Chapter 3
1249 Words
The phone on the desk buzzed.
Carlo picked it up with slow, deliberate fingers and answered without looking at the caller ID.
“Yes.”
A firm voice came through. “Boss, we have her and we are having her as instructed.”
Carlo’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Good. Switch to video.”
Carlo sat in his private study, It was a dimly lit room with red velvet curtains drawn tightly shut. On the wall was a black and white framed photo of his father, and other respective members of his family, on the far of the room was a collage photo of powerful associates and politicians at the different functions.
Beside the photo behind him, was a dagger stabbed into the wall and a framed shotgun next to it. A glass of dark brown scorching liquor sat untouched on the table beside him, next to an ashtray crowded with half-burnt cigars, two burner phones and an encrypted laptop displaying an offshore account records from an associate in Malta. He stared ahead, his jaw tight, and his eyes were icy and cold. Very cold.
There was a small pause, then the screen lit up.
The camera jerked slightly before steadying, showing the office floor of the club.
Lucia was being held down between two men as they double penetrated and f****d her while one of the men rough handled her breasts, her torn blouse still hanging loosely as they ravished her, her mouth red and swollen from the earlier assault. She was struggling, still kicking, though her energy was quietly fading.
The men were instructed not to stop until they were told to, so even the men that had penetrated earlier lined up for another round.
They were merciless.
The twelfth man moved into frame, gripping her chin, forcing her head up. “Smile for the boss, love.”
She spat at him.
Carlo laughed coldly, then turned the camera on his end toward the corner of the room—toward a severely battered man slumped in a wooden chair, chained at the wrists and ankles.
It was Manuel.
He looked like a ghost. Blood trickled from his nose, one eye was swollen shut, and his shirt was soaked in sweat. Yet at the sound of his wife’s voice—faint, ragged, crying out his name—he stirred.
“Manuel!” she cried. “Manuel, help me, please! They’re hurting me!”
Manuel sat up suddenly, straining against his bonds. “No! No, leave her out of this! Please! Please Don Carlo!”
Carlo brought the phone closer to Manuel’s face so he couldn’t look away.
“Watch closely, Manuel,” Carlo said, his voice chillingly calm. “Watch how your sweet, pure little wife is handled by my men. Look at that,! Look!! And know that this will not stop… until you tell me where the missing money and cocaine are.”
“I don’t know!” Manuel cried, tears streaming down his bruised face. “I swear to you on everything I love—I don’t know what happened to the coke! I didn’t steal it! The money must’ve—”
“Silence!” Carlo barked. “You think I don’t know a lie when I hear one? The last remittance was short. Ten thousand missing. Ten kilos unaccounted for. Do you take me for a fool?”
“I would never cheat you,” Manuel gasped. “I’ve been loyal to you for thirteen years. Thirteen! I’ve done everything you asked, everything—”
Carlo slammed his fist on the table, making the glass rattle, some of it’s content spilling in droplets out of it.
“And yet here we are!”
He turned the phone back to the bizzare scene in the club.
The men were not done, they were still heavily pounding and thrashing their massive schlongs in and out of Lucia while she gasped for air.
She was certainly begging for death at this point, as the willpower to continuously fight these men slowly seeped out of her.
“Keep going,” he ordered his men. “Show him what happens to wives of traitors.”
“No! Carlo, please!” Manuel sobbed. “Don’t do this—don’t hurt her. She’s innocent. She’s always been innocent!”
But the men didn’t stop. One of them grabbed Lucia by the arms while the other yanked down what remained of her legs, and repenetrated her. She screamed, kicking out, but they overpowered her easily. Her cries grew louder, more desperate, echoing off the walls.
But help wasn’t coming from anywhere.
“Manuel! Manuel they are hurting me, help me!” she wailed. “Make them stop! Please, make them stop!”
Manuel broke down completely. “Please, Don Carlo, I beg you in the name of God! I’ll find the coke—I’ll pay back the money, every penny! Just let her go!”
But Carlo only leaned back in his chair, unbothered. “You think this is bad?” he said coolly. “If I don’t get answers in the next hour, your precious daughter—your sweet precious Mariselle—she’ll be next. And I won’t be so kind.”
“No!” Manuel cried. “Please! She’s pregnant, for God’s sake!”
“Then perhaps she’ll scream louder,” Carlo replied, emotionless. “I’ll make sure I handle her myself. You know I don’t stop until the girl’s fresh and succulent p***y is properly battered, bruised and . And if she dies from it, so be it.”
“I’ll get your money!” Manuel shouted. “I swear to you—I’ll make it right! Just don’t touch her. Don’t touch my daughter!”
“Then speak,” Carlo growled, his patience wearing thin. “Who took the drugs? Where did the money go?”
“I—I think it was one of the new girls. I can’t be specific as I am not sure, I think it’s the tall one with the lip ring. I saw her acting strange last week, but I didn’t think—”
Carlo slammed the table again. “You didn’t think? You let some street w***e walk off with ten kilos of my coke and didn’t think it was worth mentioning?”
“It didn’t occur to me. But I promise I’m going to track her down,” Manuel whispered, broken. “please give me some more time.”
“Time you’ve wasted.”
The video continued to stream. Lucia was still screaming, her voice hoarse, her strength draining. One man held her face towards the phone, making sure Manuel saw every second.
Her eyes locked onto her husband’s. “Manuel…” she whimpered. “Don’t let them kill me.”
Manuel sobbed again. “I love you. I love you.”
She closed her eyes, and her body fell limp in their grip.
Carlo cut the call.
He sat for a long moment in silence, tapping his fingers slowly against the desk.
Then, he picked up the phone again and dialled another number.
“Tell Nikolai,” he said, his voice like ice, “that if he so much as breathes in my territory this week, I’ll send him pieces of stooges—starting with the small rat he sent to spy on my next shipment.”
He ended the call and lit a cigar, the smoke curling lazily around his face. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance.
- Writer
