke, we don't get kicked out of the Mafia.

The only way out of the Mafia is death. And if you have a picture of me, you know that I am not killed or can be killed, I am death. “Thank you, boss. But I'm a little busy.” Before I could hang up, he barked orders at me: “Cop, I want you here, now!” Fucking asshole, but okay. He's my capo, but I can't stand the bastard. Like a loyal pet, I leave my target and head to his property a few blocks outside of LA.

When I get to his fence, I see two guards standing there. They open the gate as soon as they see my car. Everyone in our family knows my car. My black, almost brand-new Mustang has been with me for years. Even the car looks no older than brand new. Everyone is afraid of me, which I enjoy.

I park my car in front of the capo's house and get out, my heavy black boots crunching on the stones with each step. As angry as I am, my boots make a sound that announces my arrival.

I step through the door and see two guards standing there, not even daring to look in my direction. Grinning in their direction, I tried to scare them off, but I didn't get the chance when Nico Firandrio stepped in front of me and waved me over to his desk.

“You're not here to play! Come on,” my capo ordered me. And like a pet, I am in his hands, I follow him. Although I have to admit that I hope he gets killed and that another capo comes along who is not as weak as he is.

We go up to the second floor where he has his office with a special room hidden behind it. The room where I can almost put my bed, so often I am sent there. There is only pain in that room, pain that I can barely feel, if at all. He can keep trying, and he will. But it's a waste of time if you ask me.

“What did I tell you about your tone?” The capo asks me. Is he really going to ask me that again? We got over it the other day. Is he so sick that he doesn't understand that I don't give a shit? “Not to bark at you or be disrespectful,” I say through clenched teeth. He nods towards the door, the door that leads me to his room, where I have to obey him.

I enter the room and immediately know what to expect. When I feel the first blow with the chains in my hand, I just roll my eyes, even though thick red blood flows from my arm. Of course, that only makes him angrier at me. Sometimes I even did what was expected of me and screamed or moaned in pain. He is someone who kicks when he hears the pain of his victims, especially me. Except for today, I was too angry to even pretend to be in pain.

After an hour of being tortured and beaten, boredom sets in. Out of boredom, I start pretending to be in pain and give him the victory. I have other things to do than sit here all night bleeding on the already red carpet.

When I look into his eyes, he is finally satisfied with my pain. He unlocks my handcuffs, which are still oozing blood. I look at the blood on the floor and wonder if it is just something every day and not my blood that I would need so badly.

I don't even care. It just makes me happy that he can now call someone to clean up this mess of his, hopefully, they will charge him enough money for this damn mess he made. My blood surrounded me, which will surely leave stains, with the other stains he made earlier with my blood. He is the painter and I am his masterpiece.