Beatrice Sartori

It wasn't hard to notice that over time his cruelties got worse, pulling more and more of my body, this one was getting used to it, learning to deal with the pain, obeying his commands like a trained bitch as he likes to call it. The hardest thing is to recognize that at some point I saw us as a beautiful pair, even though it was too much even for a dream, I was stupid to love him. Everything was a lie and nothing I do is ever enough to appease the inexplicable fury and jealousy at his own commands making the flames of his madness burn between us.

Your smile, the caresses and every declaration of love, everything is a lie.

That's why I tried to close my eyes to escape, wanting to stay in the present even if it's painful. But in your absence I am only able to suffer from the memories.

The rough touch of her hands tearing every part of the dress, leaving only the small lingerie, attracting the attention of her eyes, shining as if she were unwrapping a present.

"Is that what you wanted to give De Angelis, wife?" I shook my head in denial.

- I only had eyes for you all night, husband - I said exasperated feeling the knot in my belly grow.

— If you keep lying, the punishment will get worse – I let out a sob, not knowing what to do – Sit down with your legs over the side of the bed.

I obeyed his orders feeling fear cling to every corner of my heart.

“That's what disobedient wives get.” He had grabbed something from a suitcase in the corner of the room and when he opened his hands he had a red ball and a leather strap.

Caressing my cheek, kissing my forehead, he bent down to my eye level.

“Remember, wife, this is your fault. - His hands came with the strap closing on my neck.

In a strong grip ripping the air out of my lungs I feel like I'm about to be hanged, I try to support my hands on his arms in search of lessening the grip that interrupts the flow of air, without any effect on the body with triple strength, even with his nails digging into the skin exposed by the fabric raised to his elbows, he remains firm, impassive, increasing my despair even more.

His hand presses my chin forcing me to open my mouth to make room for the red ball, making the saliva build up inhibiting all my words, he closes the contraption behind his now tangled hair. I'm lost

In a quick movement I'm flipped onto my back without any care.

I hear a metallic sound reverberating louder over the wails that escape my throat then I am pulled back by the neck, I try to grab the bed, but nothing seems to be able to make it stop. I was thrown to the floor and held by handcuffs on the wooden foot of the bed, feeling like an animal, he grabbed my neck forcing me to lift my face and spat.

I lay motionless watching him take off his clothes, kicking when he pulled my legs and feeling like a doll as I was turned onto my back with his legs pushing my knees apart, his wrists hurting from the cuffs and the collar cutting off my breath, I felt my own saliva dripping. through the corners of the mouth.

He'll be a good husband, it's just a jealous fit.

I screamed something indecipherable as the pain of penetration took root from my toes until my hair was ripped out by him, my body felt like it was ripping in half. Stefano didn't wait, he just took it. And when it was over I thought I couldn't do any worse.

My aching legs barely held up as he brought me to his knees and the lashes began robbing me of what little air I still had. He took me again at the end of the thirty lashes.

At some point I lost consciousness, I woke up in bed praying it was just a nightmare, until I walked into the bathroom and saw the cuts on my skin, the dried blood between my thighs and the bruised wrists.

Before I even started crying the bathroom door opened and there were my husband's furious eyes.

"Don't close the door on me, you hear." I shook my head, unable to speak.

This time Stefano outdid himself, seven years later and he still manages to find a way to fuck with my psyche, even learning every one of his tricks to destabilize me. The marks scattered across the body show how I was unable to maintain the theater, I listened to the sound of the door opening, waiting for him to appear, I let out a mute cry when I saw my older brother.

His dark eyes seem filled with hatred as he sees my state and pities. The messy hair and always neat beard completing the familiar face, I saw the guilt in his eyes.

“Beatrice! - He whispered - That son of a bitch is going to die! Why didn't you say anything?

"What could you say brother?" Stefano is my husband, son of Don Sartori. It's not like he's punished for using his whore.

— Cazzo! You're his fucking wife! – he exasperated, lowering his voice right after and looking at the door.

Even if the family rules were clear about respect, fidelity and not hurting wives Stefano was not just anyone, under his skin there was a true demon. What could a single woman claim that an entire council made up of men wouldn't see my status as a simple upbringing?

I don't doubt that other women in the organization go through the same or worse, the result of a command that only values its own home, the Don doesn't seem to realize that he feeds his own wolves, distorting all our Sicilian values.

Unable to argue, I lowered my bottom lip so he could see my mark as Stefano Sartori's property, his eyes widened.

"I'm going to kill him." Giacomo looked ready to run, I grabbed his arm with all the strength I had left after days without eating.

- How did you find me? “I feared my husband would come back and find him there.

“Apparently, I don't know what you did and won't ask, but you seem to have won the loyalty of one of your husband's soldiers.

“Frank? – I asked.

“Yes, he came to my apartment to say you'd been missing for five days, only Stefano was holding you captive.

“I found out I was pregnant, he beat me and used me until he lost another baby. – I sobbed and my brother's arms supported my weak body

— You can't kill him, it would be a war Giacomo, he left three days ago he should be back any moment...

Fury surging in waves at the telling, the truth is humiliating and it's all my fault for not being a good wife.

“Fuck it, I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay, I won't be able to forgive myself for not getting you out of this sooner.

All this time I kept up the farce of the perfect marriage, the perfect wife a doll, I tried to forgive my older brother, after all, he only fulfilled his role within the organization.

Since our father died, he has become everything to me, taking care of all of us and doing everything to keep us together.

I let go of my brother's arms, pacing the room thinking of a way we could all get out alive, ideas swarming in my nervous mind full of hideous whispers and a huge desire for revenge.

“Hunter! – I exclaimed – Talk to Hunter, he knows several drug suppliers, get one that can knock Stefano down and one that looks like a good night cinderella.

My husband's connections with certain contacts would be just a toast, the ideas coming to life and the macabre thoughts taking over the body, of being able to take revenge on him and on the culprits for the horrendous nightmares. Each one of them that destroyed a part of the dreaming girl, each one that caused an abortion, taking away the opportunity for life to exist.

The grotesque way he disturbed and killed every good part inside my soul, his ways of trying to convince about how strong his love is and then his hands closed around my neck. It must be all my fault, for wanting a day without a spanking or dreaming of a touch of love, I was trapped in naive dreams waiting for Stefano to become someone else, giving up all self-esteem to live for him, waiting for him, yearning to that after the pain came the warm and caring touch.

I looked at my brother knowing that everything was about to change.

He would rid the world of Stefano and, as a gift, he would place him in the family's power.

"What does Beatrice want to do?" – A low and serious voice expressing curiosity

— First his death belongs to me – My older brother shook his head in disbelief — You just said you wouldn't forgive yourself, this is your opportunity brother. - Without any scruples I took advantage of your pain for my ruin.

As much as I tried to never be able to truly forgive Giacomo for having given me up so young to that demon, if he took away the opportunity to kill Stefano, that pain would never go away.

Our gazes locked silently, his eyes traveling over the bites on my arms and all the visible marks on my dirty little pajama bottoms. I took advantage of his close inspection to drop the bomb.

— We will kill him and fake my death for the family, we will leave the traces so that they believe it was the Sicilians, Don Sartori will hunt the culprits blind with hatred – I saw your silence as an incentive to continue — The Sartori will disappear from the map Giacomo, and you, the oldest of the Costello family, will take the chair.

My only reason to fight for a life is going to be to get my hands on each one of them and have them beg for a quick death, when all they're going to get is the little monster taught, trained and educated by the Devil himself.

Beatrice Costello

What was the point of starting all this, if not, to relieve the mind of all the shackles that bound crazy thoughts? To be able to find Giacomo's forgiveness, to forgive myself for ever having believed that I could be truly happy.

A real game of chess formed inside the mind ready to act at every choice and every possible turn, without measures or going back to the hole just the dam bursting letting all the rot take over, one of which could never have erased even if it had tried.

A dangerous game, since human chess generates deaths. And it's amazing how much it brings a sweet taste to my mouth making me take the tip of my tongue to my lips to wet it wishing I had more of that sensation

Listening to the song over and over in a maddening loop only keeps me more awake as my mind tries to get lost in the meaning of the words. Maybe that's the difference, I accepted the monster that dwells in me as a second layer, like the air I breathe. Did he exist or was he born?

Who will know the designs designed by the devil, who will know which fall he will give.

With each pain of each bite causing the pain to spread throughout the body, with each beating inhibiting my movements, stunning the thoughts that were forming inside, taking up a space that I once believed was good. Or at least I tried to imagine being good.

The space trained since birth to be condescending, patient, loving and obedient is now just a hollow and dark space, the suicidal desires I had were being taken over by the insane desire to consume every scream and every moan of her pain.

With fire, blood and the madness intrinsic to the lonely at heart, my mind is taken over by all the ideas flowing in a perfect scheme, the chess pieces moving each time as I lift the stick to hit the bastard again and again. Seeing the fury flash in his eyes, I dropped the staff on the ground bringing our faces close enough, stroking the beard grown by the journey, I find myself imagining how many he tormented without having me to quench his thirst.

Blue eyes gleam in response, her tongue sticking out wetting her sinfully reddened lips, was that the point of allowing myself to fall ill? Or was it already down before him? I place my hand on her cheek.

-I love you Stefano. I say, feeling the rumble in my chest.

The words coming out so easily that I don't even know when I came to love my tormentor, I feel my eyes burning with tears taking every breath I take.

-Beatrice -The serious voice stirs something inside me. - Let me go, I promise to pretend it didn't happen.

I sigh, climbing onto the small table with a few things neatly laid out beside it, tracing his outstretched biceps with the tips of my fingernail, eliciting a moan from both of us reaching his wrists, and stopping when he touches the ring on his ring finger.

–What kind of love is this Stefano? - I ask, reaching down, taking his hands to pick up the red ball trapped between the leather straps on the table.

He lays his head back as I kneel on the wood, feeling my chest heaving in such a painful way, replaying touches and caresses and looks. Was this love just an illusion, mine?

-It's the only real love. - I stop the movements trying to absorb each one of your words. – Love makes us crazy and all the monstrosities we do for love, doesn't make us monsters just made of meat.

I sigh hard feeling the pain carried by the huge drop that escaped from the corner of my eyes, running away when running down my cheek.

– Let me feel one last time. - He bites his lips

The sight of you so innocently helpless, exposed in all its glory like a sculpture carved from the most precious marble, it's this scene that steals another tear from me, holding your left arm putting my face close enough to yours, feeling the warmth and the aroma of his cigar breath, the tongue tracing all the path made by the tear sipping as if it were the purest drink. I pull away just enough for us to lock eyes.

- I feel like I've gone crazy. – I admit it, even if inside I still don't know how to distinguish whether it's good or bad.

-You were always crazy my love and perfect for me. - I feel the truth in his words, getting swayed, tempted to undo the ties that bind him. - Not. ' I look back at him. - Don't do it, only one of us can get out of here alive after that.

I swallow hard because this is the most painful truth, a knife that cuts my soul and for some twisted reason I love this pain.

"Are you giving up for me?" - I murmur in disbelief.

Your smile opens up huge making your white teeth shine with so much beauty, my piece of the sun that burns my wings.

- We'll meet in hell darling. – I see how the look changes at the same moment. “Don't forget whores have a reserved place to serve there too.

I smirk in satisfaction, it's the truth, that's what I am, a whore and now a bad bitch about to cause carnage, I went back to my movements putting the red ball in her mouth, listening to the whimpers as the words started to hit the open scars inside her soul, her accusations of being a bad wife, of being a whore from a bad family.

The indignity of bearing a Sartori heir.

I get down from the table facing the sea that carries all my pains, the annoyances and my heart, yes, if I ever had one, I'm leaving with that man. And even he knows it, as he stops trying to speak to force his best smile even with his mouth open. His gaze carries the satisfaction of knowing he's tattooed on me.

I dance for a moment chanting the music making my low voice reverberate on the walls of my cell, the feeling of pleasure grows, because this time it will only be mine. Mine alone, for all eternity. Without looking at anyone else, because the last look will be mine. I walk around the room, reaching the table and carefully choosing the proof of the monstrosity my love is capable of doing for him.

An infamous joke in which every movement brings out a smile amidst the chaos of blood splattered across the small space that used to be my cell.

Beatrice Costello

My right ear asked for rest from the incessant sound and even with the pain I let the music take over, when you lose your mind do you feel free or alive?!

It wasn't the time to hold back the pain, not when my demon needs to sing, when my mind needs to feel the blood heating. I watched his eyes tremble, his breathing out of rhythm and the sweat on his forehead instigating the worst in me, something I never imagined would be possible as a distant dream coming true, now. I chose the dull-edged axe.

I raised the axe, letting the blade catch on the bone of the ankle, making a swinging motion as if I were chopping wood, to draw it not from a piece of wood but from the bone, repeating the movement and seeing the way in which his eyes They turned and looked down to see that I'd left only a stump in place, their growls reverberating around the room with isolation blending with the music. I dropped the ax on the table listening to a brief sigh of relief, although his look now carries a challenge, what he doesn't imagine is that hell is here, he was the one who taught me that by teaching me that between the walls of this basement the one with power is the judge and the executioner. I grabbed a cloth and walked to her little closet, found the acid I needed, and came back pressing the acid cloth to what was left of her ankle. Her body writhing with pain, kneeling I lifted my gaze to meet his, the pain reverberated through my lip as the knee broke the skin, I licked tasting the viscous liquid and smiling with pleasure.

I am your executioner, your owner, your hell, the only one capable of having your love, because we are dirty, we are made of the same rottenness.

My troubled and dazed mind brought back the unfortunate words, memory is a disgusting bitch.

I used the same red ball I was forced to wear, which made the sight bring me such distorted pleasure. Seeing him like this, helpless, I feel that I am taking his throne.

Is this who I am now? A version of it?

An executioner like Stefano has been all these years.

I got up looking at the work as a whole, the sculpture that will live on in my memories, it would have been more difficult without my brother's help to secure it to that butchery rod, convincing him was complicated, but it was worth the pleasure of reciprocating all your love is mine alone.

-This is our love. -I say smiling, standing up, choosing the new weapon on the table. – Let me show you.

And that will be my most pleasant memory.

Every 'I love you' being returned in its own way, using the moment to avenge every child he raped in front of me and every child he took from me.

I took the metal stick swinging from one foot to the other feeling the music command my movements, when the bass reached the apex I rotated my hips and hit him in the ribs listening to the sound of bones breaking, like a soft melody.

I shook my head, watching what the next point would be and suddenly it didn't make sense anymore, nothing made sense, nothing but a battered, panting piece of meat reduced, only everything ends one way or another and the end isn't always a happy one. fairy tale. Despite the seeping pleasure, the feeling of finally satiating that ravenous little bloodlust, I was consumed by the desire to see him in pieces, like all the pieces he had made of me.

With a cleaver I began the cuts, making sure to let him feel each one of them his eyes rolling in pain, heightening my pleasure and the moans filling the space and the drool running down the red ball, the blood splattering all over the room, I let go of the cleaver and grabbed a knife, reaching into his abdomen and slicing open his guts from one end to the other, falling to the ground, the pleasure of killing becoming a part of my soul, his eyes losing life.

I started with them, that part that one day eluded the little world of fantasy making me believe that I could be happy inside the mafia, I stuck the knife in each of his eyes, I put each one in a small box, I walked to the other side of the room pulling the metallic drum positioned just for that, his feet thrown across the room were flung like a basketball, I caught the guts throwing inside the drum.

Without an ounce of compassion or pity for the dead.

“With the cleaver will take a long time,” I blurted out loud to the corpse in front of me.

I took the knife and cleaver to the table picking up the axe, making the throwing preparation and there goes a thigh ready to be shattered.

And in this ritual of disemboweling every piece of the body, I expelled every painful memory, every hurt, not even if everything goes wrong, this small moment will always be my victory.

I took the gallon of gasoline throwing it inside the drum, climbed on a stool and untied the trapped hands adding to the small barbecue, his head at the bottom without eyes coming towards me drew a laugh. I pulled back enough to lean the tired body against the door, picking up his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

As soon as I threw the lit lighter into the gas, I puffed on my first and only cigarette.

Feeling all the lies being burned by the fire next to the man who was once my husband, the intense blue eyes promising and swearing a non-existent love with each beating, forcing my mind for a single moment to think I was guilty of his evil deeds.

Am I losing my sanity?

Losing myself from reality?

The cigarette is gone, and the flames continue to consume all the fuel, the smell of burning flesh must have settled on my skin.

But I wanted to be there and nowhere else in the world, to see what for a single moment was the air I breathed, the master of my demon turn into ashes is like coming without having sex. And though no one could take his place, even in death he is my deepest pain, my most open and most sun-exposed scar.

The dream of a happy life and of building a pure love with a big family is my dream of a margarine commercial that just went up in smoke.

I waited that at some point regret would strike, that the pain would make me numb, that the air would fail. Still, by some joke of fate I felt my lungs draw in air comfortably for the first time, felt pleasure filling my veins. I rolled my eyes at the mess, that was the only moment of discomfort I felt.

Drink me, feed me and let me show you the light.

My demon seemed finally free of its shackles and through some madness, that's comforting.

I took the alcohol from the shelf beside me and walked towards the dirty ax on the table, with a new flannel, I started to clean the blood, smelling the rust and watching the shine of the ax appear.

I continued the same process on each knife, each razor, each needle and each pliers, all the last twenty-four hours I've spent here have paid off. Every scream of pain present within memory is kept especially in a place where the past cannot be forgotten.