Santino rocked back, grabbed the man’s lapels, and hauled him up to sitting without care for how much it would hurt.
Of course, Osamu let out a strangled scream. But he hadn’t regained his breath yet, so it wasn’t half what it might have been.
Santino dragged him back until there was a wall he could lean the man against, patted Osamu on the cheek, and quipped, “Don’t worry. It’s fucking hard to slice open the intestines with a blade like that, so for as much as it hurts, you won’t bleed out. Not unless we left you here for a long damn time. Which we won’t.”
Without waiting for a response to that taunt, Santino turned and made his way to the once-again-groaning form of spoiled Hiroto. He pulled the manchild away from where he’d slumpedawkwardly against the desk and hauled Hiroto onto his knees, curling an arm around his throat in a lock the kid couldn’t have broken at full strength. “Wakey wakey, princess. Let Pops take a look at you.”
Osamu made a sound of protest and tried to move, which turned immediately into a sound of pain.
Hiroto tensed as awareness returned to him. Again, he called for his father.
Santino tightened his arm and leaned close so he could breathe down the back of the prick’s neck. “See anything new? Does it look familiar? Déjà vu, maybe?”
Hiroto was breathing hard by the time Santino finished his taunt. “What’ve you done?” he asked, the words faintly slurred from one too many blows to the head.
“Oh, nothing much yet.” Santino loosened his grip and patted the top of Hiroto’s head with his free hand. He dragged his gaze back across to Osamu, who eyed them with open trepidation. “Now, Pops, I’m sure I don’t know the full extent of all the shit you put my fiancée through. So, it’s not going to be possible for me to balance the score here, and I have to admit, that’s gonna eat at me.” He twisted his fingers in Hiroto’s hair and pulled enough to make the little bastard uncomfortable. “But I do know the gist. And the gist is, you only ever loved this spoiled shit, right?”
Osamu groaned something in Japanese, one arm half-rising before the pain stopped him. He was catching on.
Hiroto reached up, trying once more to pry Santino’s hands from his body. And once again failing.
Santino held Osamu’s stare. “Since he is what you value most, I’m going to make you watch the life leave him. I’m going to make you look at his corpse, on your floor, and know it’s your goddamn fault. And only then will I end you.”
Hiroto found the strength to fight harder, finally squirming like a man with something to fight for.
Osamu coughed, winced, and pushed out words through the pain he clearly couldn’t handle. “Please … spare my son.Onegaishimasu.”
Hiroto grunted, cursing and spitting as he twisted the best he could without snapping his own neck. It didn’t help him that Santino was also kneeling on one of his legs.
Santino tapped a finger over the top of Hiroto’s forehead, just shy of a blood smear, as if in thought. “How many times did she beg, Osamu? How often did little Reiko beg for clean clothes,goodclothes, a goddamn decent place to sleep, or maybe a hug? Do you remember?”
Santino wasn’t surprised that Osamu made no attempt to answer.
He was a bit surprised when Reiko did, her voice reassuringly steady. “I had learned better than to beg, for anything, before Hiroto was even one.”
Hiroto’s squirming lessened for several poignant seconds, as if some portion of his brain functioned well enough to understand that her words meant nothing good for him.
Santino cut his eyes to her, to estimate how she was handling the scene. He’d told her what he’d do—generically—but that was a far cry from seeing it unfold. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d chosen to step out entirely, but he was proud as hell of her that she hadn’t yet.
In the moment he looked away, her father got stupid again.
“If only,” Osamu groaned, “you had ever learned to keep your mouth shut.”
Reiko closed her eyes.
Santino swung his head back around, blood roaring through his ears and his vision bleeding red. “You’re a real dumb fuck, Pops.” He waited only long enough for Osamu’s focus to snapback to him. Then he tightened his grip, locked his elbow beneath Hiroto’s chin, and twisted violently.
The crack of Hiroto’s neck and spinal cord echoed louder than whatever breathless plea Osamu had started in on. Hiroto went limp, his arms falling to his sides, and Santino let go and stepped back, allowing the rest of the body to sag to the floor.
One down.
Osamu was breathing hard, his chest heaving and his lips trembling. More blood seeped from the wound, around the edges of the knife Santino had left there. “H-Hiroto…”
Santino calmly walked the wide way around Osamu’s desk, running his eyes over it in search of something useful. The steak knife wouldn’t do. He didn’t feel like slicing himself up on the job. He pulled open the top drawer and spied a metal letter opener. Not as sharp as a blade, but sharp enough. He wasn’t planning to draw things out much longer, after all.
Extracting his chosen toy, he left the drawer open and twirled it around the fingers of the hand he’d partially wiped off on Hiroto’s clothes. “Enjoying the view, Osamu?”
Osamu blinked and turned his head in Santino’s direction, nostrils flaring. “Y-you— My son—”
