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He emptied the last of Adriana's wine. Before he could muster up the self control to delete the message, Christopher pressed play on the answering machine again. Tony's angry voice filled the room for the fourth time.
Who the fuck do you think you are, you motherfucker? You think I owe you some kind of fucking explanation when I don't even give one to my wife? I told you that your precious fiancée wasn't giving me a blowjob before the car crash, and that should more than suffice, you little prick. Now, unless you get your ass over here in 30 minutes, the guys will come get you, and you have my word that it won't be pretty.
“Fuck you,” he muttered darkly, throwing the machine into the wall.
Christopher was so sick and tired of the shit his so-called uncle put him through. Of course the man wasn't really his uncle in blood, or they wouldn't be having this problem in the first place.
Christopher wasn't an idiot. He fully acknowledged Tony's position and it wasn't like he was expecting a relationship or monogamy or some other shit like that. He might not have liked it when Tony banged strippers and his mistresses and whoever he did. But he tolerated it. Yet, the man had to fucking go after Christopher's fiancée of all people. It was like Tony was deliberately trying to humiliate him.
It was the last straw.
He was rummaging the cupboards for more booze, when he heard the inevitable sound of people breaking down the door. Let them come, he didn't give a shit. He found half-empty bottle of scotch, and he'd had time to finish it by the time Paulie was pointing the gun in his face.
**
He was down on his knees on the ground, away from the city and any witnesses except for the ones who were sure not to talk. His whole body was hurting and it was Tony who stood over him with a gun.
This was it, he was sure of it. There was nothing surprising about it – he'd always expected to meet his end in Tony's hands, the same ones that gave him everything and took everything from him twice over.
His mind was blissfully blurry from the alcohol and the drugs, and he didn't care to follow what the man was saying. He knew only crawling could save him now, and there was no will left in him for that. He'd given his all to this man, his body and his mind, to use as he pleased. This was low enough, and if the best use Tony could think for his body was lifeless and buried in pieces at several different locations, then he would give him that, too.
Christopher almost laughed when Tony swore and turned away. He could see that the man wasn't going to kill him after all. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed.
Steady arms dragged him up and shoved him onto the back seat of a car none too gently. The adrenaline relinquished its grip on him, suddenly, and he lost consciousness.
When he woke up, he wasn't in the car anymore, the surface under him hard and steady concrete. He felt nauseous and desperate for a drink.
There had been kicks to his ribs before, that much he could remember, but now he was shaken like a ragdoll in Tony's hands. He wasn't dull anymore, and it hurt like hell.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?” Tony turned Christopher's head until he had no choice but to look him in the eye. He felt the tears come, not sure whether to expect more pain, but Tony's fingers brushed against his cheek, almost like a caress.
He was shoved on the floor, on hands and knees, and he struggled to keep himself from falling down, well aware of what was to come. He grit his teeth against the pain when Tony's cock shoved into him, tearing him open and raw, the strong hands clutching into his sides the only thing holding him together as he was taken.
I hate you I love you I hate you. He was pretty sure that he said at least one of those things when Tony was fucking him. None of it mattered anyway.