My mind’s reeling at the implications of what just happened. I’ve just painted an even bigger target on both our backs. This could be the most monumental move we make.
Can we survive? And if we do, will it be together? Fuck, I hope so, or I’ve just blown my world up for nothing.
Bellino
Chapter Ten
I laugh out as my brother storms out of the door and out of the house. I love the chase. I can’t wait for Father to unleash me. Then, and only then, can I really inflict all the pent-up years of frustration on my brother. The hours of torture I received because he was the good one and I wasn’t more like him, the times when I was left alone to clean blood and entrails from the boot of the car while father went to Vittorio’s room to wind down, to play with his golden child.
I remember a time when I snuck back into the house and my brother’s door was ajar, and I peeked inside, my brother wrapped in my father’s embrace. I felt sick to my stomach. Why wasn’t I loved? Why wasn’t I hugged and cherished? I vowed then to be the best. I learnt my craft, the art of killing, the grace and beauty in it, using bodies as my canvas. Taking my pain out on the world until I no longer felt anything. I still find beauty in the destruction. The way I was made to feel back then a distant memory. I didn’t wait around. I took off back downstairs. I cleaned like I never had before. I scrubbed until my fingers bled. I vowed never to fail after that day. I received nothing for itbecause I wasn’t good, like him. I wasn’t loved like him. But now, now I will make him pay for it all. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call the brothers.
“Boss.”
“She just left. You know what to do.” A smirk spreads across my face at the thought of my fiancée being chased down and murdered at my command.
“Yes, boss.”
I head back down to my father’s office. I won’t be made a fool of by her. I will destroy her. She doesn’t get to toss me aside like I’m nothing and marry him, my fucking pathetic excuse for a brother. My whole life, I’ve had to carry this fucking family because he’s too much of a pussy. My father just couldn’t rely on him, and therefore, the brunt of the burden fell on my shoulders. I had killed my first man before the age of eleven. I remember coming home and crying myself to sleep. After that, I hated him even more. I vowed never to cry again after that, and I haven’t, but something about tears draws me in. My victim’s tears taste divine. I lose myself in the thought of it until I push into Father’s office.
“I’ve sent them after her; she should be dead in a few hours at most.”
“You trust them?”
“No! But they will do as they’re told. They want the perks of thinking they’re my right-hand men.”
Father nods. “And him?”
“Your call, father. I’ll go after him now and kill him myself.” His eyes bore into mine, and I know he sees the truth. I don’t care either way. He’s never really been a brother, and choosing her over us just shows he doesn’t have what it takes to be a part of our family. “It’s nosignificant loss. He’s never contributed anything that hired security wouldn’t.”
“Wait for now. Let’s see if he gets us any information. We may be able to use him.”
I nod, knowing full well that he’s useless and this will all fall on my shoulders once again. I’ll have to kill him at some point. The only question is when. But when I do, I’ll make it last. I’ll savour every fucking tear. I will destroy him for betraying us, and I will take great pleasure in it. It will be payback for all the late nights with Father, the beatings for my brother not being tough enough, and the abuse under the guise of making me stronger to make up for his shortcomings.
I head up to my room to take a shower and wash the day off me. I peel my shirt off and stand and look at myself in the mirror. A myriad of scars litter my body, from cigar burns to whip marks across my back, each mark a memory of I need to do better, I need to be better. I need to take up the slack. I need to protect my little brother because he’s weak. I skim my hands over the marks on my body.
The ones on my chest are more prominent. It’s where Father used to like to put his cigars out if he thought I had wronged him or failed him in some way. Most of it was his. He failed. I was punished. He cried. I was punished. He wet the bed. I was punished. The resentment I feel toward my little brother escalates tenfold as I stare at my reflection.
The cruel glint in my eyes makes my lip twitch. The threat of a smirk crosses my face. I will win. I will take over from Father, and I will destroy their little fucking empire. Watch out, little brother, I’m fucking coming for you andyour bitch, and I won’t leave any remains. They won’t be able to identify your bodies, and I will wear her like a trophy before I destroy you both.
That thought settles something in me. The feeling of retribution and revenge feels so sweet, buzzing through my core that I strip off and turn the shower on, the thought of all the death and destruction has my dick hard, weeping, and I step under the water, letting it beat down on my back as I rest my hand on the wall. I think about my ex-fiancée and my brother meeting their end as my hand slides down over my stomach. The hard planes of my abs ripple under my touch, and I slide my thick fist around my cock. My rough hands slide over the shaft, thick and hot as I close my eyes. My hand forms a fist against the cold tile as I try to release some of the pent-up aggression. I should have gone after her myself. I should have wrapped my hand around her scrawny little neck and squeezed.
I squeeze my dick at the thought of squeezing her neck. I groan at the sensation. My thick cock swells in my tight grip as I squeeze harder. My head drops forward, resting against the tile.
I relax my fist and slide it down my body as my other hand slides up and down my shaft. I lean my shoulder against the wall as I slide my hand around my balls, tugging and twisting at them before I reach around and press a finger to my ass. The tight pinch bites as I push in, first just the tip. I relax as my body moulds itself against the tile. I slide my hand a little faster over my shaft as I pull back my finger and push it further into my ass.
“Fuck,” I rasp out as I hit each knuckle; my fingers are bulky and rough, and I line up another, pulling back. I force them both in, hissing out at the stretch, but fuck,that feels so good. I groan as I work myself up. My meaty fist has my cock in a death grip. I buck my hips into my hand and then back against my other hand, spearing myself on my fingers. I need more. I want fucking more.
I push my third finger against my hole. I take a breath, and I buck back against it. I grunt out. each knuckle ripples sensations through my body. I hold my cock hard in my other hand as I thrust my hips between them, fucking myself. I’m close. I can feel it. The rumble starts in my chest as my cheeks tighten, the inability to slow down as I buck faster, cursing as I thrust.
I squeeze my dick again harder. I want to squeeze my nipples—fuck they’re hard and tight and in need of attention. But I can’t stop, so I thrust and thrust again until I curse out with everything I have. Hot jets of cum spill out against the tiles. I watch as spurt after spurt fire against them, sliding down and into the water that pools at my feet.
I rest my head back against the wall and huff out a breath as I pull my fingers out of me, shuddering at every knuckle that grazes my insides. I crack my neck and take a minute to calm my racing heart. It’s not enough, it’s never enough. I need more.
I pick up the soap and slide it over my body, paying attention to every muscle and every inch of skin, every scar. I’m sure I’ll have more by the end of this—maybe even my little brother or his bitch will give me one before I kill them both. I finish showering calmer and more focused than before, but still a little pent up.
I step out of the shower, running my fingers over my hair to smooth it down before stepping out and headinginto my room. My phone starts ringing and I snatch it off the bed.
“Is it done?” I rasp out my voice, hoarse from my orgasm.
