El Padre Sin Cabeza Novels & Stories

Father had dismissed him without a thought and told him to see him outside his home when next made an appointment. Maestro lost it and tried confronting Thaddeus "El Diabolos" Delmundo into giving him a better offer. I watched in awe as Father grabbed a fork, stabbed his eye with excellent precision, and twisted. Maestro jerked his head backward in white-hot pain and yelled. That action had done damage because Father held on to the fork the eye of Maurice came away from its socket. Security threw him out and my Father popped the eye into his mouth and washed it down with wine. That was my first time witnessing the madness that was my father.

Father whispers his wife’s name, his tone pleading, his head shaking in disapproval. What are they hiding? What is my father so afraid of? “What?” Mother asks. “What if this is true, what if. . .what are you going to tell him?” Father inquires, his tone shaking. And that’s how I know: it’s my father who crossed that line. It’s Matteo Messina Denaro who has done something terribly wrong. My mother’s mouth pulls apart, but she’s unable to get her words in when I butt in. “Tell him about what?” I breathe. “Uncle Pablo’s death?”

Julian commanded, his voice shifting into that strict, unyielding tone that instantly made my knees weak. I turned my head slowly, my eyes fixing on the screen. Inside the brightly lit hospital room, my father was asleep, his frail chest rising and falling beneath a clean white blanket. A specialized medical team was adjusting an IV drip beside his bed, injecting the clear, expensive neuro-regulators that kept his mind from fracturing into nothingness.

Jones asked, looking around the hall. Santiago frowned, his joyful expression turned pale at the mention of his father’s name. He raised his eyes to answer their question about the whereabouts of his father, just then he could see his father walk right through the door with his usual manly demeanor, which he got from him. “Speak about the devil,” Santiago mumbled and raised his glass of wine to his mouth to drown it. “Mr. Serrano,” Mr. Jones raised his hand to Domingo who saw him immediately and walked directly to the table.

Third-Person POV Teyana froze instantly. She staggered backward several steps before quickly regaining her composure. "What nonsense are you talking about? Didn't he get into Mallard U? It must be Wesley! Wesley went insane and hid him away. That father-and-son duo is just trying to get my attention." Jacintha had never seen Teyana like this before. "I've seen Miles' death certificate," she replied, her voice trembling with fear. "A-As well as his cremation certificate…"

I forced myself to stand tall. “When will he wake up?” I asked the doctor. He looked at the chart, then at us. “He suffered a severe head trauma. The force threw him out of the vehicle. He’s in a coma. It’ll take time. A lot of time.” Mama let out a noise that didn’t sound human. Pietro moved to her quickly and murmured something in Italian that I couldn’t follow. I couldn’t move. My feet were glued to the floor. My hand stayed in his. My eyes stayed on his face.

"I'm not watching anymore. Turn it off." He shook his head, a smirk curling on his lips. "No." "This is funny." Funny? I repeated the word in my head, grimacing at the sound of it. Had he gone crazy? Falling out with him made me realize how shitty he was. But doing this to his own father—how could he be this cruel? If someone had told me he actually could, I'd have shaken my head. He may be a crazy bastard, unfaithful and a prick, but it was beyond my expectations that he'd have this side of him—darker, inhumane, and wicked.

“Manuel followed him one day, he wanted to see who gave a teenage boy drugs to sell. Dominic has also started using it and he was always high, he didn't even nitice his brother behind him. That day, Manuel came back angry.” “He told me, Mama. I am killing men so this man lesves my family alone, they still make my brother sell their drugs? He went to confront your father.” Katarina glances at me, her eyes still full of tears. “Did he come back?” She shook her head. “He didn't come back home to me. I waited and waited. I never saw my baby alive again. A few weeks later, I got a package. It was his head.” “My fucking evil father. “I can't even apologize.” I am sobbing too. “Dominic?”

“I’m here, Papa. I can't get back to you... I'm stuck and they blocked the south ridge... I tried...” “You left,” he said gently. The words hit my chest even harder. “I didn’t... I didn’t...” “You left,” he repeated. Behind him, shapes moved in the smoke, Alpha Kade's pack warriors were dragging bodies, laughing while tearing them open. One of them lifted something round and small by the hair. My breath stopped. It was a head. My father’s head. I looked back at the man in front of me, still standing, still looking at me with sad eyes.

The sound ripped out of me before I could stop it. Vincenzo looked down at him like he was filth. “Any daughter?” he repeated softly. Then he grabbed Father by the collar and hauled him back upright with terrifying ease. “I do not conduct deals with substitutions.” My vision blurred. The cathedral tilted. This was too much. Too loud. Too violent. Father bleeding. Rosalina crying. Mirabella shaking. Black suits. Gun. Vincenzo Marazona. My stomach lurched violently. A hand flew to my mouth.