Dirty Moans With My Husband's Father

Episode10

WHERE THE f**k IS IT?

Bruno soliloquized as he tore through the drawers of the heavy oak dresser. High-end shirts and expensive silk ties rained indiscriminately onto the hardwood floor. His breathing was heavy, wet, and erratic. Paranoia clawed at the inside of his skull like a trapped, rabid animal. His fragile ego bled from an invisible, agonizing wound. He could feel the betrayal deeply in his very bones.

His father and his wife. Dio mio.

The thought alone made his vision swim with red-hot fury.

"Baby," a soft, whining voice cooed from the bedroom doorway.

Isabella stood there, wearing a sheer silk robe that clung loosely to the slight bump of her stomach. The cloying stench of her cheap vanilla perfume instantly flooded the room, turning Bruno's stomach sour. She walked up behind him, pressing her warm breasts against his tense back. She ran her manicured nails down his chest.

"Stop looking through her garbage," Isabella complained. "You need to eat something. Forget about that stupid American w***e. She is gone. You have me now."

A violent spike of irritation pierced through Bruno's chest. He spun around and shoved her backward with both hands. He did not care that she stumbled and caught herself against the doorframe. His obsession with his bruised pride entirely eclipsed his affection for her.

"Get the f**k off me," Bruno snarled, his dark eyes wide and manic. "I will eat when I feel like it. Leave me alone."

Isabella gasped, her hands flying defensively to her stomach. Tears instantly welled in her eyes, but Bruno had already turned his back on her. He slammed the empty drawer shut and stormed out of the bedroom, his mind fixated on a singular, burning goal. He needed concrete evidence.

And once he found it, all hell’d be let loose.

He didn’t stop looking even when it was night. He desperately needed to get his hands on it, which was why he was at the basement, searching.

The basement study was dark, quiet, and suffocating. Bruno sat hunched over the heavy mahogany desk. The harsh, blue light of the laptop screen illuminated his sweat-sheened face. A pile of tiny, black SD cards sat next to his keyboard. He had spent the last hour physically ripping them out of the estate's hidden security cameras.

He aggressively clicked the mouse, meticulously scrubbing through hours of grainy, black-and-white night vision footage. He watched empty hallways. He watched sleeping guards. Nothing.

He was on the absolute verge of hurling the expensive laptop against the brick wall when a sudden flicker of movement caught his eye. He stopped breathing. He quickly clicked the mouse, rewinding the video.

The glowing timestamp read 11:42 PM. Three nights ago. The exact night his father returned from his unexpected business trip.

The camera angle covered the second-floor residential corridor. A tall, broad-shouldered shadow stepped confidently into the frame. The man paused, looking left and right down the empty hall, before raising a large hand to knock on a door. It was Olivia’s private bedroom door.

The man turned his face slightly toward the lens. The harsh night vision light caught his sharp jawline.

It was Don Antonio. His own father.

Bruno leaned closer, his nose almost touching the screen. His heart hammered a violent, sickening rhythm against his ribs. Antonio turned the brass knob and walked inside. The heavy door clicked shut behind him.

"Got you," Bruno whispered, his blood boiling. He clicked the fast-forward button to see exactly how long his father stayed inside his wife's bedroom.

The timestamp jumped to 11:45 PM. Suddenly, the video player flashed white and cut to pitch black. A bold error message popped up in the center of the screen: File Corrupted or Missing.

Bruno froze. He rapidly clicked the next file in the folder. Black. He clicked the footage for the next hour. Black. The entire timeline for the rest of the night had been meticulously and permanently wiped from the drive.

A primal roar of sheer rage ripped from his throat. He slammed his fist down onto the laptop keyboard, cracking the plastic frame right down the middle.

He knew exactly who to talk to.

The estate’s security and IT center was a sterile, freezing room filled with the loud, persistent hum of massive data servers. Ten minutes later, he kicked the heavy door open. The metal slammed violently against the concrete wall.

The head security technician, a pale, thin man with thick glasses, jumped out of his swivel chair. "Sir, I—"

Bruno crossed the room in three massive strides. He grabbed the technician by the collar of his uniform and slammed him brutally against the metal server rack. The entire rack shook loudly under the heavy impact.

"Where is the footage?" Bruno screamed, spitting in the terrified man's face. "The second-floor hallway! Who wiped the files from three nights ago?"

"I don't know!" the technician stammered, squeezing his eyes shut. He avoided Bruno's murderous glare, his hands desperately grabbing at Bruno’s thick, muscular wrists. "The system glitches sometimes! I swear to God, Don Bruno, I don't know!"

"You are lying to me!" Bruno roared, pressing his heavy forearm hard against the man's throat, completely cutting off his air supply. "I will skin you alive. I will peel the flesh from your bones while you beg for death. Tell me who ordered you to wipe the footage!"

"Let him go."

The voice was not loud. It did not need to be. The deep, lethal command sliced right through the loud humming of the servers and instantly froze the blood in Bruno's veins.

Bruno slowly turned his head. Don Antonio stood in the doorway, looking completely unbothered by the chaos. His large hands rested casually in his pockets. The heavy, intimidating scent of cedar and expensive tobacco rolled into the sterile room, demanding absolute submission.

"I said," Antonio repeated, his tone as cold and hard as a glacier, "let him go. Now."

Bruno's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together audibly. He shoved the gasping technician aside and took a threatening, aggressive step toward his father. "He wiped the security footage. He is covering up what happened in the hallway."

Antonio did not blink. His hazel eyes stared right through his son with absolute, freezing contempt. "My men take their orders directly from me. If you ever lay another hand on a member of my staff, Bruno, I promise you, Isabella will pay the price with her blood."

The deadly threat hung in the freezing air, heavy and absolute.

Bruno shook with raw, explosive rage. The paranoia snapped his last remaining shred of restraint. He marched directly up to his father, stopping mere inches from Antonio's broad chest. He stared into the cold, dead eyes of the most dangerous man in Italy.

"Did you f**k my wife?" Bruno asked. The words dripped with pure, venomous hatred.

Antonio did not deny it. He did not look away, nor did he flinch. A dark, terrifying smirk played at the very corner of his mouth. He looked down at his trembling, pathetic son as if he were a bug on the bottom of his shoe.

"Il leone prende quello che vuole," Antonio replied softly. The lion takes what he wants.

“And what the f**k is that supposed to mean?”

His father didn’t respond.

Without another word, Antonio turned his back on his son and walked out of the server room. His heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, leaving an agonizing silence in his wake.

Bruno made his way out and strode towards his chambers. Once there, he could only stand there in the freezing room, his hands curled into tight, shaking fists. The cryptic, arrogant answer confirmed his deepest, darkest nightmare. His father had taken his wife.

But the moment was interrupted when a soft, choking sob broke the silence.

Bruno whipped his head around. Isabella stood trembling in the doorway. Her face was completely drained of color. Fresh tears streamed rapidly down her cheeks, ruining her heavy makeup. She had followed him. She had heard everything.

"Isabella," Bruno started, his hot anger slightly faltering at the sight of her genuine terror. He took a step toward her.

She backed away, shaking her head frantically. "He is going to kill me," she cried, her voice cracking with pure hysteria. "He doesn't care that I am pregnant. He is going to put a bullet in my stomach, Bruno. I heard it in his voice!"

"No one is going to touch you," Bruno insisted, stepping forward and grabbing her upper arms to hold her in place.

"We have to leave!" she screamed, fighting against his tight grip. "Bruno, please! Let's go to New York or anywhere else that’s not here! Let's go anywhere! If we stay in this house, your father is going to murder us in our sleep!"

Before Bruno could pull her into his chest to silence her frantic crying, a timid, sharp knock echoed from the open doorway.

Bruno spun around, his explosive rage flaring up instantly. "Get the f**k out of here!" he barked without caring to know who it was.

The young woman in a crisp black and white uniform in the hallway stepped back cautiously. She kept her head bowed respectfully, staring at the floor. One command from the lethal man usually sent anyone running, but this was too important to be left unattended.

"I am sorry, Don Bruno," she said, her voice shaking with profound fear. "It is Maria."

Bruno froze. The anger in his chest shifted entirely. Maria. The specific estate maid he had secretly pulled aside and bribed heavily. The maid he tasked with tearing Olivia's private bedroom apart for clues the absolute second his wife's plane took off for New York.

Bruno slowly let go of Isabella's arms. He ignored his mistress's quiet sobbing and took a slow, deliberate step toward the door.

Maria's hands trembled violently when he opened the door. She reached into the deep pocket of her uniform apron. She pulled out a small, thick object bound in dark red leather. The edges of the pages were worn from use.

She held the journal out toward him. She finally raised her head, looking Bruno directly in the eye.

"You need to see this," Maria whispered.