The Mafia King's Thief

Ride The Wave

Alessio’s POV

I march to where the plane is parked. To be very honest, this is the moment I’ve been dreading for the past month. If I can go about live and leave it unattended to, I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid, but f**k.

As I make my way out of the estate and toward my car, I can’t help but replay the conversation we had. It isn’t as though I do not want to grant her her wishes, but that will be the same as entering the lion’s den. She’s not to be trusted. Asking for a phone is one thing, but she’s asking for one with unlimited access to the internet–as though a phone without internet connection is useful in any type of way. She could have asked for anything and I would have granted the wish. She knows what she’s doing.

I climb the stairs and before I know it, I’m on the plane. I have a seat where I normally sit, but on impulse, I get up from there and go to the seat where she slept before we arrived in the country. She asked what the name of the country is, but I’d be damned if that came from my mouth. She’s a very relentless and stubborn woman, and so I know she isn’t going to relax until she figures out where she is. She isn’t dumb like the rest of them.

“s**t!” I cuss as it just dawns on me that I’ve made a great mistake. Yes, I did refuse to hand her a phone without an internet connection, but all of the staff have phones that have access to the internet. All she needs to do is just do that thing she does and any one of them she requests or even commands from will hand her the phone like she’s directing a gun to his forehead.

I’m watching her via multiple cameras and I really hope she behaves, but it’s really rich of me to think she’ll behave.

There’s nothing I want right now than come down and go back to address the staff, but f**k it.

All I smell is her as I sit there.

Thoughts of the things I have to do invade my head and I do not know when sleep comes knocking, but I gladly open for it. I haven’t had good sleep in a while. f**k if I let this one that came willingly to me go like that. I give in.

By the time I wake up, we’re in Germany and everything sinks in. I’m about to do something I haven’t done in a while. Will I still do it without mercy or the f****d up organ that beats in my chest will make me stop? I guess I’ll have to actually do it to find out.

It’s dark already which is going to make the whole thing a lot easier. It’s better to do things like that in the dark than in the day. That way, my soul wouldn’t cry that much and even if it does cry, it’ll get silenced by her screams and no other sound. f*****g nighttime.

I don’t have the patience to wait for even a minute because to be very candid, it’s been some time since I did s**t like this. Normally, I take my sweet ass time, the cries of my victims like music to my ears.

I am not saying I will not take my time this time around, all I’m saying is that I’ll do this s**t quickly because after I’m done here, I’ll have to hop back on that plane and journey to another country for another assignment. It really is so much for being the head. I do not even have a moment to think before I go to do some other s**t.

I step into the dark alley, my location not too far away from there. I dig into my pocket and fish out my phone.

I dial the number of the one I want to speak to and on one ring, he picks.

“Su una scala da uno a dieci, valuta la zappa che è fisicamente, emotivamente e mentalmente. Devo essere fisicamente preparato per quello che vedrò. Spero che tu non le abbia fatto niente di serio? Lascia tutto a me.” I say, willing my ears to pick up even the slightest of pants from the other end.

Translation–On a scale of one to ten, rate how bad she is physically, emotionally and mentally. I need to be physically prepared for what I'll see. I hope you haven't done anything serious to her ? Leave all of that to me.

“Capo, è solo esausta fisicamente. Non abbiamo fatto niente che le garantisca di sanguinare. È solo stanca, tutto qui.” He tells me, panting. I don’t know what to make out of those pants, but I hope it’s not what I’m thinking. He doesn’t seem convincing in any type of way.

Translation–Boss, she is just physically exhausted. We haven't done anything that'll warrant her to bleed. She's just tired is all.

Without responding, I end the call and continue to walk. I really do need to take a bath because I reek. It honestly is so bad. I’ll be shocked if my men don’t squeeze their noses when I walk in.

I am currently putting on a suit and I think it’s one of the worst decisions I’ve made as of recent. Let me blow your mind further. I am wearing a white shirt. I know right, very stupid of me.

I‘m in front of the entrance door of the bungalow where all of the s**t is going to go down tonight. I insert my hand into the pocket of my trousers and fish out the key. Once out, I insert it into the keyhole and open it. It slides open easily. I get in and lock it before walking forward, pushing the curtains open and turning on the light. Like before, she’s positioned in the middle of the room, the lights directed only at her as though she’s giving a once-in-a-lifetime performance. I really can’t help but chuckle at that thought since it’s really a once-in-a-lifetime performance since it’ll most likely end with her dead.

I walk close to her and she shivers as soon as she notices someone new’s presence. I rip the blindfold off her face and she squeals as soon as she sees my face. I know how s**t like this goes.

“Sorpreso di vedermi?” I ask and she nods as though I’m directing a knife at her throat and forcing her to respond to all of the questions I’m asking. Well, not like I actually give half of a flying f**k.

Translation–Surprised to see me?

“Avremo una piccola conversazione e avrò bisogno che tu usi le tue parole e non solo le ossa del tuo collo. Se ti faccio una domanda, cazzo parli!” I bark at her. I’m going to need her to use her mouth. If she doesn’t, this is only going to be a waste of time and I know myself very much. I’ll end up doing something very irreversible that I’ll regret.

Translation-We're going to be having a little bit of a conversation and I'll need you to use your words and not just the bones in your neck. If I ask you a question, you f*****g speak!

“Si signore.” She says to me, nodding. Yes, we’re making progress. That’s what I like.

Translation– Yes, sir.

“Do you speak English?” I ask her. I know the answer to that question, but I’ll like the test and get a response. I’ll use whatever response I get from her to determine the level of the punishment she’ll be getting. She sits there, staring at me, feigning confusion.

I slap her hard across the face and she gasps and spits on the floor, her palm flying to rub the place I just hit. I wait for her to be done with whatever the f**k it is she’s doing before landing another slap across her face. This time around, I do not wait for her to recover from one before delivering another. If she plans on acting like there’s no major organ in her head that helps her think, then I’ll follow suit and act like that as well.

The sounds she produces are not very different from the way the sound of the bark of a dog is. By the time I’m done with landing harsh slaps across her face, she’s bleeding from her mouth and her lip has bursted.

“Are you ready to speak now or I should just keep going?” I ask, raising my hand to begin the second round of the slapping session.

“I understand English, but I’m not too fluent when I speak.” She cries and I can’t help the sinister laughter that spills from my lips. If this is how she wants it to be then so be it.

“I’m guessing you know my reason for being here then. I’ve given you so much time to think and consider everything. Your time is up.” I tell her and then I place my hand on the handle of her chair before stooping down so that our eyes are the same level. I see fear written all over her face. It’s also laced in those orbs of hers, but what she feels right now is what I don’t give a f**k about. She knows why I’m doing this and it’ll be easier for the both of us if she just gives me what I want. I know her pain tolerance isn’t going to be like the men, but she has in fact shocked me with how far she has lasted. I did not expect her to go through with all of those slaps. She looks like she’s been violated, but if that’s what it’ll take to get what I need out of her mouth then I should better know that all of this is pointless because that is something that I’ll never do. That doesn’t mean I’ll let her go scot free. It’s very far from that.

“Let's just make this easy for the both of us. Tell me who sent you. The name is all I need.” I tell her, trying to adjust my voice to make it sound convincing.

I close my eyes and wait for a response, but she gives me none.

I shut my eyes and an idea immediately pops up in my head.

If Francesca was right then it may be that I’m one step away from getting what I want.

I take a deep breath and get up, moving close to her so that my lips are close to her ears.

“Quando è stata l'ultima volta che qualcuno ti ha fatto raggiungere l'orgasmo?” I whisper and I hear her take a sharp breath.

Translation–When was the last time someone made you climax?

“It’s been a while.” She tells me. She seems to have calmed down a little bit. Who knew orgasms made people act like this?

“Do you want that?” I ask her and without hesitation, she nods. At least she gets to enjoy these last moments. I begin to wonder what it’ll be like when I finally die. Will it be a painful or peaceful one?

“Now, you’re going to do whatever it is you’re told and your reward will be an orgasm. Is that clear?” She nods. Since I have her consent, I pull her skirt up and find her core. She gasps and loosens to my touch. She’s wet down there and I can’t help but c**k my eyebrows because this was the same woman who was crying and barking like a dog a while ago. All it took for her to get wet was me saying the word ‘climax’.

“Who sent you to kill my cousin?” I ask, my tone very low that it’s only her that can hear my voice in this room. My men are aware of what I’m doing, but they know not to make the slightest of noises during happenings like this.

She’s moaning and following the in-and-out rhythm on my fingers. She seems like a freak, but it’s sad I’ll never know.

“Who f*****g sent you?” I slap her with one hand while the other keeps fingering her.

She moans and I call one of my men closer. The moment is approaching.

Her growl is so f*****g loud and she undulates with my finger inside her.

“Abramo Tommaso!” She yells, riding the waves of her orgasm.

“Sparare!” I yell and they pull the trigger. She dies with that look on her face. I pull out my phone and take multiple pictures at different angles before walking out of the building.

Translation–Shoot!