Reaper of the Wicked | A Mafia Romance

I||Bad Guys Love Their Mommies

"Do you know how long it takes for a human fingernail to grow back when ripped from its place?" I smile sadistically at the man bound to the chair.  His skin turns ashen and I can tell I'm getting to him. My smile grows. This one is going to be easy to break.

"You could find out safely. Through a Google search maybe a book-" I pause appraising him. There is no way this man reads. "But that can only happen if you tell me who supplies the heroin." Scorpion hacks up a loogie. The slimey thing lands on my cheek. I keep my gleeful expression firm. He's not as easy as I'd thought he would be.

Moments like these make me wish I were born with a dick. If I were a man Scorpion would be singing like a Goddamn canary. But men like Scorpion who live at the gym and cover themselves in ink usually enjoy activities such as putting women "in our place" .

"I think you forgot who has the power here Mr. Scorpion." I say wiping the loogie off my face. I smear it onto his cheek. And smile. If he thinks that can shatter my ego or pend my pride. He is wrong. I lost my pride the day I was born a bastard to a sadistic son of a bitch. I grab a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe the excess saliva from my cheek and hands. "It's not the first time someone's spit on me in this room." I gesture to the blood splattered rank smelling basement. "Honestly with a name like Scorpion I don't know why I was expecting originality." His teeth grind together. His own fragile ego is making an appearance.  

I grab the pliers holding them up for him to see. Dark red spots the stainless steel. There's no use in cleaning the tools,  not when bloody ones are so much more intimidating. Scorpion yanks against the chains binding him to the chair. 

"I really don't want to do this Scorpion but you give me no choice," I say. I don't enjoy torturing people but the high that comes with knowing you have power over someone like Scorpion is more intoxicating than any Heroin.

I press the pliers to his nails and pull upward ripping it from the nail bed. Scorpion tries to suppress his screaming unsuccessfully. "Fuck you, Bianchi whore." He spits out. I ignore the insult. It's not even accurate. If Leopoldo would publicly claim me as his child the nickname would disappear. 

I tsk at the bound man continuing my performance. "You know it's not very nice to call people names. What should I do about that dirty mouth?" I pretend to think, tapping my finger to my chin. 

"I know just what to use." I reach into my pink duffle bag of unfathomable horrors and pull out a bottle of household cleaning bleach. "Wouldn't want you kissing your mama with such filthy lips."

Scorpion begins to jerk against his chains like a wild animal on cocaine. I pinch his nose. They always think they can hold their breaths until they pass out but the lungs need air and sometimes bodies have a mind of their own. Scorpion gasps for air at the same time I tilt the bottle forward. He swallows bleach along with the oxygen he needs to survive. He howls in agony.

"I've been so kind to you and you've been such a petulant child with the spitting and the name calling. Now, I don't know if you know but that bleach won't kill you." He blinks up at me grimacing in pain. Suspicion is written in his eyes.

It will, however, burn your stomach and throat which means you're going to be in and out of hospitals your whole life. I've known people who starve themselves rather than eat with your newfound condition." I caress his clean cheek in a motherly fashion. 

"I can save you. All you have to do is tell me who sold you that heroin and I'll get you medical attention. I swear on my mother's life that you can go back to the life you had before you ended up in this awful torture room. I don't enjoy seeing you suffer." I hope that the mother thing works. He fits the stereotype of a man with mommy issues.