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“You’ll torture yourself for every basic necessity you need or die of thirst,” I mutter.
“I’d rather fucking die,” he spits at me.
I shrug, and when I hear footsteps, I turn to face the door. “Here they are now.”
“Who?” Stefano asks.
Tommy and his team herd the di Bellas and Cettina into the room, and when my guests lay eyes on Stefano, shock ripples over their faces.
“Stefano!” Cettina cries, and when she tries to rush to her son, Carlo grabs hold of her arm. Her eyes fly wildly between me and Carlo as she asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“What’s going on here?” Mr. di Bella asks. “We were told we were coming for the wedding.”
Ignoring the man, I nod at Carlo.
He drags Cettina closer to Stefano, where he forces her onto her knees.
“Wait? What’s going on?” she asks, panic and fear drenched in each word.
“She has nothing to do with this!” Stefano yells. “Get your hands off my mother, you fucking bastard.”
Carlo presses the barrel of his gun to her head, and looking Stefano dead in the eyes, he growls, “A mother for a mother.”
He pulls the trigger, and her blood sprays over Stefano’s legs before she drops dead by his feet.
“You fucker!” Stefano shouts. “You fucking fucker.”
Carlo watches with satisfaction as Stefano begins to sob while I turn my attention to the di Bellas.
“On their knees,” I mutter the order to Tommy and his team.
“No!” Mr. di Bella yells while his wife makes a panicked sound.
“Wait. Tell us what this is about,” the son barks.
Once they’re on their knees, I pull my Glock from behind my back. My fingers tighten around the handle as I look at them.
“You abused my wife,” I say, my tone low with the promise of death.
“We didn’t,” Mrs. di Bella cries. “I don’t know what lies–” Her sentence cuts off in a scream as I train my gun on her son and pull the trigger.
“No!!! NoNoNo!” she wails when he slumps down dead beside her.
“Please! Stop,” Mr. di Bella begs.
I move the barrel of the gun to Gabriella’s father, and locking eyes with Mrs. di Bella, I say, “You’re not screaming loud enough.”
When I pull the trigger, her eyes fill with horror and heartache as she watches her husband die.
I want this woman to suffer the most unbearable pain of losing her husband and son, because she was supposed to protect and love Gabriella, and she didn’t.
Once the men are dead, I crouch in front of Mrs. di Bella and ask, “How much pain are you in right now?”
She sobs, her body trembling while she gasps for air, then a wounded cry tears right from her fucking soul, and she lets out a harrowing wail.
“Good,” I hiss before I rise to my full height, then I order, “Take her to the other room where she can mourn her loss.”
I watch as they drag her away and signal for the other men to remove the bodies.
