Used By The Mob Page 2

  She spat her soaked panties onto the floor and coughed as she tried to regain a regular breathing pattern.

  “I bet this isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position is it?” Vincent sniggered, to which Stacey responded by spitting in his face.

  He inhaled sharply, before wiping the spit from his cheek and licking it from the back of his hand. He was visibly excited by her defiance and had to wait a few seconds as he gathered his composure.

  “As nice as that was,” he continued. “Let’s try and stay on track here. So, your husband. I’m guessing he gave you the ‘I work for one of the big law firms’ speech didn’t he? Well, I hope he did, because that’s exactly what I told him to say. What he probably didn’t tell you is that when we met he was a very small fish in a very big pond. In fact, he wasn’t even a fish, he was whatever fish eat, and he didn’t swim in a pond, he swam in an ocean full of sharks and whales and fuckin’ stingrays and, well you get the picture. He was just starting out, trying to make his way as a cop, but in truth he was just a nobody, going nowhere, painfully slowly. ‘But Vincent, how did he afford to pay for this amazing apartment in this amazing area and all the wonderful things inside it,’ I hear you thinking. Well, isn’t that an interesting question? You see, this is where I come in. I knew through various connections that he needed cash to pay for his mother’s medical fees and he sure as hell wasn’t going to get it through a fuckin’ promotion. Now, let it never be said that Vincent Moriello doesn’t appreciate how important a strong family bond is. I invited him to my uncle’s pizzeria and told him straight up that I wanted to give him the money. I was honest from the outset. I told him what I wanted and what would happen if he didn’t accept, and I don’t know whether it was the thought of having to watch his mother die a slow and painful death, or my generally friendly nature that finally won him over, but regardless he left with the money and I left with a cop in my pocket. A shit cop, but a cop all the same. ‘Why did I need to buy a cop,’ I hear you ask. That’s another good question, I can see why he liked you; you’re smart. Well, in my line of work it’s very important that we have the option to occasionally call on somebody who might, for example, give us insider information on certain people or help make certain legal obstacles disappear. Of course, more often than not it was little things like ‘accidentally’ dropping important legal documents into a shredder.”

  “So, he lied to me about his job, but he still doesn’t deserve any of this,” Stacey protested, her throat swollen from choking back her tears. “Let us go, please.”

  “I’m sorry sweet-heart, you see, it’s one thing lying to you, but when he starts lying to me, then we have a real problem. He was supposed to get you to testify against your old friend; the fat one who pimped you out. I hate that fat fuck, really I do. It’s his name, I can’t stand it, and he’s always got food stains on his clothes. It’s truly disgusting. Now, I’m guessing by the look of surprise on your face that you didn’t know anything about this, and having found these two plane tickets to London hiding in the back of your husband’s dresser, I’m guessing he wasn’t ever going to tell you about any of it. So it seems as though you are Little Miss Innocent after-all. However, as a result of him not doing what I asked him to do, your fat friend is free to roam the streets, and my brother is receiving the special treatment up at the asylum. You see, this is exactly the kind of situation I paid him to avoid, yet here we are, balls deep right in the middle of a situation. I really don’t know what he was thinking. The truth of the matter is that I honestly don’t care anymore.”

  Vincent sighed before continuing in a more serious tone.

  “Take a look at your husband. Really look at him. Tied up, naked with his half naked wife riding him in front of a house full of strangers, it’s cute, real cute. Mark, if you can still hear me, I want you to know that we will take real good care of your wife, don’t worry about her, you hear me? Sweet-heart, give your husband a kiss.”

  She shook her head and looked up at Vincent. Her eyes wrought with sorrow, silently begging him to leave them alone.

  “I haven’t got all night,” he snapped. “I’m extending you this opportunity to have one last intimate moment with your husband. Please, accept it, because you won’t get another.”

  Stacey’s trembled uncontrollably as she told Mark that she loved him for the last time. Planting a long kiss on his forehead and muttering the words – ‘Thank you for loving me.’

  “Ok boys, if you will please.”

  Gennaro and Tony cut the tape that had bound Stacey to the chair and lifted her onto the adjacent leather sofa, where Giuseppe pinned her down. Vincent dragged Mark from the chair and laid him down on the floor, folding his arms across his chest.

  “It’s time,” he declared.

  Giuseppe once again used his considerable physique to inflict more pain upon Stacey’s slight body, looming over her and punching her thighs so hard they went dead; her muscles crushed against the bone, leaving her temporarily paralysed from the waist down. Her saliva coated panties were stuffed back into her mouth and the tape re-applied, muffling her agonising cries as Giuseppe effortlessly placed her on to her husband’s face. His mouth gagged and his nose buried deep in her ass, she could feel his body jolt as it began to yearn for oxygen and what little life remained inside him slowly drained away. She tried to stand up, but her legs were still weak; her whole body was weak. Her heart felt heavy inside her chest. The only man who had ever loved her had taken his last breath.

  “Sweet-heart, believe me when I tell you that every man wants to die this way,” Vincent joked, attracting a wave of boisterous laughter from his men. “Take her to the car and put her in the trunk. We owe my brother an apology.”

  Chapter 2

  “You see, my brother had earned himself something of an unwanted reputation,” explained Vincent, staring out the window from the backseat of his car. “I’m not saying he didn’t do the things he was accused of, I know he did. He used to call me and tell me about it. I’m actually starting to miss those late night phone-calls.”

  Sat next to him was Stacey, who had spent the last fortnight in complete silence in a single room within Vincent’s large family home. His Portuguese house-keeper, Monica, who quite probably ended up working for Vincent after an ordeal similar to Stacey’s, had taken care of her during that time, but like everybody else, she had so far failed to have any meaningful dialogue with her new guest.

  “Are you even listening?” Asked Vincent. “I have ways of making people listen, as you know, so God help you if you’re not listening to me right now. I thought that maybe after bringing you into my home you might have been more grateful, but it seems I was wrong.”

  “I heard you,” she replied, venomously.

  “Oh, it talks! Tony did you hear that? She has a voice!”

  “I heard, boss,” said Tony, designated driver for the day. “A pretty voice too.”

  “I like what you’re wearing sweet-heart,” Vincent sniggered. “It looks very familiar.”

  Stacey looked out of the opposite window, deliberately ignoring his remark. She knew he was trying to play games with her, and she was determined not to let him get inside her head. She had of course arrived at Vincent’s house wearing just a T-shirt, and it had been Vincent himself who had supplied her with his own wife’s pink chemise. Stopping halfway down the thigh and showing a generous amount of cleavage, it wasn’t too unlike the selection of dresses she used to choose from at home, but that was all she had been given. No bra, no panties, no undergarments of any description. Nothing else. She had worn the same thing, unwashed, ever since arriving.

  “She’s gone quiet again,” Vincent noted.

  Tony chuckled quietly to himself.

  “You’re gonna have to talk sooner or later, you know? In the meantime, you may be wondering what became of your husband. Well… remember that story I told you about him being comparable to… whatever it is that fish eat? Well, it turns out I was right! Can you believe
that? I thought I was just being clever but you should have seen those big fish nibbling away at him, it really was something else.”

  “They were Tiger Sharks, boss. They eat anything you throw in the water. Remember that guy from the bank who…”

  “Stop it,” Stacey snarled.

  “There we go, she liked that one, Tony. Hey, how much further do we have to go? It seems like every time we visit this place it moves a little further away, what’s the deal here?”

  “Almost there, boss.”

  “Excellent,” Vincent cracked his knuckles before lighting one of his cigars and turning towards Stacey. “Alberto is my brother, so treat him with respect, as best you can. I know you struggle with that concept. This might be the last time any of us see him for a while, so don’t ruin it for him, and remember it’s because of you that he’s up here in the first place.”

  Vincent had just finished imparting his wisdom when the car slowed to a halt outside a huge steel gate. Tony got out and walked over to an electronic box on the outside wall.

  “Moriello,” he shouted irately, and the gate creaked sideways behind the wall, eerily grinding through the grooves in the floor like it was rarely ever used.

  The asylum was just about in view at the summit of a hill in the distance. The lawns were exceptionally well kept, and the driveway, long but in relatively good condition gave something of a false impression of the building itself. Run-down, missing tiles, blackened bricks; it would have looked more at home in a cemetery.

  “Moriello,” Tony repeated, this time for the receptionist behind a reinforced glass window inside the building. “We’ve come to see Alberto.”

  The receptionist flashed Tony a disapproving glare.

  “Does your girlfriend need a coat?” She asked firmly, eyebrows raised. “She looks awfully cold.”

  “I welcome your concern, lady, I really do, but honestly, we just need somebody to take us to see Alberto Moriello. Do you think that might be possible?” Tony reached slowly into his breast pocket, making sure that the receptionist fully understood his implications.

  “Alberto Moriello is on the bottom floor,” she replied, perhaps realising that it was in her best interests to do exactly what she was asked. “Take the elevator, and press the button marked ‘R.’ You will need this.”

  She nervously pushed what looked like a credit card underneath the glass.

  “It’s a restricted floor. That card will get you through the first door, at which point somebody down there will see to you.”

  “Thank you very much… Barbara,” Vincent added, clocking the name tag on her uniform. “That could so easily have gotten out of hand, but you dealt with it like a true professional. It was a real pleasure talking to you.”

  Barbara forced a fake smile and briskly walked into the room behind her desk as Stacey and her two unwanted escorts entered the elevator.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Tony admitted, as they exited the elevator on the bottom floor. “All that moaning and wailing, it’d drive me mad if I had to stay here.”

  Vincent glanced sideways at Tony, baffled by his logic. He held the card in front of a blue light on the wall and the heavy, steel panelled door opened upward into the ceiling.

  “Moriello?” Asked a male nurse, carrying a clipboard. “Reception let me know you were on your way.”

  “That Barbara deserves a raise,” advised Tony.

  “Yes, she’s quite the worker,” the nurse answered, ushering the visitors along a poorly lit corridor, badly in need of a few new coats of paint. “We weren’t aware that Alberto had any visitors today, but he’s still awake and just about coherent so you’re in luck. You may also be interested to know that Alberto has so far shown no real signs of improvement, although it is still very early days. Most of what we have been doing so far has involved observing, building a character profile, so we can decide how best to treat him long term.”

  “Sounds good to me, doc,” Vincent said, politely, although most of what the nurse had said sailed straight over his head.

  “Now, as you may know, we don’t believe in restraining our patients as it sends out the wrong message. This is a hospital, not a prison. Instead what we do is punish what we determine to be bad behaviour by zapping the patient with electricity; nothing dangerous, just enough to temporarily debilitate. You may notice the small ring-like device on Alberto’s finger. That’s how we blast them if they start playing up, so please don’t take it off. Some of our patients do ask their visitors to remove them, so we feel compelled to tell you beforehand.”

  “That’s a lot of information right there,” Vincent replied, indifferently. “Can we go inside now?”

  “You know only one of you can go inside, right? Asylum policy I’m afraid. We’ve found that too many visitors at once can have an adverse effect and usually leads to a violent reaction.”

  “Sure, sure, no problem,” Vincent nodded. “In that case, we would like to nominate our good lady friend here who I believe has something extremely important to tell Alberto.”

  “Very well, then you two can follow me to the observing cubicle and watch from there. Don’t worry; he can’t see you through the glass, so he won’t freak out.”

  “One last thing,” the nurse continued. “Alberto has been given some strong sedatives just before you arrived. If it looks like he isn’t listening or like he is uninterested in what you are saying, it’s probably just that they are starting to take effect. Trust me, he is listening, so you just say what you need to say and when you’re done, just tap on the mirror and we’ll come and let you out.”

  With those words of caution ringing in her ears, Stacey reluctantly entered the cell and heard the door locking behind her. It was pitch black and deathly silent, until she heard a harrowing, almost primal growl and felt Alberto’s hands sliding up the front of her chemise, grabbing a firm hold of her breasts and pushing her against the padded walls. She tried to shout for help but he quickly smothered her mouth with his own, blowing air down her throat, breaking off only to spit in her mouth and suck on her tongue. He loosened his grip on her breasts and dug his filthy, uncut nails into her stomach, raking them down to her legs, and then back up to her neck. He started growling again, grunting as he slapped her across the face repeatedly.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered intensely, over and over again in between fits of crazed laughter. He spoke with a manic sense of urgency. He wrapped his hands tightly around her neck and lifted her upwards, a foot or so off the ground. A perverted sense of satisfaction pulsed through his veins, as he felt her retch, gasping for air. She tried in vain to pull his hands away but he was surprisingly strong, perhaps a side-effect from the cocktail of meds he’d been given.

  “Stop it,” she squealed, desperately. “You’re hurting me. Please… get off!”

  “Alberto, can you hear me?” Vincent asked. His voice tinny and echoing through the speaker of an intercom somewhere within the room.

  “Vinny, is that you?”

  “Yeah it’s me. Listen, I’m next door with your cousin Tony. We brought you a little gift; she’s in there with you somewhere. Tony’s just looking for the light switch, then you can introduce yourself.”

  “Is it Raylene, Vinny? I can smell Raylene.”

  “No, Al, it’s not my wife, but, I know how you have this bizarre thing for her, so you might notice that we dressed her up in that nightgown thing you bought for her, Christmas before last. Now don’t say I never do anything for you.”

  The lights hummed on languidly, but did little for the clarity within the room. It was still very sombre, and the bulbs were old, flickering rapidly every few seconds.

  Alberto fixed his bloodshot eyes on Stacey’s dimly illuminated face, before turning away almost ashamedly, panting anxiously.

  “Turn the lights off,” he shouted. “Turn them off.”

  “Tony, you heard the man… hit the switch. What’s the problem, Al? I personally think she has quite a pretty face.”
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  The lights faded again.

  “Raylene, I know it’s you. He’s lying. I’m sorry, Raylene…” He whispered gently into Stacey’s ear. “I’m going to give you what you always wanted. I’m going to make everything right.”

  “No,” Stacey protested quietly, almost to herself. Her eyes glazed over with a look of acceptance as she felt his hands fidgeting between her legs. “Please stop.”

  If anything her begging just made Alberto more frenzied; more desperate to feel the flesh of the woman he’d coveted for so long, at least that’s how it played inside his head. He timidly stroked the inside of her thighs, as though he was waiting for permission to take it a step further, but eventually, the temptation grew too much for him, and he forced two fingers inside her, giggling as her warm lips tightened around them. He moved them around in a circular motion, his intention to stretch her out ready for what he had planned afterwards, but suddenly, there was another buzz, and Stacey felt a hot, stinging sensation rippling through the lower half of her body. She began to scream. The pain was intense. Her heart started pounding, and she could feel Alberto’s arm twitching involuntarily, his fingers unable to move from in between her legs. She felt like someone had poured boiling water all over her skin, as it tingled and burned in unison. Her screams grew louder and more unsettling, as did the pain. She could feel her muscles contracting, as she stood rooted to the spot, legs parted, with two twitching fingers wriggling inside her.

  “Sorry about that,” Vincent laughed. “Me and Tony were just playing a game of button roulette. I think this means he lost.”

  Alberto, more used to the electric pulses than Stacey, was the first to regain functionality after the effects had started to wear off. He groped her ass and buried his face into her chest, inhaling as much of the perfumed material as he could. Stacey gradually regained some muscular control, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from touching her and grabbing her, squeezing her curves and nipping her skin. With the nurse ominously absent from the cubicle, she fully expected that nobody would come to her aid.