Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
This wasn’t like something you see in the fucking movies, this was burning his flesh from the intense voltage running through the water. It was hot enough to melt metal. I had to be careful not to kill him, having maybe a second to touch him anywhere on his body before he died of a heart attack. So, I began at his dick and worked my way up. I ripped the gag out of his mouth which was preventing him from swallowing his own tongue, or shattering his teeth from the impact of the shocks.
“Please! I swear!” he bellowed. “All I heard was she was taken from Italy! I don’t know where they took her!”
“Wrong fucking answer.”
I placed the gag back in his mouth, although this time, I set the cable right over his throat. Right above his Adam’s apple. His body convulsed, shaking uncontrollably while he foamed at the mouth.
Between La Familia, Sienna, and still trying to find Adriana, I was beyond exhausted. Every day it felt as if one target led to the next. Fully aware every breath could be my last as the grim reaper lurked in the shadows. Merely waiting to make his presence known.
I’d eventually pay the repercussions of my sins, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. I’d become a sadistic motherfucker who thrived on pain, obedience, and power. Putting a bullet in someone’s head was too easy, I enjoyed the chase, the torture, the pleading for my compassion.
I had none.
I climbed every fucking mountain and searched every fucking cave for the men who took my sister. Always trying to tell myself they still existed to begin with, and she wasn’t sold off to the highest bidder yet.
I raided homes.
Businesses.
Properties on top of fucking properties.
Gaining as much information as I could that in the end led us nowhere but chasing our own fucking tails. I sniffed out enemies like a fucking trained rabid dog. Using any measures necessary to get the cocksuckers to fucking talk.
The craziest part about all of it was these cruel attacks almost felt like home. Being a mafioso was much easier than being a decent human being.
My heart turned cold.
My soul black.
My future not promised in any path.
This life fucked me up to the point where nothing made sense when I walked through the front doors of my house. My mind was always in the battle zone, along with the lives I now owned. Re-adjusting to normal life was the hardest fucking pill to swallow. It was so fucking difficult to turn off the “kill or be killed” mentality at all times of the day.
The smallest things triggered me to react violently. All it took was a momentary lapse in judgment and my Glock was in your fucking face. I lived and breathed blood for the last six months since Ari was kidnapped, crafting constant assaults.
Bombs.
Bullets.
I killed enemies.
I lost men.
The long periods of violence I went through were a psychological beating. I was constantly suspicious, tightly wound, and easily angered. If you thought my temper was bad before, you’re sadly mistaken. I’d wake up several times throughout the night, freaking the fuck out that I couldn’t find my gun. The fight or flight mentality I had, became just fight.
It was now my life.
Always waiting for the other shoe to fucking drop, always on alert, always waiting to kill what I couldn't fucking see. These undertakings all required the same thing, finesse and stealth-like abilities. I was the one in charge of a group of ruthless motherfuckers who feared nothing. Creating the worst possible situations known to man and coming back for more.
Daily.
I said goodbye to my humanity to be a part of this world. It was the only way I could survive. I was barely sleeping and when I did, it was a restless slumber. After all these years, I finally understood why my father couldn’t close his eyes long enough to find peace. His demons wouldn’t let him.
Too many lives taken.
Too much blood on his hands.
He didn’t bury his enemies, he simply took on their souls.
Days were long and the nights even longer. I was never home and when I was, my fucking bitch of a wife was exactly that. I don’t know how it was possible but over the last three months, she hated me more than I could have ever imagined.
My mere presence had her coming for my throat like a wolf in the night. Jesus Christ, even if I looked in her direction, her mouth would snap and there was no shutting her the fuck up.
Yelling obscenities.
Demanding to know where I was.
We fought endlessly.
It was obvious she was trying to prove to herself, I was nothing more than the fucking gangster she painted me out to be. It didn’t help that I regularly came home with someone else’s blood on my clothes.