The Deep End

Chapter 1

•Riot•

You know that feeling you get when you're being watched? It's like little insect legs scattering across your body, every hair standing up in warning and you feel the need to look around you, expecting to see eyes on you. That's how I feel all the time. When I step inside a room the mood shifts, I gain the attention of every single person occupying the space no matter their rank in this world. My name has traveled across the world in fearful whispers at a rapid pace.

My reputation spread like wildfire through the criminal world after I made my first kill. I think my Father was stunned and probably even a little afraid of me after watching me skin someone alive until I bled all of their secrets out, although he would never admit it. Sometimes I'm a little afraid of myself, If I'm being honest. I enjoy watching the life drain from a man's eyes more than I truly should. There's moments I worry I may stumble over that very thin line of psychopath that people like Ted Bundy thrive in but so far I've managed to keep it under control.

The hardest thing about my first kill was making the first cut. After that I blacked out and when I came to I was covered in blood and I'd successfully gotten the information my Father had wanted. I stood there for a solid minute staring at my bloody hands, my mind going back to that night I'll never forget and I worried I'd lose myself to the memory. But then I glanced over at the pile of muscle and bone chained to the wall and smiled, because this time it wasn't someone innocent whose life had been taken. This man had deserved every mark I had inflicted on him.

I used to tell myself by killing them I was probably saving hundreds. Now I don't make excuses, I don't need to.

Torture is an art form and I'm the artist, my bag of tools are my brushes and the worthless men who betray the Family are my canvas. My favorite tool is the switchblade gifted to me by Zio Lorenzo. It's a spectacular piece, the handle made of carbon fiber, the blade carbon steel. Lorenzo is engraved into the handle in a beautiful flowy script, branding it as mine. It's created many masterpieces in its time.

Valentina's eyes meet mine across the room and I shoot her a wink just to annoy her. Her eyes are so cold I'm surprised she doesn't turn me into a block of ice with just one look. She's like Medusa except much, much colder.

I like pushing people, not only is it one of my most favorite games during torture but in other aspects of life as well. You push people far enough and they'll show you who they truly are every single time. It's really the only way to see a person's true self in my opinion. Except me, I'm very forthcoming about my true self and show it immediately. I'm a master manipulator. I enjoy both inflicting pain and enduring it and I'm a grade A asshole to boot. I'm truly the whole package.

"Why are you still here when your brother left ten minutes ago?" Valentina asks icily.

I know deep in my gut this woman could endure more pain than anyone else I've tortured before, my hands itch begging to drag her to a room in Luís' mansion to see the extent her pain tolerance reaches. Maybe one day.

Giovanni's had a long friendship with her but oftentimes our bonds with people can blind us from the things they're doing. I don't trust her and I really don't trust her brother. They'll remain on my list of people I want to remove from this earth until they each take their last breath. Their Father was a snake and it's only natural his spawn would inherit the gene of betrayal his DNA carries.

I arch an eyebrow at her. "Why would I leave when we've barely spoken, cariño?"

(Cariño [spanish]: honey.)

Her gaze grows even colder. "Don't call me that."

I nod. "You're right, honey is too sweet, I should've used something more... bitter and cold."