Sadism. Such a malevolent curiosity had never really appealed to Schibetta. Sure, he was a man of honour. A man who believed in revenge; family. To see one’s enemies perish was always nice - but to enjoy it? Peter had never really enjoyed it, per se.
But this?
Oh, this was to be relished.
First his friend, the ever-faithful priest and then his mother, too. Beautiful Suzanne. Lovely, understanding Suzanne. Who had coached Peter with his acting, held his hand and listened to his tales about his own mother and father. The one’s he had lost. The subjects of his vengeance. Suzanne was a sweet lady, too. The sort that Peter would have never seen the death of in ‘the real world.’ Alas, it was nothing personal, only business.
It was personal.
Ryan O-fucking-Reily. Criminal rat and scammer of all. One of the sons-of-bitches who had murdered his father. The other half, prematurely disposed. Though Peter would torture Ryan enough for the two of them.
After cursing Cyril; promising him the stitch-work of his wife’s nanna on his beloved Jericho (that disgusting sock-puppet), Peter had observed with interest as the man had later croaked during one of his ‘electro-therapy’ sessions. What a way to go. The Italian could only imagine the smell.
But even amidst each of the deaths and all of their infliction upon his enemy, Peter didn’t smile. There was no need - they were innocent - to an extent.. Examples of the agony put unto him previously by his enemy’s actions.
Seeing Ryan O’Reily with the red eyes of mourning and a limp in his step, had bought a twinge to Peter’s lips. A crook in the corner of his mouth - something akin to a grin. Close, but not quite there.
“And when you can’t stand the grief one more moment...
A truth to be told; the Evil-Eye was to be feared. And shit, it would be feared. Ryan had watched his fucking step around the once disgraced Peter Schibetta. The damn fool had even tried manipulating his way into killing off his own foe, but hell had that worked. Setting the curse on him had been easy - O’Reily had a lot of enemies and in Emerald City, a man’s cell is not simply his own.
Not to mention and much to Peter’s joy - it almost seemed as if Ryan had been wishing to die.
The curse had been easy to place; a hit easier to call than any other. The man who had killed his father? Who had worked in tow with that filthy fucking rapist? Beautiful. Peter couldn’t think of a more justified death. Beneath the age-old curse of a family. His enemies destroyed in a true, Sicilian way. For that, he should run the gang again.
It had been tempting to remove Gloria from the situation, too. The doctor for whom Ryan had pined after, but Peter had been inspired to do differently. His mind’s eye had been guided by the wise Sister Pete. After he’d sat with Gloria and spoke to her about the woes of their trials...they had really bonded. Weekly meetings, casual encounters. The sort of relationship that’d make a man like Ryan jealous. Every time Peter had spoken with the beautiful Dr.Nathan, he’d made sure to tell O’Reily all about it.
Peter simply connected more with her, that was all. Ryan wouldn’t understand. He was too...
ignorant?
Yeah, Peter would say he was too ignorant.
The curse had worked magnanimously on Ryan. Who knew a ‘heart attack’ would catch up to the poor guy so soon into his thirties? Supposedly - and this was only rumours - he’d been writhing on the floor of his cell in complete agony for a good hour before the CO’s had noticed anything was up. Some of the guys said that you could smell the piss and the shit from the pod’s across the balcony...
what a way to go.
And Gloria had been the one to seal the bodybag.
Spectacular. Beautiful, just beautiful.
Sadism? To find pain and misery in others enjoyable? Could Peter ever bask in such a thing - could he ever understand such a notion?
Until now, he hadn’t. But shit, it’d felt good to do unto Ryan as he had done unto him.
Revenge was bliss; Release. Acceptance and healing, all in one.
And a curse? Well...what a way to do it.
- I’ll put it on you.”
