Page 83 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

“Good lad.” Da’s huge hand landed on my shoulder, and I gave a half-smile. He picked up his machete and walked over to the unsuspecting pig in the pit. He knelt on the slaughterhouse’s mucky floor, hooked a rope around its hooves and tied the other end to the wall. The pig squealed loudly, suddenly aware of the danger. I flinched. Da didn’t. The sound echoed across the farmyard, bouncing off the stone walls as the rain pelted the roof. The animal fought the ropes, its hooves slipping as it tried to scramble away.

Da gently placed his hand on its back to settle it.

“C’mere, son.”

I stepped closer and crouched beside him.

“Look in the pig’s eyes.”

I did. They were wide and afraid.

“What do ya notice?”

“He wants to live,” I answered. The pig squealed again, proving the point.

Da nodded and raised his hand, holding the machete to the back of my neck. The solid handle and his firm grip forced me to meet his gaze. “So does every man you’ll ever meet.”

I wasn’t sure why he was telling me this. It was only a pig. But I had just turned twelve. My training was beginning. I liked these one-to-one talks with Da. They made me feel important. Da knew things. I’d always listened to everything he taught me.

“Some men take a life out of spite. Others do it because they take twisted pleasure in it.”

He dropped his hand from my neck and twisted the blade he held. The pig shifted and grunted. I looked from the blade to him.

“Why do we do it?”

Da smiled. I knew he didn’t kill only animals on the farm.

“You’re smart to ask, lad.” His smile faded. “We do it only when it’s necessary, when it’s the key to survival.”

He pointed the blade at the pig. “We do it to feed our families.” He lifted his gaze and looked out through the open wooden doors across our land. “We do it to protect what’s ours.” His dark eyes met mine. “But if ya ever take a life just because you can, because it makes ya feel powerful…”

His jaw tightened.

“Then you’ve become somethin’ a Moriarty isn’t.”

The words settled heavily in my chest, along with the expectations. I never wanted to let him down. I’d always be a Moriarty.

“I understand, Da.”

He nodded. Looking back at the pig, he met its gaze. The blade flashed across its neck. The pig collapsed on the floor. I stared into its eyes, watching life leave it.

“Good. Always look them in the eye. Never let them die alone,” Da said, standing and wiping the blood from the knife with a rag. His expression remained steady. He didn’t celebrate or take pride in the kill.

“Why?”

“Respect,” he answered.

“For a pig?”

“For a life, son.”

He grabbed my bicep and helped me to my feet.

“This creature gave its life so others could live. That’s called a sacrifice. If you ever have to kill, it must be for survival. Your life or theirs. The sacrifice is them dying so that you can keep living. That deserves respect.”

He turned to me and handed me the knife. It felt heavy in my hands. “One day, Maddox, you’ll have men lookin’ to you for leadership. You’ll have a family and a legacy to protect. You’ll have to make hard decisions, some that will end lives. But as long as you remember this.” He placed his hand on the back of my neck again, his way of showing affection. “The moment takin’ a life means nothin’ to ya…” His grip tightened. “…is the moment ya stop being a man and become a monster. Survival only, yeah?”

My head bobbed enthusiastically. He patted my cheek, then walked toward the doors.