Mafia Kings: Valentino: Dark Mafia Romance Series #6

Don Vicari was silent as we walked out the back of the house.

Given the pile of shit I’d just talked myself out of, I kept my mouth shut so I didn’t accidentally step back in it.

Every foot soldier we passed bowed their head in respect.

All of them said either “Padrone” or “Don Vicari.”

He didn’t even acknowledge them.

We passed through the gardens, then headed for the rugged hills around the property.

That’s when I realized where we were headed.

The barn.

The one that the foot soldier had told me, It is not for you.

What with all the travels to Pozzallo, Gela, and Ragusa, I’d totally forgotten about the barn –

But as we headed right for it, I was filled with a sense of dread.

Don Vicari started talking. He didn’t look at me as he spoke.

“Isabella doesn’t think I read at all, but I do. Not as much as her, but some. History, mostly.

“In one book, I read that dogs basically chose to be domesticated.

“You see, the first hunter-gatherers were nomads. When they moved from place to place, they encountered wolves everywhere they went.

“At night, when humans sat around the fire, the most docile wolves would approach the fire. The humans would feed them, the same way that people throw food to birds on restaurant patios.

“When the humans left to find better hunting grounds, the same wolves would follow them. They would continue to go up to the campfires at night, begging to be fed.

“Eventually, those wolves would breed with each other. After all, they had abandoned their packs, and new packs wouldn’t accept them – so they only had each other to mate with. Because of genetics, their pups were even more docile towards humans.

“After ten generations, you had wolves that gladly lay at humans’ feet and were treated like pets. In short, you had dogs.

“After that, humans bred them for different purposes. Some dogs pulled sleds. Some helped with hunting. Others became guard dogs. They began to look different, too. Long hair, short hair… long legs, short legs…

“Humans are like dogs, boy. Our entire race has selectively bred out the wild animal in us, until all that remains are fancy little poodles and lapdogs.

“But some men… some men still are wolves. They were never turned into dogs to begin with. They’re wild and dangerous, through and through.”

We reached the barn and paused outside, where a couple of foot soldiers stood guard by a sliding wooden door.

They waited for a command from Don Vicari, but he didn’t give one. He was still intent on his story.

“I’m a wolf,” he said with a cruel smile. Then his smile turned into a look of disgust. “Rocco is not. He’s a lapdog pretending to be a wolf, and failing miserably. I thought I could teach him to be a wolf… but I was wrong. You either are or you aren’t.

“The question is… are you a wolf… or are you a dog?

“I saw your wild side earlier when you dared to cross me.

“But is it just a side of you… or are you a wolf, through and through?

“Because, if you’re a wolf, know this:

“If you ever cross me again… I will rip your fucking throat out.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

I believed him.

I wanted to say, Well, old man, you’d die if you tried it because I’d rip YOUR fucking throat out at the same time–

But there was something he wanted me to show me, and I wanted to know what it was.

“Open the door,” Don Vicari ordered the foot soldiers.

One of the men grabbed the handle and pulled the door back.

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

It floated out like poison gas – the stench of shit and stale piss and rotting meat.

It was ten times worse than San Vittore, the hellhole where Dario had been imprisoned.

I nearly vomited.

Then I saw the source of the smell.

There was a naked man inside the barn. He was doubled over on his knees on the dirt floor, but his arms were held up by iron chains bolted to the brick walls of the barn. Smaller chains hung from the ceiling as well.

He had been tortured. Horribly.

Strips of skin had been peeled from his body, exposing patches of raw muscle.

The rest of his skin had burn marks and blisters everywhere.

His fingers were bent at terrible angles, snapped like matchsticks.

The rest of him – the parts that weren’t flayed or burned or broken – were coated with dried blood. A swarm of insects buzzed all around him in the air.

At first I thought he was dead –

Until he lifted his head weakly and whispered, “…please… Don Vicari… kill me…”

His single eye stared up at me in agony.

The other eye was gone – just a dark socket.

Most of his teeth were broken. Not pulled – shattered.

Then my eyes grew accustomed to the shadows in the barn.

I saw that the smaller strands I’d thought were chains…

Were actually plastic tubes hooked to IV bags suspended from the ceiling.

They all led to needles in his arms.

There was one IV bag filled with blood and a couple filled with clear liquid.

All of them had words printed on the plastic.

Medical supplies.

That’s when I understood.

They weren’t just torturing him…

They were actively keeping him alive so they could keep on torturing him.

I had heard about Hell during sermons in church, about the torments of the damned –

But now I saw it in front of me in the flesh.

I knew my father had killed men who had betrayed him before – Niccolo had told me –

But it had always been quick.

A bullet to the back of the head, and it was over.

Not like this.

Never like this.

I stepped back in overwhelming horror –

But Don Vicari’s hand clamped the back of my neck and forced me to look.

“When you first arrived with your brother in Catania, I told you that I killed my consigliere,” he said without emotion. “Not precisely true. I’m in the process of killing him, you see.”

I stared at the thing on the floor of the barn, barely recognizable as human –

Until Don Vicari spun me around to look at him.

He smiled – the terrible smile of a wolf.

“He betrayed me,” Don Vicari said.

The smile turned into a snarl.

“DON’T BETRAY ME… OR ELSE.”