Page 3

PSYCHO

One Month Before Reaper’s Wedding…

I stitch my victim’s arm to slow the bleeding, while whistling. His whimpers are muffled, because of the duct tape over his mouth.

Looking down at him, I flash him an evil grin, and his return gaze is one of terror.

“Shall we start on the other side?”

Theo lies strapped to my metal table, trembling with fear, and unable to speak. I did give him the opportunity to spill everything he knows about the nosy Assistant District Attorney, but he didn’t want to talk, so here we are.

I drag the knife down his left arm, and watch the blood spill from the wound. It’s a beautiful sight, but not as much as it will be when I get my hands on her. The woman coming after my family. Anastasia Crowne is the true target. Theo is for information purposes, because the goddamn background check on her provided nothing.

“Would you like to talk now, or do I keep going?”

The muffled words against the tape cause me to chuckle. He talks rapidly, but, of course, I can’t make out a single unintelligible word.

Grabbing one side of the duct tape, I pull it off, as he gulps for air like he couldn’t breathe. He still has a fucking nose. I don’t know why he’s being dramatic.

“I gave you the opportunity to talk before, and you didn’t take it. So now, you talk, and I’ll work.”

He catches my drift, as I drag my knife down his stomach, cutting into his flesh, but I’m not trying to kill him yet. Just terrorize him a bit. Not only to get him to give over the information I want, but because, fuck, it’s fun. Should I feel bad, since he hasn’t done a fucking thing to deserve this? Probably, but I don’t. He’s guilty by association.

“Okay, okay,” he sobs loudly.

I chuckle darkly as I pull the knife out, and push it in on the other side of his stomach, deeper, but still not enough to be fatal. This isn’t about prolonging torture for my enjoyment, the only thing I seek is information. Although, I’m enjoying it a bit. They don’t call me Psycho for no reason. Still, if he gives me what I need, the pain will end. Usually the people on my table have wronged me, or my family. He has done nothing other than take a job at the District Attorney’s office. Unfortunate mistake.

“She hates your family.”

Holding the knife inside him, I stop moving, as I knit my brows together in confusion. It sounds personal, and doesn’t make sense, since we had never met this woman when she started her bullshit.

“You mean she hates mafia families?”

That’s something I could at least understand. There are people that hate us simply because of who we are. People fear us, and that causes dislike. I don’t blame them really, but if they don’t cross us, as the assistant DA did, they have nothing to fear. Aside from my brother, Reaper, we don’t hurt innocent people. He kills for the thrill, and I’m confident at least one innocent person has lost their life at his hands.

“No,” his nostrils flare, as he exhales a shaky breath, teary blue eyes focused on mine. I know he’s hoping for survival, and I’ll let him hold onto that hope, for now.

“She hates your family. The Bonettis. I told her to let it go, because I know enough about you to know it’s a death sentence.”

Why does she have this obsession with us? It could be to further her position in the DA’s office. Or maybe she wants to write a book, or some stupid shit like that.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She won’t talk about it. Only said it was a personal matter.”

How the fuck can it be a personal matter, when we’ve never met this goddamn woman? While I do believe him, when he says he doesn’t know, the lack of information causes the blood in my veins to boil. Fucking dangerous for him.

“Open your mouth.”

He does, and I close my forceps around his tongue, gripping it hard enough to make him whine like a little bitch.

“If you’re not going to tell me what I want to know, I may as well cut your fucking tongue out.”

Theo’s face turns beet red as I tighten my forceps on his tongue, holding it firmly in place. His muscles are tense, and his unblinking eyes bulge, as he moans frantically.

“You’re fucked, Theo. There is nothing you can do, other than give me what I want.”

Sobs wrack his entire body, as his eyes dart back and forth, clearly wondering what’s next for him. Shaking his head, he attempts to wriggle free from my grasp, but fails miserably. The only thing he does is cause himself more pain, as the metal digs into his tongue.

“Your death is a guarantee. The only question is, will it be quick, and relatively painless, or slow, and excruciating?”

It’s not often they get the choice. I guess I’m feeling generous today.

His red eyes stare at me as he cries. Fuck, he cries a lot for a man. Then again, the Bonetti boys were raised to be stronger than your average man. It was a lesson I learned the hard way, and early in my life. I was twelve, the first time I was tortured, because I was the first-born Bonetti son.

Hanging upside down, from a chain wrapped around my feet, they lower my head into a filthy barrel of water, submerging me for what feels like hours. Each time they pull me up, I cough, and gasp for air.

The Russian man stares at me with boredom.

“Where are the weapons?” he asks in a thick accent.

I say the same thing I’ve said for the last several days.

“I don’t know, I’m just a kid.”

My father has been training me, to eventually take over, for the last year. I know where the warehouses are, the man that manufactures them, and everyone involved, yet, I won’t tell them a damn thing. A Bonetti will endure whatever torture they hand out, so I’ll gladly die, but I will never give any information on my family.

Only weak men succumb to torture. Even as a child, I’m unshakable.

He lowers my head into the water again, and I hold my breath for as long as I can, but eventually end up taking water into my lungs. Kuznetzov pulls me back up, with a grin on his face, as I cough once again and fight for air.

“Ready to talk?” He says, and I nod my head, as much as I can, with all the blood rushing to my brain.

“Sorry, Cuntnetzov, you won’t break me. I am a Bonetti. You can kill me, but you’ll never force me to tell you a fucking thing about my family.”

Theo continues to whimper and cry, snapping me from my memory, and causing me to roll my eyes. I press my blade to his throat, which only makes him squeal louder.

I arch an eyebrow in warning. At this point this asshole is far more annoying than useful.

“Careful, make too much noise and the movement of your throat might be your end.”

Pulling the knife back slightly, I tell him how it’s going to go.

“You have thirty seconds to tell me everything about Anastasia Crowne. If you’re a good boy, then I’ll make this quick. If not, I’ll be cutting and stitching you up for fucking days. The choice is yours.”

More tears roll down his cheeks, as he accepts that this is his end, but he finally gives me what I need.

“She became a lawyer for the sole purpose of destroying your family.”

Wow. That’s some fucking dedication right there. If I weren’t seeing red over the ‘destroying my family’ part, I’d be impressed. Really fucking impressed.

“Continue,” I order, and he does, earning himself a pat on the head.

“What do you want to know?”

I chuckle darkly.

“Everything. There is no detail too tedious. I want to know everything about her.”

More tears flow, and I am aware this is painful for him emotionally, as well as physically. Not long after I strapped him to my table, he swore he wouldn’t tell me anything, because he’s in love with her. When faced with torture, love often vanishes. Few men, not of my world, would stay silent, and accept the brutality of my constant slicing. A man like Theo never stood a chance. Poor sap.

“Her father is dead. Mother lives in a trailer park alone. No siblings. Doesn’t date. She’s completely focused on work.”

By work, I assume he means taking down my family, which would never fucking happen.

“What does she know?”

He tries to shift uncomfortably, but he’s stuck. Blowing out a long breath, he tries to calm his nerves, still appearing to be in a fit of terror.

“I don’t- don’t know everything, but she knows where your warehouse is,” he stammers pathetically.

I stare at him, a question on my tongue, but he figures out what it is, before I have a chance to speak again.

“The weapons one. She watches sometimes, and has a notebook for documenting her investigation. She never lets it out of her sight at work, so I don’t know everything she has found. Her goal is to get enough, and hand it over to the DA, hoping he will put a special team together to prosecute.”

Running my free hand over my beard, I grin at the man I’m seconds away from killing. I’m still pissed, but also excited. Her torture will be far worse than his. Anastasia Crowne, my little lamb, will regret ever hearing the Bonetti name. I have no idea what caused her to zero in on us, but it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the reason, her pain will be excruciating.