"You stole from me, Giulio. Now you face the consequences," says Alessandro in a commanding voice–even through the speakers, his presence is imposing. "Let this be a reminder. No one steals from me and gets away with it." Messina starts begging, realizing how serious this is and that he has no way out now. But my brother ignores his pleas, and calls me instead. "Gio."
"Yes, Don Alessandro?" The corners of my lips turn up into a sinister smile, a hundred ways of torture running in my head as I stare down Messina.
"Put a bullet between his eyes."
I sigh, tsking. "Really? I was hoping we could cut his fingers one by one, and make him piss his pants first."
By this time, Messina is now a blubbering mess. His crotch goes dark and wet, liquid trickling between his thighs and making a puddle on the floor. He knows how mad I get when I'm in the mood. That's how I keep my men in line–that and my lovable personality, of course.
