Chapter 16: Punishments are definitely bad

Belle Rose

“Morning, Belle,” Luca says as we all gather for breakfast. It’s been a few weeks since Enzo’s confrontation with his father and my ~punishment~. Now, I share meals with Enzo and his brothers.

Enzo trails behind me as we’re the last to take our seats at the table. I settle to his left, Luca to his right. Enzo, at the head of the table, squints against the morning light.

Enzo’s hand finds a home on my thigh as he waits for the food.

“How are you this morning, Belle?” Rafael asks, his tone polite but his smirk sly. He’s trying to get under Enzo’s skin, and it’s working. Enzo’s nails dig into my thigh as he fights to keep his anger in check.

“I’m good. How about you?” I respond, barely glancing his way to avoid stoking Enzo’s anger further.

“I’m doing very well, ~bambina~. Maybe it's my turn with you today,” he suggests, and Enzo's grip tightens.

“I don't think so,” I mumble. Rafael reaches across the table to take my hand, kissing it while maintaining eye contact with Enzo. I quickly pull my hand back, huffing. Enzo is going to punish me for this. Rafael just kissed me. It was only on the hand, but I was so taken aback that I didn’t pull away quickly enough.

“~Le cose che voglio farle~ (the things I want to do to her),” he muses, grinning at Enzo.

“~Lo so parlare l’italiano, stronzo~ (I can speak Italian, asshole),” I mutter, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. I feel Enzo’s hand relax slightly as a faint chuckle escapes him. I look up to see Rafael’s face lit up with amusement.

“~Lo so, principessa~ (I know, princess),” Rafael replies. Breakfast arrives before anything else can happen, and Enzo always becomes less irritable once he has food in front of him.

After breakfast, with Gia shooting me dirty looks as she serves, Enzo pulls me out of the room and into his bedroom, locking the door behind us.

“Don’t encourage him,” he growls, throwing me onto the bed and pinning me beneath him.

“I wasn’t encouraging him,” I snap back. I don’t know why I always regret talking back to him. I might as well just go with it. He grabs my jaw, forcing me to look into his eyes. His expression is menacing, his eyes glaring.

“No? You shouldn’t even be talking to him, let alone letting him kiss you. I’ve told you before,” he grumbles.

“He’s your brother. I was just being polite,” I whimper as his fingers tighten on my skin.

“Not to him,” he hisses. Suddenly, he lets go. He gets off me completely and smirks as he takes my hand, helping me off the bed. As I follow him downstairs, he leads me down a hallway I haven’t seen since I arrived.

“Where are we going?” I ask in a small, soft voice. He doesn’t answer, just grips my hand tighter and pulls me into a large, echoey room. A battered chair sits in the center, a beaten man tied to it. “What is this?”

“This is your punishment, ~gattina~,” Enzo whispers, his hands on my shoulders, guiding me closer to the man. Even our quiet footsteps echo loudly in the room.

The man looks at me with wild eyes, blood trickling from his nose, sweat beading on his forehead, cuts and bruises marring his skin. “Mario. Meet Belle.”

Enzo pulls up a chair and sits me down in it, his hands pressing down on my shoulders, making him seem even taller. “~Devo farti qualche domanda~ (I’m going to ask you a few questions). ~Ogni volta che mente, lei ti accoltellare~ (every time you lie to me, she will stab you).”

My eyes widen as I try to look back at him, but his hand grips my neck, holding me still. With his other hand, he forces mine open and places a knife in it.

“I don’t want to do this,” I plead, my voice trembling, tears welling up in my eyes. But he can’t see me. I know he knows I’m begging, but this is my punishment. I barely did anything. I just said hello to his brother.

What is wrong with this guy? Why does he punish me for the smallest things? If he knew I was lying to him, I can’t imagine what he’d do.

“~Bambina~, you will do it. You’ll obey me or the punishment will be worse. Much worse,” he threatens, his breath hot against my ear, his teeth nipping at my earlobe as he pulls back.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I can feel my whole body shaking. “Now then, ~lavori per Moretti~ (do you work for Moretti)?”

My body stiffens at the name, but I know Enzo doesn’t notice.

I’m just waiting for Mario’s answer, nothing more. I don’t want to stab him. But maybe it’s for the best.

I recognize Mario. He was a low-level drug dealer for my father. He came to our house once, but he only saw me for a second, barely acknowledging me. But if he somehow gets information back to Alfonso, like the mole, I could be in danger.

If he suddenly recognizes me, I could be dead. Everyone is a risk.

“~Lei e sua puttana potete andare al diavolo~ (you and your bitch can go to hell),” Mario shouts, spitting at my feet. “~Non ti dico un cazzo~ (I’m not telling you shit).”

“See, that was a lie. You’re going to tell us.” He takes my hand, the one holding the knife, and raises it above Mario’s knee.

“Do it, ~gattina~,” he urges. My hand trembles, the knife poised above his kneecap. “Either you stab him, or I’ll stab you,” he threatens, pressing the flat side of his knife against my leg.

I drive my blade into his knee, his guttural cry reverberating through the room, filling my ears like a wolf’s howl at the moon...

***

~“Down on your knees, little whore,” my father snarls, ignoring my whimpering. He’s rough, his face twisted into a scowl. Someone’s made him angry, and he’s taking it out on me.~

~He’s growing impatient, unbuckling his belt, revealing himself, and forcing his way into my mouth.~

~As he uses my mouth, tears stream down my face, spilling off my chin and pooling on the floor.~

~Soon, his release mixes with my tears. He doesn’t last long, watching me, my pain pushing him over the edge.~

~He revels in my suffering. It’s no surprise. He’s the most monstrous creature I’ll ever encounter, I’m certain…~

***

“Good girl,” Enzo purrs. “Let’s do this again. You see, my ~ragazza~ (girl) doesn’t hold back. She’s quite ruthless. ~Lavori per Moretti~ (do you work for Moretti)?”

Mario grunts in response, his head thrown back in pain. “~gattina, penso abbia bisogno di aiuto per rinfrescare la memoria~ (kitten, I think he needs help remembering).”

He guides my hand to his other kneecap.

Mario watches me, disgust etched on his face. I avoid his gaze, focusing on his knees. One is bleeding, the other soon to follow. “~gattina~?”

I reluctantly drive my knife into his other knee, fighting back tears as his agonized cry fills the room.

“Moretti?” Enzo probes.

“Yes, I work for him,” Mario admits, still writhing in pain. “But you'll never get anything from me.”

“I believe that. I believe you won’t talk.” Despite Mario’s compliance, the threat in Enzo’s voice suggests something else is coming. “So you're useless to me.” Enzo circles the chairs, his fingers brushing his side where he keeps his gun.

Mario continues to watch me, a grimace fixed on his face. But then his eyes narrow, then widen.

“~Figlio di puttana~ (son of a bitch)! You’re Isa-” His words are cut off by the bullet from Enzo’s gun, ending his life. As horrifying as it is to watch Enzo kill Mario, I can’t help but feel relief that he didn’t finish his sentence. Thank God Enzo didn’t think he’d say anything useful.

But as I stare at Mario’s lifeless body, his head lolling on his neck, slumped in his chair, my body tenses...

***

~My father. Dead. His blood seeping onto the white kitchen tiles, staining them like black ink on paper.~

~I never thought his eyes would look like that, that they would stay open, that they would roll back in a dream-like state. He’s never looked so peaceful, and yet, he’s dead.~

~I killed him. Oh my God. I killed someone. I killed my father.~

***

My heart pounds, my breath comes in ragged gasps. My stomach clenches, the onset of a panic attack. But I can’t move. I can’t tear my eyes away from Mario.

Suddenly, arms wrap around me, lifting me from my chair and away from the room, carrying me over his shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to suppress the resurfacing memories.

How can I see Enzo as a monster when I’ve killed too? My own father, no less.

Somehow, I find myself curled up in Enzo’s arms, lying on the bed, his hand gently stroking my face, whispering apologies. Did I pass out? Did I have my panic attack? Did he see me break down?

I pretend to still be asleep, relishing the warmth and safety of his arms.

“I’m sorry, ~gattina~. I didn’t realize it could get that bad,” he murmurs, twirling my hair around his fingers. I must have broken down in front of him. He only apologizes when he thinks I can’t hear.

The tough mafia man only admits his mistakes when he thinks no one is listening. But at least I know he realizes he was wrong.