Alessandro Giovanni
"Beautiful, sissy," I sneered, a manic, victorious laugh tearing from my throat.
The man stared at his reflection, frozen in shock. The horror of what he'd become hit him like a freight train. His body trembled violently—then crumpled to the floor.
Weak.
I turned to the doctor. Her face had gone pale—drained of color, frozen in fear. Her eyes wide, lips trembling.
Weak.
Leaning back in my chair, I let a satisfied smile stretch across my face. A masterpiece. I was no monster—I was an artist. And I still had five canvases left.
"Shall we continue, gentlemen?" I said smoothly, turning to the group. Then, addressing her directly, I added, "This next one's for you, doctor."
I didn't bother to watch her reaction. I already knew—she was too soft.
"Now," I said, gesturing lazily in her direction, "which one of you fine gentlemen thought it would be wise to show the lady doctor here—'the real world'?"
Without hesitation, fingers pointed to the next man in line.
"Bring him up," I ordered.
He was yanked to his feet, shaking.
"Go ahead," I said, arms raised theatrically. "Tell this curious court exactly how you planned to show her 'the real world.'"
"P-please, boss," he stammered, hands clasped. "I'm sorry. Have mercy—"
I exhaled, irritated. They never learn.
"That's not an answer. Think carefully before you speak again." My voice sharpened. "What did you mean by that?"
"I—I—I—"
"Not an answer," I snapped, shaking my head slowly.
"Please, boss—"
Again, I cut him off, bored now.
"Wrong answer," I said, waving him off with a flick of my hand. "Try again—with the truth this time. And who knows… maybe I'll show a little mercy."
That word—mercy—made him stiffen. He straightened, hopeful, ready to trade his pride for a chance to live.
"I… I wanted her under me," he mumbled.
I stared at him, silent. Blank. Waiting.
"To use her body however I wanted…" he added, voice low, but I could still hear the filth, the hunger clinging to every word.
"You wanted her under you?" I asked again, calmly.
"Not anymore, boss! I swear it—please!"
I stood, walked slowly to a nearby shelf, and retrieved a small, rattling cage. The squeaks inside were unmistakable—sharp, desperate.
Back at my seat, I removed the crimson cloth draped over the cage.
Inside: a cluster of rabid, diseased rats, their red eyes wild, yellow teeth gnashing at the bars.
He saw them and bolted—but my men were quicker. They pinned him to the floor like the animal he was.
"You wanted to prove yourself, right?" I said, casually pointing at the writhing mass of hunger. "Show us what you can do. They're dying to be underneath you too."
"No! Boss, please! Doctor—please! I'm sorry! Mercy!" he sobbed, panic spilling from him in waves.
But I wasn't moved. Not even a twitch.
"The same woman you wished to defile," I said coldly. "Let me show you what these sweet little things can do. I got them from a Japanese biochemist—twisted man. Injected them with a cocktail of venom and gene-altering toxins. Changed everything inside them."
He went pale. His legs shook. A dark stain spread down his pants.
"They haven't eaten in weeks," I added with a chuckle. "Terrible on my part, really."
"Strip him," I ordered.
My men obeyed.
I opened a small hatch on the cage—just wide enough.
The rats rushed forward, teeth flashing, desperate for flesh.
He was dragged forward, screaming, his limp cock dangling in terror.
"Oh God… have mercy," the doctor whispered behind me.
I ignored her.
Gloved up, I guided him forward—and slid him in.
The moment his flesh met the cage, the rats descended.
Screams erupted, raw and guttural. Blood spattered the bars as they bit, tore, fed.
"You wanted a woman under you," I said with a grin. "Now you've got a few. Try to satisfy them."
His howls drowned the room, echoing off the walls as the rats feasted.
---
His screams—raw, broken, and utterly inhuman—were music to my ears.
It felt like forever, but finally, they finished. What remained of his manhood was gone. Devoured.
No more dreams of dominance for him. No woman would ever be beneath that again.
Like the two before him, he was dragged away—bleeding, broken, dickless—and tossed into the dungeon I kept nearby.
That left four.
Four men. One more punishment due.
I sank back into my chair, relaxed, satisfied. Then, casually, I let my voice roll through the room.
"Now that he's been handled… shall we continue?"
My tone was calm, but the undercurrent was sharp.
Then I leaned forward, mimicking a voice I remembered all too well.
"What's wrong, boss man gone mute? Seven months in that hole made you soft, huh? You're no Mafia king. Just a weak little joke... like the pussy hiding behind you."
I let those words hang in the air, every syllable dripping with mockery.
"You know what to do," I said, and sure enough, they pointed—almost in unison. Cowards always betray their own when death knocks.
I stood. My voice dropped low. Deliberate. I dragged each word out, driving the weight of his earlier insult right back into his gut.
"Just… a little… weak… joke… like the pussy… behind me."
My men pulled him forward. He dropped to his knees, trembling. Guilt written all over his pale, sweating face.
"Explain it to me," I said coldly. "How am I a weak little joke? I deserve to know."
But something in his eyes made me pause. There was a flicker of something unusual. Not fear—something else.
"I know you won't let me go," he said, voice low. "Even if I begged with everything I have left."
I smiled slightly. "Glad we agree. Now, tell me—how much of a joke am I?"
He lifted his head. Defiant.
"We had orders," he said. "We didn't act on our own. We were sent here. Punishing us for following orders? That's not justice. That's revenge."
I laughed. Genuinely.
"You were paid to humiliate a Mafia king. Paid to spit on my name. To call me weak. A joke. And like good little dogs—you obeyed."
I clapped slowly, mockingly.
"Your employers bought your deaths, and you sold yourselves cheap. Still… I admire your confidence. Even if it's terribly misplaced."
He didn't flinch. No reply. Just a cold, resigned stare.
But let's see how long that lasts.
A cauldron was wheeled in, heat rolling off it in waves, adding to the stifling air already thick from the burning ship outside. The smell of molten oil filled the space. Heavy. Ominous.
"You called me a joke," I said, stepping toward him. "Let's make you one."
"Bring him closer."
He resisted—struggled like hell. Threw wild, useless punches. But it was no good. He was dragged forward, inch by inch, toward the bubbling cauldron.
So much for confidence.
And this? This kind of punishment… it's not something I hand off.
No. This one—I do myself.
Because some jobs... are too satisfying to delegate.
---
Still pressed to the ground, he trembled beneath my grasp.
I lifted his left hand, patting the rough skin gently—a twisted kind of farewell.
He began to shiver, mumbling incoherent pleas I had no interest in decoding.
I held his hand just above the cauldron. The heat alone made his palm slick with sweat. His face dropped, not just from fear—but from the sheer intensity radiating off the molten oil.
I wanted this moment to linger.
With slow precision, I dipped one finger into the searing liquid.
His scream was immediate, primal—like a dying beast clawing for mercy.
"That's for calling her a pussy," I said calmly.
He barely had time to process before I forced a second finger in.
"And this—this is for saying I've gone mute."
His cries echoed off the walls, growing louder, more desperate. It was music. Beautiful, twisted music.
"Finally…" I murmured, flashing him a cruel smile.
"No—please! Please, I'll do whatever you want, anything! Just stop!" he sobbed, words slurring together through the pain.
I didn't stop.
"For calling Alessandro Giovanni a sick joke," I said—and then dropped his whole hand into the oil.
The sound he made wasn't even human anymore. It was pure, unfiltered agony. He screamed into the night, his body convulsing as the scent of scorched flesh filled the air.
I let the satisfaction wash over me.
Then I turned to my men.
"Both arms. Drop them in."
They obeyed. He didn't even scream that time—he'd passed out seconds later, his body unable to keep up with the pain.
I glanced at the doctor—still pale, still frozen—and smiled.
"Drop the rest in the viper's nest," I ordered, dusting my hands off like the job was done. "The doctor needs her golden sleep."
---
I glanced back at the doctor—pale, stunned, utterly broken. I'd shattered something inside her, and she knew it.
Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.
Just one of the perks of witnessing how savage and unrelenting Alessandro Giovanni could truly be.
I started toward her.
Instinctively, she backed away, each of my steps sending her further until she collided with one of my men. He didn't budge. She had nowhere else to go.
"Are you done?" I asked quietly, eyes scanning her trembling form. "Aren't you supposed to be a psychologist? You should be able to talk yourself out of this... fear. But being weak?" I tilted my head. "That's what makes people like you easy targets."
She didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stared.
"Let me take you home. Your work here is done." I reached for her gently.
She jerked her arm away, defiance blazing through her shaken stare.
I scoffed. "Oh, so now you want to stay? After all the dramatics about needing to leave?"
Still nothing. She pushed past me and walked straight to the car.
Fine by me.
The ride was cloaked in silence—thick, heavy, uncomfortable.
I hated it.
So I broke it.
"If you have questions, now's your chance..."
I stood. My voice dropped low. Deliberate.
I dragged each word out, driving the weight of his earlier insult right back into his gut.
"Just… a little… weak… joke… like the pussy… behind me."
My men pulled him forward. He dropped to his knees, trembling.
Guilt written all over his pale, sweating face.
"Explain it to me," I said coldly. "How am I a weak little joke? I deserve to know."
But something in his eyes made me pause.
There was a flicker of something unusual. Not fear—something else.
"I know you won't let me go," he said, voice low.
"Even if I begged with everything I have left."
I smiled slightly.
"Glad we agree. Now, tell me—how much of a joke am I?"
He lifted his head. Defiant.
"We had orders," he said. "We didn't act on our own. We were sent here. Punishing us for following orders? That's not justice. That's revenge."
I laughed. Genuinely.
"You were paid to humiliate a Mafia king. Paid to spit on my name. To call me weak. A joke. And like good little dogs—you obeyed."
I clapped slowly, mockingly.
"Your employers bought your deaths, and you sold yourselves cheap.
Still… I admire your confidence. Even if it's terribly misplaced."
He didn't flinch. No reply. Just a cold, resigned stare.
But let's see how long that lasts.
A cauldron was wheeled in, heat rolling off it in waves, adding to the stifling air already thick from the burning ship outside.
The smell of molten oil filled the space. Heavy. Ominous.
"You called me a joke," I said, stepping toward him.
"Let's make you one. Bring him closer."
He resisted—struggled like hell. Threw wild, useless punches.
But it was no good. He was dragged forward, inch by inch, toward the bubbling cauldron.
So much for confidence.
And this?
This kind of punishment… it's not something I hand off. No. This one—I do myself.
Because some jobs... are too satisfying to delegate.
Still pressed to the ground, he trembled beneath my grasp.
I lifted his left hand, patting the rough skin gently—a twisted kind of farewell.
He began to shiver, mumbling incoherent pleas I had no interest in decoding.
I held his hand just above the cauldron. The heat alone made his palm slick with sweat.
His face dropped, not just from fear—but from the sheer intensity radiating off the molten oil.
I wanted this moment to linger.
With slow precision, I dipped one finger into the searing liquid.
His scream was immediate, primal—like a dying beast clawing for mercy.
"That's for calling her a pussy," I said calmly.
He barely had time to process before I forced a second finger in.
"And this—this is for saying I've gone mute."
His cries echoed off the walls, growing louder, more desperate.
It was music.
Beautiful, twisted music.
"Finally…" I murmured, flashing him a cruel smile.
"No—please! Please, I'll do whatever you want, anything! Just stop!" he sobbed, words slurring together through the pain.
I didn't stop.
"For calling Alessandro Giovanni a sick joke," I said—
—and then dropped his whole hand into the oil.
The sound he made wasn't even human anymore.
It was pure, unfiltered agony. He screamed into the night, his body convulsing as the scent of scorched flesh filled the air.
I let the satisfaction wash over me.
Then I turned to my men.
"Both arms. Drop them in."
They obeyed.
He didn't even scream that time—he'd passed out seconds later, his body unable to keep up with the pain.
I glanced at the doctor—still pale, still frozen—and smiled.
"Drop the rest in the viper's nest," I ordered, dusting my hands off like the job was done.
"The doctor needs her golden sleep."
---
I glanced back at the doctor—pale, stunned, utterly broken.
I'd shattered something inside her, and she knew it.
Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.
Just one of the perks of witnessing how savage and unrelenting Alessandro Giovanni could truly be.
I started toward her.
Instinctively, she backed away, each of my steps sending her further until she collided with one of my men.
He didn't budge.
She had nowhere else to go.
"Are you done?" I asked quietly, eyes scanning her trembling form.
"Aren't you supposed to be a psychologist? You should be able to talk yourself out of this... fear.
But being weak?" I tilted my head. "That's what makes people like you easy targets."
She didn't speak. Didn't blink. Just stared.
"Let me take you home. Your work here is done." I reached for her gently.
She jerked her arm away, defiance blazing through her shaken stare.
I scoffed.
"Oh, so now you want to stay? After all the dramatics about needing to leave?"
Still nothing. She pushed past me and walked straight to the car.
Fine by me.
---
The ride was cloaked in silence—thick, heavy, uncomfortable.
I hated it.
So I broke it.
"If you have questions, now's your chance."
"I'm good," she muttered, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"No curiosity? No thoughts about control? About my methods? Justice in punishment?" I prodded again.
"I said, I'm good."
Her calm was grating. Not strength—just a defense.
I'd had enough.
I slammed the brakes.
The car screeched to a halt, jerking both of us forward.
She screamed as her seatbelt caught her.
Finally. A reaction.
"Are you insane?! Do you want to kill us?!" she shouted, scrambling to unbuckle.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
I didn't follow.
Middle of nowhere.
When she's done throwing her little tantrum, she'll come back.
They always do.
I leaned back, turned on the A/C, and started the timer.
Smirked.
---
Twenty-four minutes later, the passenger door swung open.
She sat down, arms folded tight, jaw clenched in silent fury.
I peeked at the timer. Not bad.
"Shall we go now, or do you need another screaming session?" I asked with a smirk.
She turned, her eyes like daggers.
"Take me home, Mr. Giovanni. I'd rather not breathe the same air as you a second longer."
"Don't tell me you did not enjoy the show back there, not even for a split second.
Come on, doctor, everyone has darkness inside them. Admit it." I urged.
"There is only one devil in here, Mr. Alessandro.
I wouldn't dream of taking your position.
Enjoy it and leave me out of it," she said vehemently.
"Oh well, what do I know?
My psychologist has diagnosed me with the devil syndrome.
Now, you have a vivid image of how a devil can be creative in his punishments." I answered her.
She rolled her eyes in disinterest…
I gave her a nod.
No more words.
She wanted to act strong, I'll let her think she can have it her way.
Let's see how long she can keep it up.
I hit the gas, tearing down the road well over the speed limit.
She clung to her seat, white-knuckled, as the world blurred past.
Because the devil, after all… has no heart.