My name's Frank Montagna and Janice Louise Montagna my wife of twelve years, is a bona fide slut. I don't think she always was one, but she is now. I caught her with one of her lovers a while back. He was a tall, black man, and he was pounding her good while she screamed to high heavens that she wanted more, and harder.

I met Janice back when in high school, I was the right guard on our football team and Janice was one of the cheerleaders. I was big for my age, at 16; I was 6' even, and weighed exactly at 200 pounds. I was also very quick on my feet. Where I grew up was a small town in Western New York, and we had a giant melting pot of people living there. We had Swedish, Norwegian, Italian, Irish, English, and German descendants who had lived there for at least four or five generations. As a result, we had a good mix of people living there. Furthermore, our town was one of the stops on the underground railway for escaping and free slaves during and immediately after the Civil War. So like I said we were a pretty good melting pot of people.

My mother was a typical Swedish woman; she was 6'-4" tall, and around 250; my father was of Italian descent and 5'-8" and 170. My sister Elizabeth Anne is 5'6" and almost 200 pounds now. Me, I'm more like 6'-2 and 210. Now in this town, our population is about 35%, the Italians and the rest about 10% for each of the rest of our descendants. Needless to say that there is an underground of shall we say 'pushed nose, wink, wink' people. Okay, I'll say it out we have quite a few wise guys in town. I'm proud to say I am one of them.

Anyway, Janice and I hooked up in our junior year, and we never looked back. Janice was very nice and was of Scotch-Irish but my family, although Catholic we aren't the going to church, except on Easter and Midnight Mass on Christmas and a few other special holidays.

I thought things were fine until I came home a day early on a five-day run. That's when I caught her with her boy toy of the moment. Me, I was smart when I caught my wife, fucking him. I took pictures with my camera, the video was rewarding.

You see, before I caught the slut fucking a black guy in my bed, I had gotten, a whiff of her cheating on me. A guy I knew had said something to someone about visiting her the weekend before, while I was out of town. He didn't know that I had heard him, and he shut up after I sat down next to him.

After everyone but him left, I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Vito, if you don't give me the full details, you will be a dead man but dinner time.

He knew that I meant what I said; he broke down saying he was sorry, that he had fucked my wife. He also told me that she had in addition fucked ten other guys whom we had hung around with, and had been doing it for years.

Now we had two kids, (one of each) so I started to think that they may not be mine. I had them checked, for DNA, without them knowing why.

I told them that I had a crazy immune problem, and that it could be hereditary. So they went along with that. I found out that only my son Frank Jr. was mine. Deirdre Elizabeth was not mine, who the father is I have no idea.

Anyway, two months after catching the slut, I started my revenge. One guy name Tony Luke he owned a pizza parlor; his place went up in smoke.

He was arrested and charged with arson. They found the gas can with his fingerprints on it, in his car trunk. I was a lock smith for two years and know how to pick a lock real quick.

Rubber gloves work best to cover finger prints.

Then, there was Charlie Daily, he was a painter, you know bridges and such. Well, he went up high one day, and his harness broke he fell three stories, and broke his back. He would never walk again.

It then came to Bennie Santiago, he was a roofer; he was doing a siding job, on a cornice when someone knocked over the ladder he was on, he too fell three floors, onto the side walk. He broke both legs, right arm, and lost his left eye, and seven front teeth.

I visited him in the hospital, and in his weakened condition, told him if he didn't disappear he would get another treatment. The fear on his face was great. He never said anything about it, but left the state, two weeks later after he got out of the hospital.

Then, came Tom Zarofo, he was a biker; I had ridden with for many years. Someone put insulin in a box of Girl Scout cookies; he was big on them, and would share them with anyone. He had a stroke, and when he tried to say something, he was a blithering idiot after that. He did die two years later, from an overdose of drugs. Nothing I had anything to do with.