Chapter 16: Punishments are definitely bad
“Belle,” Luca greets as we all have breakfast together. It’s been a couple of weeks since Enzo’s meeting with his father and my punishment and now I eat my meals together with Enzo and his brothers.
Enzo follows behind me as we are the last to be seated at the table. I sit to his left, Luca to his right as he sits at the head of the table, grunting at the morning light. Enzo’s hand rests on my thigh as he waits for the food.
“Belle, how are you this morning?” Rafael asks in a polite tone but with a sly smirk. If he’s trying to piss Enzo off, it’s working. His nails on my thigh dig into my skin as he attempts to control his anger.
“I’m good. How are you?” I return, merely glancing his way to not enrage Enzo anymore.
"Very good, bambina. Perhaps it's my turn with you today," he declares and Enzo's hand tightens.
"I don't think so," I mutter. Rafael takes my hand from across the table and kisses it, staring directing at Enzo. I snatch my hand back and huff. Enzo is punishing me for this. Rafael just kissed me. It may have been on the hand, but I was so confused as to what he was doing that I didn't take my hand away fast enough.
“Le cose che voglio farle (the things I want to do to her),” he muses, looking straight at Enzo with a grin.
“Lo so parlare l’italiano, stronzo (I can speak Italian, asshole),” I mutter, shuffling in my chair. I feel Enzo’s hand relax a little as I hear a faint chuckle. I look up to see an amused grin on Rafael’s face.
“Lo so, principessa (I know, princess),” Rafael comments. Breakfast is presented before anything else goes down and Enzo always becomes less easily riled up once he has some food.
Once breakfast is finished with Gia giving me sneers as she serves, Enzo drags me out the room and pushes me into his bedroom, locking the door.
“Don’t entertain him,” he growls, slamming me onto the bed and pinning me under him.
“I wasn’t entertaining him,” I retort. There I go again. At this point, I don’t know why I always regret what I say to him, I might as well roll with it. He grabs my jaw and lifts it so my eyes meet his. He has a menacing expression paired with glaring eyes.
“No? You shouldn’t even be talking to him, let alone him kissing you. I told you before,” he grunts.
“He’s your brother. I was just being polite,” I whimper as his fingers fasten on my skin.
“Not to him,” he seethes. All of a sudden, he just lets up. He gets entirely off me and wears a shifty smirk as he grasps my hand and lifts me off the bed. As I follow him downstairs, I’m pulled down death hall again, a hall I haven’t been down since I got here.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask in a small soft voice. He doesn’t answer, only gripping my hand tightly and hauling me into a big echoed room with a beaten chair and a battered man tied to it. “What i-is this?”
“This is your punishment, gattina,” Enzo hisses, holding my shoulders from behind me and nudging me closer to him. Even our small footsteps echo like we are a stampede in the room. The man looks at me with hysteric eyes, blood oozing from his nose, sweat dripping from his brow, gashes and bruises at every free patch of skin. “Mario. Meet Belle.” He brings up a chair and sits me in it, pressing down on my shoulders and towering even more over me. “Devo farti qualche domanda (I’m going to ask you a few questions). Ogni volta che mente, lei ti accoltellare (every time you lie to me, she will stab you).” My eyes widen as I try to look back at him but his hand clasps my neck and holds it still. With his other hand, he forces my hand open and places the knife in it.
“I don’t want to do this,” I plead, pouting and tearing up. But he can’t see me. I know he knows I’m begging, but this is my punishment. I barely did anything. I just said hello to his brother. What is wrong with this guy and punishing me for the most stupid things? If he really knew I was lying to him, I can’t imagine what he’d do.
“Bambina, you will do it. You’ll obey me or the punishment will be worse. Much worse,” he threatens in my ear, nipping at my earlobe as he pulls back. His breath sends a shiver down my spine and I can feel myself shake throughout my whole body. “Now then, lavori per Moretti (do you work for Moretti)?” My body stiffens at the name but I know Enzo doesn’t take any notice in it. I’m just anticipating Mario’s answer, nothing more. I don’t want to stab him. But maybe it’s for the best. I recognize Mario, he was a low level drug dealer for my father, came to the house once, but he only saw me for a second, and barely took any notice to me but if he somehow relays information back to Alfonso, like the mole, I could be in danger. If he suddenly recognizes me, I could be dead. Everyone is a risk.
“Lei e sua puttana potete andare al diavolo (you and your bitch can go to hell),” Mario exclaims, spitting at my feet. “Non ti dico un cazzo (I’m not telling you shit).”
“Now see, that was a lie. You’re gonna tell us.” He takes my hand with the knife in it and raises it above Mario’s knee. “Do it, gattina.” My hand shakes with the knife hovering above his kneecap. “You stab him, or I’ll stab you,” he warns, pressing the flat blade of his knife against my own leg. I plunge my blade into his knee, hearing his growling cry echo through the room and fills my ears as if it were a wolf howling at the moon...
"Get on your fucking knees, little whore," my father growls, ignoring my whimpers. He is being rough, and his expression is a scowl, meaning someone had pissed him off and he is taking it out on me. He begins to become impatient, unbuckling his belt, pulling out his length, and forcing himself into my mouth. As he fucks my mouth, tears stream down my cheeks, rolling off my jaw and flooding on the floor like a fountain. Soon it is mixed with his cum as he doesn't hold on long, just watching me and my pain, and it sending him over the edge. He loves my suffering. That's not surprising. He's the cruelest monster I will ever meet, I'm a hundred percent sure...
“Good girl,” Enzo coos. “Let’s try this again. You can see that my ragazza (girl) doesn’t hold back. She’s really quite ruthless. Lavori per Moretti (do you work for Moretti)?” Mario continues to grunt, throwing his head back from the pain. “Gattina, penso abbia bisogno di aiuto per rinfrescare la memoria (kitten, I think he needs some help jogging his memory)." He guides my hand over to his other kneecap. Mario watches me with a disgusted look on his face, and I avoid his eyes, keeping my gaze at his knees, one bleeding out, the other following along the same path. "Gattina?"
I reluctantly dig my knife into his other knee, keeping the tears back as I hear his ear-bleeding cry.
"Moretti?" Enzo questions.
"Yes, I work for him," Mario confesses, still reeling from the pain. "But you'll never get anything out of me."
"You see, that, I believe. I believe you won't tell me." Even though he's following Enzo's rules, telling the truth, the menace laced in Enzo's voice makes me believe that something else will happen. "So you're no use to me." Enzo circles the chairs, his fingers brushing his side, where he keeps his gun.
Mario just watches me still, a grimace plastered on his face. But then his eyes narrow slightly then widen.
"Figlio di puttana (son of a bitch)! Sei Isa-" He gets cut off by the bullet shot from Enzo's gun into his head. Although it's terrifying and brutal seeing Enzo kill Mario, I can't help but be relieved that he didn't finish his statement. Thank fucking God Enzo thought he wouldn't say anything of use.
But as I stare at Mario's corpse, his head swinging off his neck, slouched in his chair, my whole body tenses...
My father. Dead. The blood spilling from his head onto the white tiled floor of the kitchen, staining it like black ink on paper. I didn't think his eyes would look like that, that they would stay open, that they would roll back in a dream-like state. He's never looked so peaceful, and yet, he's dead. I killed him. Oh my God. I killed someone. I killed my father.
I feel my heartbeat increase, my breathing become heavy and I'm panting. My stomach clenches and I know this is the beginning of a panic attack. But I can't move. I can't take my eyes away from Mario. I feel arms around me and haul me from my chair and away from the room, throwing my over his shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to prevent the memories resurfacing. How can I think of Enzo as a monster when I've killed too? My own father nonetheless.
Somehow, I find myself curled up in Enzo's arms, laying on the bed, him stroking my face and whispering his apologies to me. Did I pass out? Did I have my panic attack? Did he see me unravel? I pretend I'm still asleep though, enjoying the warmth and safety of his arms.
"I'm sorry, gattina. I didn't know you could get that bad," he mutters, twirling my hair in his fingers. I definitely broke down in front of him. He only says sorry when he thinks I can't hear. The big bad mafia man only has the strength to admit he's wrong when no one can hear it. Yet, at least I know he knows he's wrong.