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“Doesn’t it make you hard, Marcus?” I whisper cruelly as I watch his body betray him, even now when death encroaches. “Knowing everything we enjoy doing to her—things you’ll never experience.” he looks away.
“Look at her,” I command, my voice low and menacing. “That’s desire in its purest form. The way she melts under our touch. You could never elicit such responses.”
Marcus’s eyes, clouded with pain, can’t help but betray him as his body responds to the visceral display. It’s nature at its most primal, and yet, his situation couldn’t be more unnatural.
“Leone,” he gasps out, but his plea dies on trembling lips.
“Shh,” I hush him, almost tenderly. “You’ve got yourself into quite the mess, Marcus.”
My fingers dance across the array of surgical tools laid out with meticulous care, selecting a scalpel that glints under the harsh fluorescent lights. I lean over Marcus, our faces inches apart, and whisper, “I figured since you now owe me, what better way to repay me than with your organs.”
Marcus curses and rattles the table he’s bound to as he tries to break free. “You sick fuck!”
“Says the man who harvests organs for a living,” I chuckle. “Now, you get to learn how your victims feel.”
Marcus’s eyes widen as I press the cold steel against his skin, making an incision with precision as blood beads and trickles as I slice through the tissue and muscle of his thigh. He screams, thrashing weakly against his restraints.
“Now, this won’t be as clean as Dr. Stevens,” I tell him. “I’m no surgeon, after all,” I chuckle, reaching for the bone saw. “But I figured we’d start with the legs?” Marcus thrashes and I motion for one of my men to get ready to cauterize his leg. I place a tourniquet on him.
“The things she does for us,” I murmur, my voice a dark caress as I peel back his flesh. “The way she arches under my touch and cries out for more...” I flick the bone saw on and Marcus screams before it even touches him.
A few hours later.
“Focus,” I instruct him coldly, motioning toward the television where Milo has Fallon pinned beneath him. I slap his face as he fights to remain conscious or probably hoping to remain unconscious.
I flick the channel, going to live stream, and he sees Fallon unconscious, handcuffed to the bed. “You don’t want to miss the show.”
Marcus lets out a guttural sound, a mixture of pain and unwanted arousal, as he watches the scene unfold on screen. Fallon is completely unconscious.
“I figured I could grant you a last meal before I kill you,” I tell him. I chuckle at the grotesque sight of him missing both legs, an arm, and a few non-vital organs. However, my surgical skills aren’t the best, and I am pretty sure his intestines are leaking into the abdominal cavity. Milo has his orders, as much as he argued with me earlier over it, but he knows better than to defy me, unlike this vermin.
I watch as Milo spreads her legs, pushes her skirt past her hips and exposes her pussy. I zoom in on the camera as we watch Milo violates her with a cucumber. Marcus thrashes, but it’s futile with missing limbs, the blood bags attached to him fling on their stands and falling. When Milo’s done, I flick the screen off and move about cleaning up the area a little when Milo knocks on the door. I open it, grabbing the plate. Using my knife, I cut off a piece.
“Leone, please,” Marcus begs, but I’m beyond listening.
“Shh,” I hush him, almost tenderly. “Just taste.” My eyes never leave his as I force a piece of the cucumber into his mouth.
“Doesn’t she taste sweet?” I murmur. He curses, but I jam another piece in his mouth, covering his mouth with my hand so he can’t spit it out. He is forced to eat the entire thing by the time I am done. Yet, despite being cut and tortured, the male anatomy is funny, which is beyond me, but when I look down the table, he’s hard. I don’t know if that excites me more or disgusts me.
“Time for the grand finale,” I announce. I chuckle darkly at the sight of his arousal. “Pathetic,” I sneer, shaking my head in mock disappointment. “Even now, you can’t help yourself.”
“Please... Leone,” Marcus stammers, his voice breaking.
“Ah, begging now, are we?” I taunt, my hand steady as I continue my gruesome work. “But there’s no mercy here, not for traitors.”
With a swift movement, I grasp the offending appendage, my fingers wrapping around it with a deceptive gentleness before I yank sharply and slice simultaneously, severing it from his body. Marcus screams—a sound that echoes through the basement, lamenting his ultimate betrayal.
“Let that be a lesson,” I say, tossing the piece of flesh aside with disdain. “No one takes what’s mine. Not ever.”
I leave him there, bleeding and broken, a fate that befalls those who cross Leone Pressutti. As I ascend the stairs, the sound of his agony fades behind me, replaced by the anticipation of confronting Fallon.
FORTY-ONE
FALLON
My head pounds as consciousness returns, a blurry world slowly sharpening into focus. The mattress dips beside me, the subtle creak of movement a familiar sound in this unfamiliar predicament. Wet trails carve paths down my cheeks before I recognize them as tears; they’re mine, the product of a terror I can’t yet articulate.
“Shh, cara mia,” Leone’s voice is velvet over steel, a caress that promises pain. His fingers brush my cheek, leaving smears of warmth that I realize with horror are blood. “You’re safe.”
