Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I step forward to place my hand on the shoulder of Eduardo Castillo. From his place by Vito Gambino, I look down at him, before saying, “Maybe you should sit with me.”
His gaze narrows slightly, but he follows me to a leather sofa occupied by two soldiers. When we approach, they stand, making room where there wasn’t before. Eduardo sits, and I look around the room to watch the tens of men both sitting and standing in silence.
Showtime.
With a discreet nod to Braden, the screen lights up, and he moves to my side, kneeling by the sofa. Smiling, Braden leans in and whispers, “Thought I’d spice it up a bit, ya know? For entertainment’s sake.”
Before I can ask him what the hell he’s talking about, “Turn Down for What” by DJ Snake and Lil Jon blares through the speakers, shocking me as well as the men around me. Although I want to knock him the fuck out, it’s too late to turn back now, and with a clenched jaw, I let the video play.
Eduardo Castillo moves to object, but with a shake of my head and my hand firmly on his knee, his furious expression moves to watch the movie that will make grown men weep.
For the first twenty seconds of the song, Braden has made the video almost like a video clip for the song. Second long clips of Dino and Alejandra kissing in bed show up on the screen.
At the twenty-second mark, when the beat drops, the clips change dramatically.
Dino slapping Alejandra. Gio kicking her in the ribs. Ana gagging on Gio’s dick then vomiting all over the floor. Gio gripping her neck and rubbing her face into the puke. Dino tying Ana to the bed. A close up on Ana’s tear-streaked face. Gio fucking Ana roughly in the ass as Dino masturbates close by. A close up of Ana’s tortured features.
It goes on and on, and every short clip makes me want to shoot up this entire room, wanting nothing other than to destroy the sickness that lives inside the Gambino men.
A quick glance around the room shows the video has hit its mark. Men, hardened men, watch with their mouths gaping. They’re stunned.
Halfway through the song, the clips change, and Eduardo Castillo watches his son and heir, Miguel, be disemboweled by a trusted ally. Gio straddles Miguel and throws the hunting knife into him again and again, and he does this with a smile.
A choked scream sounds over the music, and without a single thought, I take the older man’s hand in mine and squeeze. My silent message to be strong. It’ll be over soon.
The end nears and I close my eyes, having seen enough.
At the crescendo of the song, as the music dims, I hear the sounds of grown men growling in anger and some sobbing like babies.
My eyes snap open, and I stand before anyone is able to react.
The Castillo family is barely holding it together, by a mere thread. The Gambino men have retreated away from the head of their family, hoping to blend into the background.
I hold up my hand in front of all the men, asking for silence, and when I get it, I train my eyes on a now pale Vito Gambino.
“Now, you ask yourself if you can still call what Alejandra Gambino did to her husband a punishable offense. You all called it murder at the time. I’m asking you now, how many of you still believe that?”
Not a single hand rises.
“I don’t know about you, but I would call Dino’s death self-defense on Alejandra’s part.” My voice hoarse, my anger begins to show. “This beautiful girl was thrust into marriage at eighteen-years-old. She was assured her husband was a good man, and when it turned out he wasn’t, she shut her mouth about it, because she was told—” I turn my stare to Castillo. “—that it was her burden to bare. That sacrifices were necessary for the sake of family.” My face pained, I hiss, “Six years she dealt with rape and torture. I ask you, is this how we’re treating our queens nowadays? Because I was taught we respected our women.” A moment of silence. “How did this happen? How did we leave one of ours feeling like she had no choice but to save herself?”
At my unforgiving words, Eduardo Castillo slides from the sofa to the ground onto his knees, his head lowered, body slumped, blubbering like a little baby.
The men remain silent, but more and more of the room venture to stand by Eduardo Castillo’s side in a show of support.
Vito Gambino stands and tries to speak, but can’t seem to find the words. Finally, he manages a heartfelt, “My friend, my brother, I didn’t know. I… I…” he stutters. “I didn’t know. I swear it.”