"You see," he starts as he surveys the instruments of torture, "there's always one eminent student who gets to do this." Unexpectedly, father is excited about something.
"When someone wrongs the famiglia, we have to give back retribution. But our kind of retribution is a little different."
He takes a long knife, testing its sharpness by running it along his forefinger.
"We hit where it hurts the most, and we let them know why and who did it."
Father saunters to the prisoner and using the tip of the knife he removes his gag.
"Romero Santos. Want to tell my son about your crime? You have your chance to confess your sins." Father's lips are drawn in a sardonic smile.
I move my gaze to the prisoner and I regard him as he's breathing deeply, sweat falling down his face.
"I didn't know, I swear. I thought she was eighteen." His voice is pleading, and his eyes jump between me and father before settling on me. On a pleading tone, he addresses me.
"Please, please! I have a family."
"Exactly!" Father interjects, slapping the man behind his head. "And your family will know what you've done. This should show people what happens when you mess with someone in our famiglia."
"What happened?" I finally utter, aiming the question at my father.
"Nothing, I swear. She wanted it!" Eyes bulging, shoulders slumped, the man is trying his best to profess his innocence.
Annoyed at the outburst, father places the knife, sharp edge inward, in Romero's mouth.
"Now he's quiet." He shakes his head, exasperated. "This man, who by the way is twenty-eight, seduced and impregnated the daughter of one of our soldiers."
I tilt my head, taking in the information.
So?
I don't voice out that question, as father continues.
"She's twelve."
My expression changes immediately, my eyes blanking.
"Rape?" I turn to father.
"Does it matter?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders. Of course it wouldn't matter to father. For him, rape isn't that bad of an offense in the first place. It's not as if I don't hear his new wife screaming all the time in the house.
No, this is about pride. Romero dared to touch a daughter of the famiglia and he must pay for it. Funny, but if father had done the same thing, and I know he's done it before, it would have gone unnoticed.
I school my features once more, focusing instead on the rapist in front of me.
Twelve. She's twelve. That's even younger than I was when... I stop that train of thought. It always makes me ill thinking about that encounter, or any of the subsequent ones.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask.
"Get the message across. Personalize it. Make it a punishment and a warning at the same time."
I nod.
Father regards me for a second before turning to leave.
"You have two hours."
I see. This is a test too.
Once I'm left with Romero, he blabbers, begging me to save him. I don't even listen to his cries for help as I survey the tools at my disposal.
Rape.
He's a rapist.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my eyes, looking forward to this for the first time.
I put aside a few instruments. Turning, I take the knife out of his mouth. I look over his form, my mind coming up with novel ideas.
Personalize it.
I might have just the thing.
I place the gag back in his mouth, not wanting to hear his screams
I grasp the handle of the knife with trained ease, bringing it at an angle. Holding the tip of his nose, I cut through skin and cartilage. I ignore the trembling of his body as I saw through the material, cutting as efficiently as possible.
The only remaining skin is attached to nasal bones. I will need that a while later.
For a second ,I stare at him, blood pouring down his face, his nose a wide-open orifice surrounded by red. If Vlad were here, he would have been overjoyed to inspect the inside of his olfactory system. Momentarily I'm struck by a thought – how well can he smell now? All my time spent with Vlad has spoiled me. Now I think like him.
I throw away the piece of flesh and remove his gag. Romero sobs immediately, his eyes glued to his nose on the floor.
"Did you really not know?" I deadpan ask him.
"No... no, I swear." He shakes his head, tears falling down his face. Fool, it's probably going to sting when they touch the wound. Not my business.
"Really?" I ask, continuing my inspection of his body.
Father wants something inventive. My mind goes back to the needles and thread I'd seen among the other tools.
My eyes crinkle with hidden merriment. I have just the thing. The knife descends towards his crotch. Romero becomes visibly more terrified.
"I knew, ok? I knew. She told me." He blurts out.
"Hmm. Is that so?" I raise my eyes so he can see that nothing can sway me.
I am what I am. And because of that, he has no chance.
"Yes... I convinced her... Please let me go. I'll marry her, ok?"
"But Romero," I start, my voice the epitome of fakeness, "She's twelve." I say in a high-pitched voice, as if to emphasize my stance.
He pales, realizing there's no way out.
I bring the knife to his crotch and I cut out the material until I reach his wet flaccid cock. He's pissed himself.
I look up at Romero, raising my eyebrows in question. He's still trembling. Waiting two more minutes to make sure he won't piss on me; I position the knife at the root of his cock and dig in. It's a clean cut, his screams music to my ears. One easy swipe and his cock falls down, separated from his pubis. Using two fingers, I take it and fling it to the floor.
Now for his balls....
His entire pubis is a mess, blood pooling down rapidly and mixing with piss from his severed urethra. I get over my disgust soon enough, as I cut his balls, making sure I also separate them through an incision in the middle. And just so he can experience more pain, I do it before cutting them from his body.
He screams and wails until his throat is sore.
I won't lie, that was my intention all along. I know that father is monitoring me closely.
With the entire genitalia separated from his body, I'm suddenly afraid he's going to bleed out.
No, that wouldn't do.
I take a step back and think on my options. Weighing in everything, I nod to myself and head back to the instruments. I pick up the sewing kit and I return to Romero's side.
I take off his gag and stuff it between his legs, lest he die on me before it's time. Then I start to painstakingly sew his dick to his nose. The flanges on what's left of his nose are slippery, so I use a smaller knife to detach some skin from the bone. I then hold the organ and thread the needle through the skin. It's not exactly easy to pace my stitches with all the blood still leaking from his dick, but I make do.
Romero stops moving.
Frowning, I check the pulse, and he's still alive. He must have passed out from the pain.
I shrug and continue to focus on my task. When the last stitch is done, I draw back to examine my work.
Still, while having a dick for a nose will definitely signal his crimes, it still doesn't feel enough. My gaze moves past the abandoned balls, and I get an idea.
Since they are already separated, it's easier to work with them, and I attach each ball to an ear. They hang low, like earrings, their weight pulling on the ear.