Chapter 22

I rush into my room, slamming the door behind me, panting a little with anxiety as I spin and stare at the doorknob. What – what the hell is happening!?

I attune my ears, instinctually, towards the living room, desperate to know what is happening. Even though Christian wants to keep me away from this, my hands itch to go back to the door, to open it, to peek out – just to get a hint.

I mean, am I in danger here?

Should I…should I be doing something? Should I be hiding under the bed? Or –

I groan, panic starting to lace through my veins and making me shake all over. This mafia life with all its twists and turns – I’m not sure I was mad for it.

I close my eyes so I can concentrate on the muffled sounds coming from the living room. Three voices I recognize – Christian, cool and cold, Frankie and Nico, clipped and frantic. And then a fourth – deep, but desperate. The tones I can all hear, but the words – I can’t quite make them out.

Who the hell is here? And why have I been hidden away?

My eyes fly open and I look around the room, wondering why I can hear anything at all with the door closed…and then my eyes land on the heating vent, high up on the wall, connected to the living room.

Yes, I think, an absurd sense of glee mixing with my panic as I realize that the noises are coming from there – not from beneath the crack in the door. These new build high-rise homes, they certainly cut corners on construction, don’t they?

Unable to stop myself – and frankly, not really wanting to – I hurry over to the wall below the vent, desperate to hear. The voices are louder, but no clearer. I curse under my breath and then look around the room, trying to find something I can stand on…

But there’s not much. My eyes instantly light on the heavy dresser as my only option and I grab it, wedging my fingers into the tiny gap beneath it left by the short legs. I put all my not-very-substantial weight into pulling it, but it doesn’t move much. I try again, hauling with all my might, and get a few good inches out of it –

And maybe – maybe it’s just enough. Looking up at the grate, I scramble on top of the dresser and lean out over the open air, my fingers digging into the dusty edge of the heating vent as I balance on my toes on the dresser, thanking my years of dance for giving me a pretty good sense of balance.

My eyes go wide at the scene before me, which I can see in slatted lines through the matching heating grate on the other side. Before me, Christian, Frankie, and Nico stand in a semicircle around a man. They’ve pushed the coffee table hurriedly to the side and the man kneels before them, his hands zip-tied behind his back. The man seems to be crying, hanging his head, his shoulders shaking.

But Christian? His face is all harsh lines, all cruelty. My eyes go wide – I’ve never seen him like that before, not ever.

And then, to my shock, Christian cocks his arm back and delivers a crushing punch to the man’s face. The man’s face snaps to the side, blood flying from his mouth. I gasp, but manage to bite it back so that no one can hear me.

I rebalance myself, and then just watch.

“Where the fuck is the money, Lorenzo,” Christian growls.

“I don’t have it,” the man murmurs from his bloody mouth in a thick Italian accent, shaking his head and not looking up at Christian. “I’m sorry – it’s gone -”

“It had better not be gone,” Nico snaps, his arms crossed as he glares down at the man, disgust all over his face. “That was not yours to take – why did you think you could fucking get away with this? Did you think we wouldn’t find you!?”

The man just cries, shaking his head, not answering because he clearly doesn’t have an answer to give.

Or at least, not the answer they want.

“Where did you stash it?” Christian asks now, his voice raising to demonstrate his rage. “This will go easier on you if you tell us, Lorenzo. You’re still going to pay – but if we get the money back your children won’t pay too.”

The man cries harder at this.

“Come on, man,” Frankie says, kneeling down by the man’s side, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “Just tell us, it will all be okay.” I watch in fascination, shocked to see Frankie be kind even in these moments. He really is a good guy.

The man doesn’t say anything though. Frankie looks up at Christian, who nods to him, and faster than I can see Frankie’s arm darts down towards the man’s hands tied behind his back. Frankie grips one of the man’s fingers and gives it a sharp jerk to the side, snapping it instantly. The man screams, his head tilting back on his neck, and I gasp, my shoulders starting to shake even as I cling to the vent, fascinated and horrified by the scene before me.

Frankie, sweet, funny Frankie!? Snapping fingers!?

What the hell is going on in this world?

“We can go all night,” Frankie whispers in the man’s ear, grinning maniacally now as he stands up. “You’ve got ten fingers and ten toes, Lorenzo, and all sorts of other soft, useful bits I’m sure you’d want to preserve.”

The man just sobs, shaking his head, clearly in agony. “The money’s gone,” he cries, desperate, his voice hitching, “it’s spent – I’m so sorry – we were in so much debt – I needed it.”

“And what are we, your fucking bank?” Nico shouts, livid. But Christian puts a hand out on Nico’s chest, stopping him.

“We know you’re lying, ‘Enzo,” Christian says, perfectly calm. My eyebrows go up to see the equanimity with which he handles himself, even in a situation like this. “I’ve got your bank records – you haven’t paid off a dime of your mortgage, your insane credit card debt. That money – you’ve got it stashed somewhere. Planning to go back to Italy, hmm? Leave your American debt behind?”

The man cries harder now, sobbing really. My fingers start to ache, but I just hold on tighter, desperate to see.

“You’ve got choices now,” Christian says, his voice even softer than it was before, more dangerous. “Because your debt is increasing with every minute that you waste my time. Time is money, after all, in this world. And,” he casually holds a hand out towards Frankie, who reaches into his pocket and produces a switch blade, placing it in Christian’s hand. Slowly, Christian opens it. “In addition to that, you’re now going to incur a fee for my butchering services. For every. Single. Cut.”

And before I can even process what’s happening, Christian flashes the blade out, slashing it across Lorenzo’s cheek in a long gash. Lorenzo screams, blood spurting from his wound and splashing in a red stream across Christian’s perfectly pressed suit, dripping all over the floor.

Another shriek sounds, and I’m already losing my balance on the dresser before I realize that it came from my mouth. Instantly, Christian’s head flashes up, his eyes locking on the vent.

My eyes go wide.