DeLuca (Mafia Romance)

Carlo

Ivan had left shortly after our confrontation, although he did it reluctantly. One of his men came into the room and whispered something in his ear when he was taking a break from beating me. He left with the promise that he would be back to finish the job.

The music I’d heard when I first woke up had stopped hours ago, at least I thought it was hours ago. I was still having a hard time trying to gauge the passing time. My best guess was that it was sometime in the early morning. I tongued my split lip, and tried to adjust myself on the chair to a less uncomfortable position. My ribs and head were killing me, but they were just superficial wounds. I’d had worse.

I just hoped Ivan stayed away long enough for someone to find me. The exhaustion was starting to wear on me. I was only able to nod off for a few minutes at a time, the pain and position didn’t allow me to stay that way for long. I was tied to a metal chair, each of my legs bound to the legs of the chair and my hands were tied behind me and to the bottom of the backrest.

My arms were immobilized at tailbone level which caused my shoulders to be pulled at an odd angle, and after hours in the same position every muscle in my back was screaming in agony. Flexing my wrists, I smiled when I felt the slackened rope. Since Ivan left I had been working at my bindings, twisting and pulling, trying to loosen them any way I could think of. I finally had feeling back in my hands and feet so I was a little more comfortable than I had been.

My suspicions about the time of day were confirmed when Ivan waltzed in the door, “Good morning, I trust you slept like shit?” he asked, going through the same motions he had the day before with his suit jacket and shirt. I almost scoffed at his slight accent. Ivan had worked hard over the years to lesson his Russian accent in an attempt to sound more educated. Ivan was a proud man, he kept up with appearances, despite his seedy businesses. It was pointless. Everyone who dealt with him knew him for the thug he was, and no amount of refining could change that.

I just glared at him.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” he continued, pulling out a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket and slipping them on.

“What? You’re not man enough to hit me and make it hurt? You’re pathetic,” I sneered at him and spit at his feet. A couple blows with the knuckles to my already broken ribs could puncture a lung and kill me a hell of a lot faster than I’m sure he wanted to. I needed to buy as much time as I could so my men could get to me.

“You motherfucker!” he screamed, but removed the knuckles before stalking over to me. He pulled back and swung his fist, connecting with my jaw with a loud crack. Dark spots disrupted my vision. I blinked them away just as he landed a second blow to my gut causing me to double over, at least as far as I could with my wrists still bound behind my back.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Tell me how to get to her!” he screamed an inch away from my face. I smirked as I noticed his accent got thicker with his temper.

“Fuck. You.” I could feel the blood dribbling down my chin as I spoke. “I’m done playing with the hired help, Ivan. I want to talk to your father, where is he?”

He laughed, manically, “He’s gone. Your little bitch took both of them away from me.” He must have seen the confusion cross my face because he continued, “My father was the one that found Boris. Just the sight of what your cunt whore did to him caused him to keel over of a heart attack!” He produced a knife from an ankle holster and circled me once. I tried to brace myself for whatever he planned to do next but the pain was too much and when he stabbed the knife into my left thigh all the way to the hilt I screamed out in agony. That sick smirk stretched across his face again, “That’s the reaction I’m looking for. Now the real fun can begin.” He said pulling the knife from my leg and causing me to scream out again.

“I am going to do to you exactly what she did to him.” With a snap of his fingers the bald man who had been guarding the door walked in with a canister of salt. Ivan took it from him and poured it over the wound on my thigh. The burning was incredible and I had to clamp my jaw shut to keep from crying out. He repeated the process over and over with shallow cuts over every inch of exposed skin he could find.

Once he was finished, he pulled out a cigar from his discarded jacket and settled against the sink in the corner of the room, admiring his handiwork. The puffs of smoke billowed around his head as he lit the cigar. After a few minutes he pushed off the sink and slowly paced toward me, a glimmer of sick pleasure in his eye.

“You know, eventually you are going to tell me how to get to the girl. You could save me a lot of time and yourself a lot of pain if you just tell me now.”

I stayed silent, nothing I said would do any good at this point. No matter what he did, no matter what kind of sick torture he dreamed up, nothing would compare to the immeasurable pain it would cause me if I were the reason Mia was harmed in any way. The worst thing you could do to someone is hurt the person they love most. I knew that from personal experience, using that little fact to my advantage countless times.

After my mother died I vowed that I would never form another relationship like that, that I would never allow anyone to burrow their way that deep into my heart. Some part of me knew though, the first time I looked into Mia’s eyes, that she would be the one to break down those walls and force me to feel again. I still wasn’t quite sure how she did it, but throughout the years she chipped away at my cold exterior, making me laugh and smile again, bringing light into my dark world.

The sharp burn of Ivan’s cigar to my chest broke me from my reverie. The searing pain didn’t subside when he lifted it from my skin. Instead it continued to scald and fester as the ash mixed with my blood and scorched flesh. I didn’t cry out or scream this time, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He got little more than a grunt from me as he continued to pepper my skin with thick circular blisters.

I counted twenty-two stings before I passed out, a combination of pain and exhaustion pulling me into darkness.