Luciano | Book I ✓

Chapter Thirty-Eight

a/n: I apologize for the wait! I literally had to update from a library because my Wifi isn't working, but now that I work more, I hardly have time to write. However, Thanks for being patient!

[if you couldn't tell by the title and don't follow me], I have indeed entered Luciano into the Wattys this year. Like I said on my wall, I appreciate the love and support this story has received from all of you! I never imagined to get this much love on this story and it's incredible. I appreciate you all so much.

As for those that are asking about the voting, I'm still learning everything about the Wattys because when I joined and started writing last year, I completely blew it off and didn't truly understand how everything happened, so if you know more and want to add info in the comments BY ALL MEANS, GO AHEAD!

The People's Choice award is the one award that (if I'm not mistaken) you all can vote on. Voting starts August 1ston Twitter. To nominate, just type = "[story title]" #MyWattysChoice

NOW SCREAM IF YOU LIKE LONG CHAPTERS!

[P.S. I had to update this chapter from the library because my wifi is being an ass at my house. I apologize for any errors. ENJOY!]

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"If you think Federico De Santis is crazy, then you haven't met me." – Vincenzo De Santis

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Federico De Santis had contemplated suicide on multiple occasions in his lifetime. The thought often crossed his mind, but he had only attempted on going through with it a handful of times. He had tried two different tactics on two different nights, but each of them had the same result. The first night he had put a gun to his head, he had closed his eyes, and he had also clicked off the safety. The second night, he had dumped a half of bottle of sleeping pills into his hands and brought them to his mouth, but similar to the previous night, he hesitated. It angered him, straight to the core, simply because he could kill others without batting an eyelash. But when it came to himself, he didn't have the balls to pull the trigger, nor did he have the guts to swallow.

Rico didn't know much when he woke up; just that he was alone and in an unbearable amount of pain. His eyes were heavy, weighed down and they stung due to the amount of tears that had fallen just hours previously. His breathing was shallow but still caused him to wince whenever he inhaled and exhaled. He hardly moved, but when he did shift from his position on the floor, pain flared in his back and he dropped back to the ground and rested his cheek against the cool concrete. It was the only thing at the moment that felt good.

He could see the whip that had been used resting in one corner of the room, his own blood having stained the material. Slowly, his attention fluttered over to his shirt, his weapons, and lastly, his phone that Peter's men had thrown in the farthest corner of the room, far out of his reach. He stared at his pile of belongings longingly, but didn't budge towards them. What Rico couldn't see, were the marks that had been inflicted on his back; they ran horizontally, from the left side of his back to the right. A few even wrapped around to the front. There were six or seven wounds that were deeper than the others and sadly, they easily threatened to leave permanent scars on his back.

Grayson, Federico; he was never one to regret. He had slayed the lives of many; from crooked bank tellers that did his family wrong, to strippers that had stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from his father. He had killed people with guns and knives, with throat-cutters, and other miscellaneous objects that he had found around their home upon entry. He had even slipped poison in a woman's drink while seducing her, only to watch her topple over, dead, before he even had the opportunity to take off his shirt. He never regretted it, but what he did regret, was attempting to take his own life.