Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Generally speaking, Angelo and Bobby and I do nothing for very long stretches of time. Angelo’s empire allows for a great deal of leisure time. Certainly, we must always be careful in case of enemy attack or lawful incursion, but for the most part, we live charmed lives.
One sunny morning at a lovely mansion somewhere in Greece, I make my move. Angelo is sitting out on the terrace which looks out over the bright blue Aegean Sea. He is wearing a white shirt, no cufflinks, drinking his coffee. Bobby is sitting across from him, entirely shirtless and flexing as he chews toast and looks out over the ocean.
It is a moment of deep peace, but I feel a little pang of panic, as I do quite often in the mornings when I see Angelo having breakfast. I don’t remember the details of the day I was shot all that clearly, but my body remembers, and there are certain moments, sights and sounds that cause reactions deep inside me.
I choke the feeling down and force myself to keep watching him, because it is important. Today is important.
Beneath the bright sunshine of a Grecian sky, Angelo slowly slumps into his breakfast.
Bobby looks up from across the table at me. “Did you kill him?”
He seems more curious than upset. Again, I wonder at the true nature of their love.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t kill him. This is payback for when he got me imprisoned for those three days. You should go. I’ll tell him I drugged you too.”
Bobby laughs madly. “I knew you were still mad about that! I knew the old man had something coming! What are you going to do with him?” Bobby is instantly curious. He has the instincts of a very good sidekick, but I want this to be a solo mission. I want Angelo to know that this was me. All. Fucking. Me.
“I’m not going to kill him,” I say. “I’m just going to teach him a little lesson about tests.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“Probably not.”
Bobby grins, wide and wild. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”
We’ve never said the L word before. Love seems like a trite emotion in the world we occupy. Love is for other people. Better people, more normal people.
But I love the way that word comes brutally delivered on Bobby’s tongue. And I love the way his eyes are lit with chaos, and how his entire face is absolutely alive with feeling in the way few men’s ever are. Bobby is an absolute beast, but he is my beast.
“Let me help you get him downstairs,” he says. “There’s all those narrow flights, you’ll never be able to carry him down without cracking his skull on something.”
“I wanted to do it myself. I got one of those hand truck things.”
Bobby laughs. “You have to let me see this. I can’t miss it.”
“If I let you see it, then Angelo will blame you.”
“I’ll take the credit, you mean,” Bobby laughs again, more reckless than before. “Tell you what. Tie us both up down there.”
I consider that as an option. “If I do that, I’m not letting you go. And then there’ll be two of you to contend with.”
“But it’ll make it look like you drugged us both.”
I don’t really have time to have this argument. I don’t know Angelo’s tolerance for drugs, but I know his tolerance for waking up after being drugged is going to be really fucking low if I don’t get him tied up and ideally, downstairs before he becomes conscious.
“I’ve got my plan, Bobby. Let me do this.”
Bobby lifts his hands up in surrender. “Alright,” he says. “This is all you.”
I do end up taking him up on his offer to move Angelo down to the basement. It’s unfortunately nice down there, with wine storage carved into the walls which are painted white and decorated with blue painted wine leaves and such. The floor is packed earth, worn to a smooth finish by the passage of feet, barrels, and crates for generations.
My first instinct was to tie Angelo very, very tight and ensure that he couldn’t move. But there are certain impracticalities to that kind of binding and frankly, I’m not sure I could do it anyway.
I’ve gone with a system of chains and cuffs instead. Angelo will find himself chained by the ankle to a solid pole that supports the upper stories. He’ll also have his hands cuffed together, though he’s got a few inches of chain so he can… do what he needs to do.
All these tools are at hand because Angelo never travels without what I call a capture kit. This man is getting a taste of his own medicine using his own tools. The justice is all very poetic.
I sit down at a very specific distance and wait for him to come around. He does so quite quickly, as I suspected he would. There are no hurried, panicked movements as he comes to. He comes around with all the languid elegance of a drugged lion, sitting up cross-legged because the chain will not allow him to stand. I didn’t want him looming over me down here, and the roof of this old basement is too low for him to stand upright in anyway.