THE KILLER THAT CLAIMED (A dark, mafia romance)

The iron door of the holding cell groaned on its hinges, a tortured sound that set the tone for the room beyond. I stepped into the dim, subterranean space. The smell of damp concrete and metallic blood hit me instantly.  In the center of the room, strapped to a heavy wooden chair, was the man who had forgotten who I was. The animal that had dared to put his hands on Amaya. My Amaya.  Three of my senior guards, led by the Captain, were already at work. One of them landed a heavy blow to the man's ribs, a sickening crunch echoed off the walls. They only stop when I entered.  "That's enough," I said. The guards stepped back, breathing hard, their knuckles stained. The man in the chair whose name I did not remember and did not care to, lolloped his head forward. His face was a map of purple and red bruises, one eye swollen shut, blood dripping from his chin onto his ruined white shirt.  "Boss," the Captain muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "He's been talking. Blubbering, mostly. Trying to apologize"  I walked slowly around the chair, my leather gloves creaking as I curled my fists. I stopped in front of him, looking down at the pathetic creature.  "You dare?" I whispered. I reached out, grabbing his jaw and forcing his head up.  His good eye flickered with a terror so pure it was almost beautiful.  "You wear my crest on your jacket. You eat the food I pay for. You sleep under the roof I provide. And you didn't know that everything within these walls belongs to me?" "Please..." he wheezed, a bubble of bloody spit popping on his lips. "I... I was just... talking. I didn't... I didn't do anything to her..." "YOU TOUCHED HER," I yelled, my voice dropping an octave. "You made her cry. You threatened her with a blade." I looked at the table of tools the Captain had laid out. I picked up a pair of heavy pliers, weighing them in my hand. "You used your hands to grab her," I mused, looking at his shaking fingers. "And you used that tongue to humiliate her."  I grabbed his left hand, pinning it to the arm of the chair.  He started to scream and beg before I even did anything.  "Please....please," he was crying now, "I am so sorry" "Shut him up," I commanded. The Captain shoved a thick rag into the man's mouth, muffling the scream into a frantic, nasal groan. I placed the man's fingers between the pliers and squeezed as hard as I could. The sound of bone snapping was clean.  The man's body jerked violently against the restraints, his eyes bulging. I didn't stop. I moved to the next finger, and the next. I wasn't just punishing him; I was erasing the touch he had left on Amaya.  Every bruise he had given her, I was returning tenfold. "You like to play with knives?" I asked, setting the pliers down and picking up a thin, surgical scalpel. I leaned in close, the tip of the blade resting against his cheek.  "She's a princess. Do you know what that makes you?" He shook his head, tears and blood almost splashing against my clothes.  "It makes you the dirt beneath her boots. You're the rot in the foundation." I cut a thin, precise line down his cheek. He thrashed, the muffled sounds coming from behind the gag growing more desperate.  I moved to his shoulder, the same spot where Amaya said he had gripped her. I drove the blade in deep, twisting it slowly. He screamed but the gag prevented any sound from escaping. I wanted to kill him. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until the light left his eyes.       My pulse was a hammer in my ears, the darkness in my gut demanding a finality. I raised my fist, ready to cave in his temple, to end the pathetic noise he was making. But I stopped. I looked at his ruined face, at the way he was gasping for air, his body a trembling wreck of agony. If I killed him now, it would be over. His pain would stop. "No," I muttered, pulling my hand back. "Too easy." I turned to the Captain. "Get the medic in here. I want him stabilized." The Captain blinked, surprised. "You're letting him live, Boss?"  "I'm letting him exist," I corrected.  "I want his wounds cleaned just enough so they don't fester. I want him kept awake. Give him no painkillers. I want him to feel the pain of those broken fingers" I leaned back over the man, pulling the gag from his mouth. "You aren't going to die today," I whispered. "You're going to spend the next two days thinking about how lucky you are that I haven't started on your legs yet." The man let out a broken, sobbing moan, his head falling back against the chair.  I turned away, peeling the blood-flecked gloves off my hands and tossing them onto his lap. I walked out of the cell and into the hallway, where the rest of the security detail was standing at rigid attention. They looked at me with a mixture of awe and absolute, paralyzing fear. I walked down the line, my eyes scanning every face.  These were men who had seen war, men who had killed for me, but today, they looked like children waiting for a lashing. "Listen to me,"  I said, my voice carrying through the stone corridor like a death knell. "Look at what is left of that man in there. Take a good, long look."  I stopped in front of a guard who had been with me for five years.  "Amaya Vancouver is not a prisoner. She is not a target. She is certainly NOT a 'prize' for you to discuss over cigarettes." I raised my voice so it echoed into the rafters.  "From this moment forward, she is off-limits." I raised my voice.  "If you see her walking, you look at the floor. If she speaks to you, you answer with respect. if I even suspect that a single one of you even THINKS about crossing her, I will kill you."  I leaned into the space of the nearest guard, my shadow looming over him.  "I will destroy everything you have ever loved. I will find your families and burn your histories. I will erase you and yours from this earth. Am I understood?"  "Yes, Boss!"  the shout was immediate, a choir of terrified discipline. "Get back to your posts," I snapped. "Captain, I want a two-man detail on her door twenty-four hours a day.  Different men every shift. If she leaves her room, I want to know within thirty seconds."  "Yes, sir."  I turned and walked toward the stairs, my boots heavy on the stone.  I had sent the message and I had marked my territory in blood.  As I climbed the stairs toward the main house, I thought of Amaya sitting in her room, probably crying.  She would hate me for what I had done today.  She would see the blood on my hands and call me a monster.  She wasn't wrong.  But as I reached the top of the stairs and looked toward the East wing, I knew I would do it all again.  I would burn the whole world down if it meant she could walk through the ashes without being touched.  This monster had found something to guard.  God help anyone who tried to take it from me.