Chapter 38: Green Monzter

It’s been days.

I’m sitting in Caterina’s office at the casino, the room spinning slightly at the edges of my vision. The walls are lined with monitors displaying security feeds from the casino floor, patrons moving like colorful fish in an aquarium. The massive mahogany desk between us gleams under the recessed lighting, its surface meticulously organized, not a paper out of place, not a speck of dust visible.

I look down and realize I’m dressed in a white suit to match Caterina’s. The fabric feels expensive against my skin, soft and weightless. My broken hands pointlessly hang to my side, the massive casts appearing stark and medical against the pristine white of my attire. They ache dully beneath the padding, a constant reminder of my punishment.

Caterina stands in front from me, her crimson eyes studying my face with that familiar mixture of possession and concern.

“Okay, baby,” she says, wiping her mouth delicately after giving me my pain pills, “today I only gave you what’s necessary. You should be lucid soon, okay?”

I sit there staring at her mouth like a trained dog, watching her lips form words with an intensity born of chemical dependence and fear. The pills are already working their way through my system, but something feels different. The fog isn’t as thick, the disconnection not as complete. I can feel my thoughts crystallizing, becoming sharper around the edges.

“Wait... no more?” I hear myself ask, the words slipping out before I can catch them.

She smiles, a predatory curve of perfect white teeth. “Oh, did you want more pills, baby?” Her voice is filled with false concern. “It’s just I want to take you out on a date today.”

“A date?” The concept seems foreign, a relic from another life. “Where?”

“I want you to pick,” she says, leaning forward slightly, her eyes never leaving my face.

The request catches me off guard. Choice is not something I’ve been allowed in... I can’t even remember how long. Days, weeks…Time has lost any semblance of meaning in the haze of medication and pain.

“I can choose?” My voice sounds small and uncertain, like a child being offered something too good to be true.

Caterina nods, her expression softening into something almost genuine. “Anywhere you want, baby. It’s your day.”

I stare at Caterina, my mind slowly clearing as the reduced medication allows me to think more coherently than I have in days. The office feels too bright suddenly.

I look up at her, confused. “It’s not my birthday.”

Caterina laughs, the sound musical and slightly unnerving. “No, it’s certainly not.”

She moves behind my chair, her hands coming to rest on my shoulders. I can feel her breath against my ear as she leans down, her lips almost touching my skin.

“If you could have one meal before you die,” she whispers like an oracle, “what would you want to eat?”

A chill runs through me despite the warmth of her breath. My heart stutters in my chest, the implication of her words hanging in the air between us.

“Is this my last meal?” I ask, my voice eerily calm, almost grateful for the possibility of an end.

“No!” she exclaims, panic flashing across her face as she spins my chair around to face her. “God, no! You’ve been so obedient.”

She kisses me suddenly, her lips soft against mine.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” she murmurs, kissing me again with increasing intensity. “You deserve something good.”

Her crimson eyes search mine, looking for something I’m not sure I can give. “I can take you anywhere you can imagine.”

I think for a moment, memories filtering through the uppers and downers. A strange nostalgia washes over me for simpler times, for normalcy that feels alien now.

“On Route One,” I say slowly, “there’s a restaurant called Prince Pizza. It has the fake Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

Caterina’s shoulders slouch visibly, disappointment written across her perfect features. “You want me to take you to Princess Pizza?”

I swallow hard, suddenly afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake. “If I say yes, are you going to hammer me again?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, but I catch the flash of something dark behind the gesture. “Good boys don’t get the hammer, remember?”

Caterina leans down, closing the distance between us with a fluid grace that reminds me of a predator. Her lips capture mine in a kiss that starts gently but quickly deepens into something hungry and possessive. Her tongue slides against mine, tasting faintly of mint and expensive coffee. The kiss is thorough, deliberate, the kind that leaves me breathless and confused about whether I should be terrified or aroused.

When she finally pulls away, her crimson eyes gleam something between love and resignation.

“If my lover wants to eat shitty pizza on Route 1 at a 2-star restaurant,” she says with a dramatic sigh, “then who am I to say no?”

Her words hang between us, the term “lover” feeling both wrong and right in ways I can’t articulate.

“Princess Pizza it is,” she declares, her tone suggesting she’s making some grand sacrifice. “Though I could have taken you to Paris for dinner, you know. Actual Paris.”

“We’d never make it in time.” I ponder her point.

“True.” She adds with a smile.

I stare up at her, trying to determine if this is some elaborate trap. “Really? We can go to Prince?"

“Princess.” She corrects me while reaching for her phone. “Of course. Let me tell Lara to bring the car around.”

As she texts Lara, I look down at my casted hands resting uselessly in my lap. The white plaster seems to glow under the office lights, a constant reminder of what happens when I disobey. The thought of being in public with these casts makes my stomach twist with anxiety.

“People will stare,” I say quietly when she ends her call.

Caterina tilts her head, studying me with those unsettling eyes. “At what? Your casts?” She waves dismissively. “Everyone will just assume you had an accident. Rock climbing or something equally feminine and stupid.”

*****

The mid-October sun feels alien against my skin as we step out of the casino’s private entrance, like I’m experiencing daylight for the first time after years in captivity.

The black SUV waits at the curb, engine purring quietly, its tinted windows reflecting the casino’s golden façade. Lara holds the door open, her wild red hair tamed into a professional bun today, though her eyes still dance with that barely contained mania. Maddy stands beside her, immaculate in her tailored suit, her sharp features arranged in a carefully neutral expression.

“Hey, Boss,” they say in unison as Caterina approaches, their eyes sliding past me as if I’m merely an accessory she’s chosen to wear today.

Caterina pauses, her grip tightening slightly on my arm. “You’re not going to say hi to the man that loves me?” she asks, her voice carrying that dangerous edge that makes my stomach clench with pavlovian fear.

I don’t even wince at the reminder of those drugged words that slipped from my lips as I blasted inside her. Words I can never take back, words that have become another chain binding me to her.

Lara’s face splits into a wide grin, her blue eyes fixing on me with sudden interest. “So you finally confessed to Boss, eh?” She leans against the car door, studying me with the fascination of someone observing an exotic specimen at a zoo. “About time.”

Maddy’s smile is more restrained but no less unsettling. “Congratulations,” she offers, her voice smooth as polished stone. “Love always seems so nice.”

Caterina helps me into the SUV’s plush interior, careful not to jostle my busted hands. The leather seats feel cool against my back as I sink into them, grateful for the momentary respite from standing. The effort of walking from the office to the car has left me embarrassingly winded.

Caterina slides in beside me, her thigh pressing against mine as the door closes, sealing us into our private bubble. She settles against me, her body radiating warmth through the thin fabric of my white suit.

Lara and Maddy slide into the back seat across from us, filling the spacious SUV with their distinctive presence. Lara sprawls across the leather, all languid limbs and predatory energy, while Maddy sits with military precision, her spine straight and hands folded neatly in her lap.

The SUV navigates through downtown Boston’s congested streets, the tinted windows transforming the bright afternoon into something softer, more muted.

Caterina’s hand finds my fore arm, her fingers carefully sliding between the edge of my cast and my wrist, finding that patch of exposed skin. The touch is possessive, deliberate, meant to remind everyone present of our connection.

“I love you,” she says suddenly, her voice filling the quiet interior of the SUV. The words hang in the air, heavy and expectant.

Without missing a beat, I turn to meet her crimson gaze. “I love you too,” I respond, the lie coming easier now, practiced and automatic. My voice doesn’t even shake anymore.

‘If I don’t say it, I’d be a bad boy. And bad boys get the hammer. And I’m never getting the hammer again.’

The words don’t even feel bad anymore. I’ve clearly been saying it to her all the time in my drugged stupor. I stare at Caterina’s lips as I feel a warmth spread throughout my body.

Lara makes a gagging sound from the back seat, her blue eyes rolling dramatically. “Nah, love is overrated,” she declares, examining her short, practical nails with exaggerated interest. “Give me a good one-night stand any day.”

Caterina’s expression shifts, the warmth in her eyes cooling to something dangerous as she turns to regard her lieutenant. “Lara, please don’t brag about raping men in front of my lover,” she says, her voice deceptively soft, like velvet wrapped around a razor blade.

The temperature in the SUV seems to drop several degrees. Lara’s face flushes almost as red as her hair, her eyes widening with what might be genuine shock.

“I wasn’t gonna!” she protests, sitting up straighter, her usual manic energy momentarily subdued. “I’m not a pig. I’m a lady. I only rape the bad ones.”

I stare at Lara, a strange detachment settling over me. The drugs have worn off just enough that I can feel a spark of curiosity cutting through the fog. With nothing left to lose, I decide to engage.

“What do you mean you only rape the bad ones?” I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.

The SUV falls silent. Maddy shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between Lara and Caterina. Caterina’s fingers tighten slightly around my forearm, but she doesn’t interrupt.

Lara’s manic grin returns, spreading across her face like an oil slick. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, suddenly eager to explain herself to a captive audience.

“See, there’s different kinds of men in life,” she begins, her blue eyes shimmering with an unsettling intensity. “The good ones like you’ve become, they’re rare. Precious little things that need protection and care.” She gestures toward Caterina. “But the bad ones? The ones who think they can hurt women, who think they’re entitled to our time, our money, our respect? Those are the ones I hunt.”

Lara gestures wildly with her hands, her eyes growing wider with each word. “It’s like a public service, really. I’m teaching lessons to men who’ve forgotten their place in the world.”

“She just rapes anyone she hates in the moment,” Maddy scoffs, cutting through Lara’s justification with surgical precision. Her green eyes flash with something between disgust and resignation. “Last week it was a barista who got her coffee order wrong.”

Lara’s face contorts with indignation. “He put WHOLE milk in my latte when I specifically asked for oat milk! That’s basically assault! I’m off lactose, for Christ’s sake!”

“You literally ‘assaulted’ him,” Maddy counters, her voice maintaining that professional calm that somehow makes her words more devastating.

“Enough of this conversation,” Caterina interjects, her crimson eyes narrowing dangerously. Her arm slides protectively around my shoulders. “He’s just a man. He can’t handle this disgusting locker room talk.”

The SUV falls silent, the tension hanging heavy in the air. I try to process the casual way they discuss violating men, the same way some men might discuss conquests over beers.

‘Nah. I have never heard anyone brag about raping women. This world is cooked.’

Caterina turns to me, her expression softening into that practiced tenderness that always follows her moments of cruelty. “Honey, how would you like to go to Italian Grand Prix to watch my cousin race next month?”

I look at her blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”

Her perfect lips curve into an indulgent smile as though my ignorance is somehow endearing.

“It’s a race in the city of Monza,” she explains, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “Formula One. The most prestigious racing competition in the world. My cousin Valentina is one of the top drivers.”

I study her face. “You’re telling, not asking, right?”

Something flickers in her crimson eyes, surprise, perhaps, that I’ve become perceptive enough to recognize the difference. “Yes,” she admits without hesitation. “Typically, with the Monza race, I check in with a lot of the other families, and of course, you will come one way or another.”

I nod slowly, understanding the subtext. Other families means other crime bosses, other monsters like her. And I am to be displayed like a trophy, evidence of her dominance and control.

“Sounds good,” I say listlessly, slowly getting used to my lack of control in life.

Caterina pulls me in close.

“Hopefully, the casts will come off in time for the race.”