Page 16 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
Tick.
Another.
Tick.
More, more, more.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The raw skin on my back blistered. This was about the time he would usually stop, but he kept going.
“You’re a disrespectful bastard.”
Whip.
“I never wanted you.”
Whip.
“You’ll be nothing.”
Whip.
I rolled my eyes and stared at the metronome on the floor.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Whip. Whip. Whip.
His words no longer made sense, his insanity growing wilder and wilder each time the snake skin connected with my flesh. He hadn’t always been like this. When Mama lived, he kept to himself while she raised me. When she died, he took it as permission to have his way with me. Never leaving a scar. Hitting just enough to take me to the brink of bloodied flesh.
But my skin split today, and I knew Renata’s words—true as they were—had done a number on him. Fuck my life. The belt sliced the skin below my shoulder. I grit my teeth. Didn’t she know she’d made it worse?
He growled out, his Texas accent strengthening with his fury. “No fucking respect in my own fucking household. I own the De Luca family.” Whip. “I own this land.” Whip. “I own this town. I own this state.” Whip. Whip. “Do you get that, boy?”
Not for long, he didn’t.
I didn’t answer. He tore the skin on my lower back. My teeth drew blood from my tongue. Any more lashes, and I’d need a hospital trip for stitches. He didn’t relent, the belt whipping in rapid succession.
Each time someone challenged Angelo’s ego, he took it out on me. I was the threat to his throne, the only De Luca in the line of succession, the only one who could take over. That made me his target, and if he could kill me without incensing the entire town, he would.
Instead, he settled for a belt and my back, and I let him because I was biding my time until the cogs fell into place and I gathered enough supporters, turned his caporegimes and soldiers against him, and could guarantee a successful coup. He sought short reprieves; I planned for the end game.
Angelo pushed me forward with the heel of his boot on my back. I let him, my eyes shifting to my dresser, where I knew a pen laid. A lunge forward. A swipe of the hand. A click of the pen. A push deeper, deeper, deeper into his neck, and Angelo would bleed out while I watched. I didn’t do it, but I considered it for point five seconds before I reminded myself of my grand plan.
The Benefactor’s plan.
Spend time with the lower level De Lucas at The Landing Strip. Treat them better than Angelo ever could. Work my way up to converting the caporegimes. Use my army to dethrone Angelo and his loyalists. And keep Angelo alive to watch the syndicate he could never wrangle thrive under my rule.
My face pressed against the cool wood. A final lash on my back severed another strip of my s
kin. The blood on my tongue pooled in my mouth. Tick. Tick.
“Look at you, taking a beating like a weak, pathetic, little bitch.” He really had no idea. His guffaw sounded too jovial for the blood dripping down my back. “You’re no son of mine.” The tip of his boot connected with the back of my head, whipping it to the side.
The last image I conjured before darkness faded in was the fall of Angelo De Luca.
Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do.
