Page 1 of Psychotic Faith
1 - Luca
The man screams again, but it’s getting weaker now. Disappointing.
"You said she has 'dick-sucking lips.'" I test the edge of the blade against my thumb, drawing a thin line of blood. "Those were your exact words at the coffee shop. Tuesday. 9:41 a.m."
He thrashes against the restraints, eyes wild with the kind of terror that used to mean something to me. Used to make me feel alive, back when I could feel anything at all. "I don't even know who you're talking about!"
"That's the point." I set the blade down, select a different tool. Precision matters. "You didn't even know her name when you said it. Didn't notice her flinch. Didn't see her day ruined by your existence."
The basement smells like bleach and fear. Four a.m. Most people are sleeping, but I haven't had a proper night's sleep in ten years. Not since the massacre. Not since my father stopped breathing.
Insomnia has its uses, though. Gives me more hours to perfect my craft.
Twenty-two nights I've been watching her. Faith Winters. Twenty-three years old. Librarian. Sunday school teacher. Daughter of the judge who thinks he can bring down my family.
Mine.
The word appeared in my mind three weeks ago, uninvited and absolute. I was handling a situation at St.Mary's—some dealer thought consecrated ground meant neutral territory. Hewas wrong. But then I saw her through the window, reading to a circle of children, afternoon light making her golden hair glow like something holy.
Something broke inside me. Or maybe something finally clicked into place.
"Please," the man whimpers, bringing me back to the present. "I have money—"
"I have more." I pick up the pliers. "What you have is three minutes left to live. Maybe four if you disappoint me again by passing out."
Marco's footsteps echo down the stairs before he appears. My oldest brother never makes noise unless he wants to. It's a warning, a courtesy between family.
"It's late, Luca." His tone carries that particular weight of disapproval mixed with resignation. He stopped trying to change me years ago.
"It's early, actually." I don't look up from my work. "But then, you know I don't sleep anymore."
"The judge's daughter?" Marco steps into the light, Armani suit still perfect despite the hour. "I heard you've been… attentive."
"I've been necessary."
"You've been reckless. Three bodies in two weeks, all connected to her routine. Her father's already investigating us for last month's shipment. You're giving him ammunition."
The man on the table makes a gurgling sound. Still breathing. Good.
"Six bodies," I correct. "You missed the barista who stared too long, the drunk who touched her arm at the crosswalk, and the delivery driver who made her uncomfortable. This makes seven."
Marco's silence stretches. Then: "You've lost your mind."
"I lost that ten years ago." The night our father died. The night everything changed. Marco knows this.
"This is different," he says finally.
He's right. It is different. Until now, I've been the family ghost. The psycho brother who handles the wet work, who does what needs doing without feeling anything at all. I work through the endless nights, perfect my methods, serve the family.
But then I saw her.
"The judge—" Marco starts.
"Won't be a problem."
"He's pushing for federal involvement. He knows something about our operations."
"He knows nothing about his own daughter." The words slip out before I can stop them. Because Judge Winters doesn't know that she has secrets of her own.
