Fulfilling Fate - Book 3

Chapter 41 - Dance With The Devil

The walls are a crisp white, with endless frames. Every picture is of Santino on vacation. While he was on sandy beaches, children were executing, kill contracts filling his pockets. No Morelli man has clean hands; I especially have the blood of hundreds on mine. The only difference, I don't portray to be anything less than a monster, nor have I used children to deliver my evil deeds.

Sweeping my eyes around the around, I focus on my victim. He's still oblivious to my presence. Cutting into his steak and drinking his wine, he remains content. Turning to his left, the sight of my men alarms him. Jumping to his feet, he attempts to run in the opposite direction, only to halt his movements when he sees me.

"Father Santino," I take a step down, heading towards the dining room. "It's time to dance with the devil."

My men's movements are far too quick when the good Father turns and draws his gun; my men fire a shot through his hand. His ear-piercing screams are worse than a woman's. Tightly he continues to hold on to his only weapon, using his uninjured hand. Closing the space between us, I grip the gun from his grasps, slamming it into his face, splitting his nose in the process.

Disorientated, he shakes his head. Calmly, I pull out a chair taking a seat; my men force him to his knees, directly in front of me. "Tell me, Father, did you believe you could end me?"

Trembling with rage and pain, he spits, "C'è un posto speciale all' inferno per te - there's a special place in hell for you."

Leaning my elbows on my knees, I clasp my hands together. My lips curve, and with immense satisfaction, I respond, "Sono d'accordo. Il trono all' inferno e' destinato solo a me - I agree the throne in hell is only meant for me."

Nervously he laughs, attempting to disguise his fear. "Pensi di poter reclamare l'istituto? pensaci di nuovo? - You think you can claim the institution? Think again!"

Inching closer to his face, I focus on the sweat droplets forming on his forehead while listening to his breaths falter. "Non credo di poterlo fare. L'ho già reclamato, e' mio - I don't think I can. I have claimed it. It's mine."

"Quella puttana di tua moglie ne paghera' il Prezzo - that slut wife of yours will pay the price."

The mention of Asimina has my blood boiling; no one threatens my wife, and no man disrespects her. Balling my hand into a fist, I deliver a nose-breaking punch, dropping the priest to the ground. He has a delayed effect and screams out in pain a minute later.

Tommy walks over, fisting the priests' jumper, restoring him on his knees. "He contained the Demons urges until you mentioned his Sweetheart. Big mistake Father!" He mocks. Standing behind the priest, Tommy takes hold of the coarse rope. Taunting the priest, he wraps it around Santino's neck tight enough to make his eyes bulge.

"Dario," he grits, struggling against the rope. Raising my hand, Tommy loosens his hold. Santino falls onto all fours, gasping for air. "Dario will come for you," he dripples as he speaks.

Motioning Leon, he turns and heads outside, returning moments later, dragging Father Dario in, dropping him on the floor next to Santino. "This father, Dario?" Leon smirks. His eyes widen at the unrecognizable face in front of him. "A work of art, is it not?" Crouching, Leon narrows his eyes.

Raised in the institution, he grew to have a special kind of hate for each organization member. Only a few kids from his age group survived, one which he saved, winning her freedom. To this day, the priests believe the girl was killed.

"Pisano," Santino shakes his head, "we were your family."

Smirking mockingly, Leon grabs hold of his head. "No, father, you four were my abusers. When I failed on a task, I was locked in a dog cage like a fucking animal." He glances down at Father Dario; the priest groans out in pain from the multiple razor hacks on his face. His broken ribs make it difficult to breathe. Averting his eyes to me, Leon waits for permission. He has waited five years to end at least one of his tormentors.