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Matteo steps up, twists the plastic bag tighter until the man leans over, then plucks it off just before he swoons. The man drops to the floor and bangs his head, but he inhales with a grating rasp that sends a chill down my spine. I try to control my breathing, but I can’t, it’s too shallow and rushed as tears well up and drop to the hardwood floor.
They’re going to kill this man.
“So how much did you enjoy beating up Tatiana?” Matteo demands as Burley steps up and jerks the man back onto his knees. His head sways, but he manages to stay upright. “You broke five of her fucking ribs, her jaw, her nose, her fucking pelvic bone, you fucking?—”
The sound of steel-toe boots crashing into ribs echoes through the space and drowns the rest of Matteo’s words as one of the bodyguards gets him from one side, while the second gets him from the other. The man folds over onto his face.
Part of me wants to scream for them to stop, run down and force them to have mercy, but more of me wants this guy to pay. Either way, I’m too drained by fear to even move, my throat so tight, even my own breathing seems constricted.
Matteo rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. He reaches for the man’s hair and pulls him up by it, until he is slumped on his knees, blood oozing from his nose and mouth. Matteo doesn’t let go of him but holds his head in place. “And then you had the fucking nerve to fist her, until she bled from the broken pelvic bone onto your fucking hand.” Matteo jerks the man’s head. “Look at me, you motherfucker.” The man groans, but blinks through the sweat that runs from his temples and forehead, until he meets Matteo’s eyes. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end for a change, hmm?”
At the visual Matteo sketches, my body convulses.
With disgust Matteo lets go of his hair with a shove, and as if Burley just knows what he wants, he tosses Matteo a dishcloth so he can wipe his hands. “Party’s starting,” Matteo says as he drops the dishcloth to the floor.
Wait, what? They’re not done?
I cower back, hesitant to peek over the rim as the two unknown bodyguards approach the man where he’s face down on the floor in a pool of his own blood. They kick him over and tackle his belt and zipper, then drag his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. His flaccid cock looks sickly grey in the dimmed light of the room. I’m waiting for someone to step forward with a knife and sever it, but instead they twist him around and shove him up so that he is kneeling in the classic child pose.
The men look at each other and Matteo nods to one of his brothers, who picks up a duffle bag. He unzips it and pulls out a giant dildo with a pointed tip.
Oh my God.
“Lube?” the brother asks, but as the circle of men chuckles, it’s clear he’s joking.
“Get going. I’ve got shit to deal with tomorrow,” Matteo says.
Another round of smirks, but Matteo doesn’t join in. The brother nods towards the bodyguards and one steps forward and places his boot on the guy’s neck and presses down so hard, I swear I hear bones crunching.
The other goon comes forward and the brother hands him the dildo, which he places right at the man’s anus.
“Stephano,” Matteo says, and it’s a command as if there ever was one. “For Tatiana.”
I’m holding my breath as the brother, who must be Stephano, steps forward. He kicks the back end of the dildo with such precision that an earsplitting shriek rings through the space. The man’s body resists. Of course it does. I cover my ears, but it doesn’t help as Stephano kicks while the booted foot holds the man in place, until the dildo is well lodged up his ass.
Stephano steps back and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.
The bodyguard lifts his foot off the man’s neck, but he doesn’t move, whimpers spluttering the blood that seeps from his mouth.
“I ask you again, how does it feel to be on the receiving end of such unwanted attention?” Matteo says.
A horrifying wheeze follows as the man shudders, and then silence echoes through the room. The man has stopped moaning, and all I hear is ragged breath. There’s a subtle shift in the group of men downstairs, but none of them move or say anything. And then I realize they’re listening to my ragged, tensed-up breathing.
“The girl’s watching, Matteo,” Burley says, his voice apologetic. “I told her not to?—”
“Good. Let her understand what will happen to Peter Armstrong if she doesn’t deliver.” Matteo doesn't look up or even acknowledge me, but I realize now he knew from the start that I was here, peering through the railing. With that he pulls a gun from inside his jacket and holds it out to Stephano. “Wrap it up.”
Stephano takes the gun and aims, but his hand is shaking so much that he hesitates for a very long minute. “No,” he says, then lowers the gun.
“For fuck’s sake,” Matteo grunts as he takes the gun from his brother. In one smooth move, without a pinch of hesitation, he shoots the guy in the back of the head.
The shot whispers through the apartment. Of course. Silencer. My stomach convulses.
“Get him out of here.” Matteo holsters the gun. “Party’s over.”
I’ve seen some things during my studies. I’ve dealt with dissections, human excrement, all kinds of flesh, but nothing—nothing—prepared me for this. My stomach roils and I can’t stop the surge. I vomit Frutti di Mare and watch in horror as it drips over the edge and splashes to the ground floor.
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