Gemma: A Mafia Forbidden Romance

“Please,” he begs.

Declan always makes them beg for death. He won’t put them out of their misery until they do. Even the strongest men will plead if pushed far enough.

They don’t beg for mercy, for life.

No. They beg for death.

For a swift end to the cruelty they’re experiencing.

I know the feeling.

“Who is he?” I ask my brother.

Declan is practically foaming at the mouth with excitement. He walks over to the man, grabbing a handful of his dark hair and yanking his head up. There are cuts all over the man leaking crimson blood. Declan uses his free hand to smear the blood around on his face, coating the man in sticky red liquid. In his three-piece suit, splattered with blood, and holding the head of the chained up man. My brother looks like a monster.

To be fair, he was raised to be one.

“This guy?” Declan smirks. My brother is excited about the kill, his eyes are sparkling and he’s beaming. He shakes the head of his captive, making the man groan in his barely alive state. “Let’s wake him up so you can ask him!” He steps away from the man and flicks his bloody fingers over at Garret, his second in command.

Garret shakes his head as he grabs the jumper cables, connecting two of the clamps to the man in front of us and the other two to a battery. With the flip of a switch, my present is shaking in front of us.

The smile on my brothers face only widens from the tourture. He enjoys it, seeing this man scream and shake before us. With his signal, Garret turns off the battery leaving the man gasping for breath with tears running down his cheeks.

“Who is he?” I ask again.

Declan waltzes back over to the guy and gives him a sharp kick in the stomach. “This bastard right here?” he asks, grabbing him by the hair again. He makes the man look at me, his gaze pleading. “Savio Del’Monte.”

I don’t recognize the name, but I know he must be Italian. He has dark hair matted to his head and underneath the blood and broken flesh I can see the remnants of tanned olive skin. We’ve agreed to a peace treaty, but both sides know that won’t last, and the man close to death in front of me confirms it.

“What’d he do?”

Declan smirks, “This my dear brother, is the man who killed Niall. Happy fucking birthday.”

My stomach drops at his words. All of the grief I had bundled into a neat little package and stored in the back of mind rips free at my brother's statement. Suddenly, a red haze drifts over my vision. Hatred and anger rage inside me.

“I thought you’d want the final kill.” Declan tells me, he reaches for a knife from the metal cart of supplies and hands it to me.

I do want the final kill.

I want to see the man who murdered my brother, dead.

The man who ordered the kill is already gone, but not him, not the one who actually did it. Logically, I know that he was just doing what he was told, that just as easily this could be me. A follower. Someone who just does what they’re told, but I don’t really give a damn right now.

My brother is dead.

And blood requires blood.

He spilled my brother's blood, so I’ll spill his.

I stalk toward the man, his eyes close and I’m sure he’s thankful for this to be over. The torture is finally ending, for both of us.

I don’t take the knife Declan tries to give me. Instead I use my fists, beating them into him continuously. When my hands are raw and sore, I move to use my legs. Using them to kick him over and over again. He’s not conscious when I’m finished with him, he’s just a bag of bones hanging from the basement ceiling.

Declan stalks over to him, pressing his fingers to the neck of the man. He looks up at me with a sinister smile, shaking his head to let me know that he’s dead.

A mixture of relief and pain washes over me.

Relief that this man is dead, that my brother is avenged.