STOLEN || 18+ (Monsters #3)

.26. Mercy

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

- Emily Dickinson
. . .

Fabiano

I was restless.

I did not like being restless.

I could still taste her on my lips. The softness of her skin...the little noises she let out...the way she spread her thighs like a good little girl.

I punched my opponent - I hadn't bothered to know his name. It wouldn't matter anyway. He was going to die soon enough.

He tried to knock me off my feet with a strong sweep of his left leg, I turned away at the last moment and punched his side, it threw him off balance, ending up in him slamming on the cage wall.

I watched as he scrambled back to his feet, furious eyes looking at me. Just another little boy in Rome wanting to make a big entrance into the fighting business by killing a Famiglia capo.

I punched him on the jaw, satisfied when I heard the sound of it breaking. He screamed, falling onto his knees, blood sweeping out of his mouth and he clutched his jaw, looking up at me.

'Mercy,' he mouthed. 'Mercy.'

. . .

"Weak." My mother did not speak to me much. When she did, she made sure to remind me just what she thought of me.

My father chuckled. "I picked the right one to be the capo."

Dante twirled the knife around his hand, the blood on it was mine. Mine and Giovanni's.

"Beg for mercy," Dante said as he walked closer. "And I might allow you to dress Giovanni's wounds, little brother."

"Fuck you," I spat. I didn't give a fuck if our crazy parents made him do this. He did this because he wanted to become the capo.

Because father chose him.

Giovanni was passed out on his chair beside me. My father was the one who beat him. Now he was bleeding.

He was going to die. I knew he was going to die. Dante knew he was going to die.

"Beg me for mercy," Dante hissed, urgency clear in his eyes. He knew Gio wouldn't survive the night and father and mother would not leave before ensuring for the nth time that father he had picked right.

They didn't let us, Giovanni and I, talk to Dante. The only time we met was in this cell. Family fucking bonding.

"You'd turn him weak like you," our father had said. "He needs to be surrounded by strong men."

I was strong. I could beat my father to death.

"Beg," Dante hissed again. Giovanni was losing blood. He was going to die.

I wasn't going to lose him like I lost Carla.

"Mercy," I whispered through my broken lips. "Mercy."

. . .

I killed the boy.

Giovanni watched as I walked out of the cage.

"People knew something was different. You went for the attack," Luca said to me while handing me a drink. He was wearing shorts, ready for his fight. He had scars as much as me.

I went for the attack. I never did that. I liked defence. I liked playing with my opponent. Let them get a hit or two, enough for them to get cocky, and then I killed them.

I drank the strong liquid. I always needed a drink after the fight otherwise the adrenaline rush made me want to keep fighting. No one wanted that.

"I know," I muttered to Luca who was already eyeing a waitress. "Fuck her after the fight."

He hummed. "Everyone is looking at her."

I shrugged. "Stake your claim."

I walked away.

Giovanni, dressed in his three-piece suit as if it was going to fool anyone into thinking he had one civilized bone in his body, smirked at me as I walked out of the gym.

"Who did you kill?" I asked.

"Someone refused to pay what they had bet against you," he said. "I decided to step up and have a little fun before Luca could." Luca dealt with all the enforcer work. Unpaid debts and shit.

I looked at his knuckles. Had there ever been a time when our knuckles were not bruised and bloody?

My earliest memory was of running away from my father's soldiers. They called me 'little Capo' even though I was just five - and Dante was already chosen. Father had taken him away.

They had grabbed me and locked me in the pantry. I had cried for the whole night only to be locked in the cell the next day because some maid found me and was convinced I was trying to steal food.

"Do you want me to set up another fight?" Asked Derek, the owner of the place.

"One for me. Death match," Giovanni muttered, eyes fixed on the cage where Luca was beating the shit out of some unlucky fucker.

"You, boss?" Derek asked me.

"Yes," I said. "Death match."

. . .