My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Ep. 6 Consequences (5 page)

Nino finally spoke, making his
voice assertive. “We are
famiglia
, we stick together.”

“
Stop talking Italian shit to
me, I’m American, so no more familllllia talking; only speak to me
in Engleeeesh.”

Nino shook his head. “Why don’t you go
back to your country if you hate it here so much?”

“
I can’t, I need to help
the family.”

“
Don’t lie;
you’re only in it for
yourself.”

I pointed to the
Padre
. “And he’s only in it for Jagger’s man cunt.”

Nino threw his hands up in the
air. “I give up; I’m going back to Leonardo’s
casa
.”

“
You mean house.”

“
We’re in Italy, it’s a
casa
here!”

“
Whatever. I’m outta of here.” I
headed for my car, not wanting to deal with him anymore. Plus, I
needed to take off just in case the Landi decided to swarm the
mountains. Even though I’d trekked quite a way, it was still a risk
staying here longer than was necessary.

Footsteps followed
me across the
gravel, making me turn around. The
Padre
was standing a few feet away, far too
close for my liking. “Back away from my butt, fucker.”

He took a step back. “You’re a wicked
boy. You will burn in Hell if you don’t repent.”

“
I may be wicked, but I’m a
saint in comparison to you.” I started ticking off my fingers.
“Rape. Kidnapping. Pedophilia. Laundering money. Impersonating a
priest. What else have you done? Oh, yeah, you destroyed our family
all because of your obsession with Jagger. So, where will all that
get you? In fucking heaven?”

He scowled at me, making the
dark rings under his eyes worsen
. “I wasn’t the reason our
famiglia
fell, and I repent
enough, and you should too.”

“
How do you want me to repent?
Shall I get down on my knees and worship your mangled cock, while
you sprinkle me with your holy cum?
Well, you’re shit out of luck, ‘cause I’m
an Atheist.”

“
Don’t
you dare speak to me like
that!”

“
I can speak to you however the
fuck I like, and if you want to get your bum-boy back, aka, Jagger
Fuckhead, you’ll do as I say, not as the pussy-licker over there
tells you.” I waved at Nino as he drove off; amused by the finger
he gave me. I turned back to the
Padre
. “I’m the head of our family until your less evil
twin gets back.
Entiendo
?”

“
Entiendo
is Spanish.”

“
So?”

“
You’re half Italian,
I’
m full
Italian, yet you speak to me in another language? You should speak
in your own language.
Italiano.
”

“
American is my language,
America is my country, and I only came here to be near Alberto,” I
clenched my hands, my anger and sorrow starting to rise again, “and
the only reason I’m still in this backwater island is to find out
who killed him and to make them pay. I would even kill you if you
had done it, so kiss my ass ... no, don’t kiss it, you pervert,
you’d like that. Just do as I tell you or I’ll kick your pedophile
butt back to the Vatican.”

He glowered at me, but didn’t say a word,
which was wise, because he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to get
back his Jagger toy, plus Nino had left him behind, the trek back
home at least a couple of hours.

I
got behind the wheel of my Audi, a
car I specifically chose to piss off Nino, the man loving his
Italian cars. The priest went to get into the front passenger seat.
I leaned over and locked the door, then signaled for him to get in
the back. I had teased Alberto about having watched the
Padre
fuck his cousin up,
but it had been a lie, because there was no way in hell I would
ever watch my uncle going at it. I liked men, not relatives or
fucktards—and the pretend priest was both of those.

I started the engine as
the
Padre
got into the backseat, then pulled away, heading down the
steep, muddy road. Less than thirty minutes later, I arrived at the
market where Thierry went to. When I had worked for Frano,
pretending to be a slave trainer ... okay, I didn’t pretend, since
I was
a
slave trainer, but nonetheless, when I pretended to be someone
else, I had watched everyone’s routine, committing all their
idiosyncrasies to memory, just in case I needed to use them at a
later date. This meant I knew where most of the D’Angelos would be
at any given time. Frano practically lived in his office while
Jagger was either in America or going between his room and the
slave cells. Whereas, Mario was usually in the redheaded woman’s
cell humping her, while neglecting his other slaves. Thierry on the
other hand tended to spend his time between cleaning the house,
helping the cook, or going to the market, the dizzy kid a slave to
routine.

I
parked the car in the lot behind a
line of trees, so it was hidden from prying eyes. “Stay inside and
don’t let anyone see you,” I said to the
Padre
. “No one will be able to see through the
dark glass, so you’ll be safe just as long as you do as I
say.”

“
Sì
,” the
Padre
said.

“
You see what?’

“
No, I said
s
ì
,
not see. It means
yes
in Italian”

“
I know,”
I sniggered. He always fell for
that. Yeah, he was a dumbass. I pulled my cap down low and got out
of the car, not bothering to leave him the keys. Hell no, I didn’t
trust the creepy bugger, and I wouldn’t put it past him to go
cruising for some teenage virgin ass. I opened his door and peered
down at him. “Stay away from the teenagers, because if I catch you
doing the nasty in my backseat I’ll cut off your dick and shove it
up your own ass.” I grinned as his face turned beet red. I could
see he was about to give me a sermon, so I shut the door in his
face and walked off laughing, hoping he had a heart attack so I
could finally dispose of him. People thought I used humor because I
was an asshole, but the truth was, I used it to get through life.
It was the only way I knew how to cope with all the shit thrown at
me.

Two
women looked my way. I tipped my cap
at them, making them smile wide. I was hot. There was no way around
it. Blonde hotness with one tight ass, and the two cougars looked
like they wanted to take a bite out of it. I blew them a kiss,
making the women giggle. I didn’t like fucking females, but oh, I
loved flirting with them. Compliment them, blow them kisses, or
even just look their way, and they creamed themselves. Women were a
quick ego boost, unlike Italian men, who were too scared to show
their appreciation. Only the openly gay ones had enough guts to do
so, and even they were careful, unless it was at the clubs, then
they couldn’t stop groping me ... shit, they were grabby bastards
here. I didn’t mind the hot ones doing that, but the greasy ones
pissed me off.

I pulled out my sunglasses and
put them on, then yanked my cap lower. I cut through the trees and
shops, entering the market place. Long lines of stalls filled the
field with a mixture of smells assaulting my senses: baked bread,
flowers, and wet grass along with a hint of mud thrown into the
mix. I weaved my way through the buyers as they moved from one
vendor to the next. A middle-aged man from a stall on my left,
dressed in a stripe blue and white apron, held up a salami,
jabbering away in Italian, probably trying to sell it to me. I
ignored him, not understanding a word he was saying. Yeah, I should
have learned Italian, especially since it was in my blood, but I
was never good at foreign languages. I could talk a horse’s ass off
in American, but if I even tried to speak in Italian it always came
out wrong. Christ, even when I spoke English to Italians it
sometimes turned nasty. Once I’d told one of my aunties she had a
nice figure and she’d slapped me, yelling at me in Italian. I had
no clue what she’d said, or why she was even angry, until my uncles
burst out laughing, one of them telling me that I’d told her she
had a nice
pussy
, the Italian word for it,
figa
, sounding like
figure.

I stopped
a few stalls away from the shop
that Mini-Jagger went to, aka Thierry, and glanced at my watch. I
had a few minutes to spare, if he was even coming, since he was now
living with the Landi. I wondered whether the Landi would be
following him around like they were doing to Frano. Most likely,
Frano would’ve sent the kid to them so that Thierry could be
watched twenty-four-seven. I didn’t know Thierry that well. The boy
had only come to live with the D’Angelos a month prior to me
leaving, the recon I’d done on him not as extensive as the
others.

A shout came from behind me,
capturing my attention. I looked in the direction of a stall, where
two teenage girls were arguing over something ... no, not
something,
someone
—Thierry. The boy was definitely a mini Jagger, his dark
hair and fine features almost as beautiful as his older brother’s,
just more effeminate, which the two girls seemed to be
appreciating, their fight over him leaving the boy flustered.
Another girl, who looked similar but older, barked at the girls to
let Thierry go. I instantly recognized them: the Landi sisters.
They were well-known on the nightclub scene. Although, they didn’t
tend to go to the clubs I went to, I had still seen them around and
knew the strip they frequented.

My
focus shifted to the two big men
shadowing the group, without a doubt the girls’ bodyguards. One of
the motherfuckers looked my way. I quickly shifted my attention to
the stall next to me, pretending to show interest in the
watermelon. I highly doubted he recognized me, because he would’ve
been on me in a second. Instead, he was probably scoping out the
area, making sure there weren’t any threats. I had done similar
work for the FBI, and these guys were just as good, which was bad
for me, because it made it just that much harder to get at Thierry.
I shot a glance back at the group, sizing up the females. Maybe
they could be a way to get to the boy.

I
fished out some coins from my pocket,
and handed it over to the vendor, buying a slice of watermelon.
Since the bodyguards would’ve been given my photo, I wanted to use
the fruit to hide my face. I shifted to the next stall, keeping my
back to them, pretending to look at the cold cuts of meat. I nodded
at the vendor, shrugging every so often so he thought I was
listening.

One
, two, three, four, five...
I counted in my
head before flicking my gaze back to the group. The other bodyguard
looked my way, causing me to move onto the next store, his gaze a
little too inquisitive. With my back to him, I rubbed the
watermelon on my shirt, then threw it into a bin. I headed into a
woman’s clothing store, not a shop I would have chosen, but one
that Thierry frequented, the little wannabe drag queen having a
penchant for sequins. Though, with his fan-girls in tow, I wasn’t
sure he would risk coming in here, because in the past he always
looked at the dresses alone. I grimaced at the memory of three men
calling him a
fenucca
as he came out of the store, the word meaning fag. I
loathed homophobes, fucking hated their guts. I didn’t understand
what made the shits so uptight about men who liked men. Actually,
the arrogant pricks probably thought we all wanted to fuck their
asses. Me, I just wanted to kick them—which I had. I’d followed the
three men until I had seen an opportunity to give them a little
lesson in manners, the memory making me smile.

I
stopped in front of the shop
assistant. She was young, probably just out of her teens, and very
pretty, her long brown hair curly and her heart-shaped face picture
perfect.

I wrinkled my nose and pointed to my
shirt. “I had an accident; can I please use your restroom?” I
asked, hoping she spoke English.

She smiled at me. “Certainly. It’s over
there.” She pointed to the back of the stall. I headed through the
racks of women’s clothing, slipping into the tight restroom. I
pulled off my shirt, hoping that Thierry’s group came into the
shop, although it wasn’t a major problem if they didn’t, since I
could just seek out the Landi sisters at the night spots, getting
to Thierry through them.

Noise came from out front, the
sound of girls talking all at once, then the
voice I wanted to hear: a
French accent—Jagger’s half-brother. I opened the bathroom door a
crack and peered out, spotting the girls looking through a rack of
dresses. Thierry pulled a bright red dress out and placed it up
against one of the girls, probably imagining wearing it himself. If
anything, it would look better on him, because he was considerably
prettier than the Landi sisters. All but the oldest one was chubby,
with thick black hair and even thicker eyebrows.