Of volume lineage

Isabella spluttered her response, but I had already entered my study when I heard her yell out, “Maybe I will use that lock!”

 

Night provided cover for my men and I as we moved through the shipping crates. Shadows twisted and turned around the shipyard, but I knew my way around this labyrinth. I had always seen the beauty in committing evil deeds in a place that was ever changing. There was no evidence to find because the evidence was moved onto trucks or ships, never to be in the same place again.

Capo Domenico Giordano stood in front of a faded red crate, his eyes tracking the world around him. When he spotted me, he bowed his head in respect.

“We didn’t rough him up…too bad.”

I inclined my head. “Did you find any evidence of Vitale Senior?”

“Nothing, sir. I think it’s fair to believe they separated ways.”

As did I. Smart but it made my job harder. “Let me see him then.”

Domenico yanked open the crate, the door groaning. It was a large crate but narrow in diameter. A torch dangled from the roof, casting a spotlight over a slumped figure. In the darkness, a small table stood with a collection of torture devices spread over it.

Domenico and Jacopo stepped inside with me, resting against the doors and remaining in the darkness. Junior wasn’t leaving but it was always good to minimize how many faces we let our enemies see.

Vitale’s son wasn’t a remarkable young man. He had gotten his mother’s more classical features, giving him a forever boyish look. He had tried to look older than his thirty by growing a beard and allowing scarring to form over his skin, but his cheeks remained chubby and his eyes wide.

I stared down at him until he lifted his head. Blood stained his face and his right eye was puffy, but other than that, he was in good shape.

Not for long.

“Bastard,” was how he greeted me.

“Vitale Junior,” I greeted in return. I didn’t care about him enough to trade insults. “Where is your father?”

He set his jaw stubbornly. It was the same way Isabella set hers.

Silence reigned.

Whether he answered or not didn’t matter to me. If he answered truthfully, I would spend my time hunting for his father. If he lied, I got to torture him and then go and hunt his father. Either way, I could not really lose. The only loser here was Junior, even if he was having trouble coming to terms with it.

After another moment of silence, I headed towards the table, rolling up my sleeves as I did. An array of weapons were laid out before me. I had favorites but this situation called for one of the more chilling items. The longer Vitale was free, the more support he would gain.

I picked up the needle and made my way to Junior. He went pale at the sight of it, scrambling backwards.

“Not even your sister has shown such fear,” I said to him, a little bit disgusted in his terror. This was the man they wanted to rule instead of me? Lombardis had let traditionalism warp their common sense.

“Leave her alone,” he hissed. “This is between the men. Not Izzy.”

Izzy. I grabbed his right hand, letting him struggle before tightening my grip. “She disagrees.”

“She is a child–”

“And no longer your concern.” My tone was hard. “But do you know what your concern is now?” I pressed the point of the needle beneath his fingertips, the skin giving way as his scream pierced the air. “Me.”

When I removed the needle, he shuddered in relief and pain. Needles under the fingertips did hurt. My brother used to do it to Leo and me when we were children. But out of all his torturous methods, a needle under the fingertips had been on the softer side of things. I never would’ve shown such a visceral reaction in front of my tormentor–it would’ve delighted Gasparo too much.

“Where is your father?”

Junior choked out, “Go fuck yourself.”

I pierced the skin again, watching the point of the needle darken his nail beds. His scream grew higher.

“Where is your father?” I asked again.

No answer. Another fingernail. Another scream.

The process went on for hours, until his nails were a bloody mess and the needle was unusable from damage. Junior proved to have more grit than I originally gave him credit for. However, we had only just begun.

After the needle, I took out a knife. I warmed it on a match, letting the silver blade glow a faint orange.

“Where is your father?” I asked once more.

Junior was shaking but still managed to hiss.

“Very well then.” With little ceremony, I pressed the knife through his pinkie, slicing it off. You would be surprised how much strength you had to put into cutting off a finger. The bone and muscle gave way, blood squirting over the floor.

Junior screamed once again, his vocal cords giving out halfway, so he looked like a silent gaping fish.

“Where is your father?”

His body let out involuntary shivers as the shock and pain spread throughout his body.

I heated up the knife once more, the yellow gleam illuminating the entire crate. Junior was the color of concrete but when he spotted the other torture devices, he seemed to go even grayer.

I posed the knife over his other hand, angling it–

“Sicily,” he blurted. “He’s….Sicily.”

“Where in Sicily?”

“E

No doubt Vitale went to gain support and manpower. It was best to believe he had been successful and that I needed to prepare for the worst.

I laid down the knife and Junior gave a sigh of relief.

Domenico stepped forward, gun palmed.

“No.”

My capo sent me a bewildered look. “No, sir?”

“His death doesn’t belong to you or I.” I wiped my hands with the paper towels we kept with the torture instruments on. “Keep him alive until I return.”

 

“Let go of me!” Isabella’s howl disrupted the quiet hush of waves and distant sounds of traffic. She let out another furious scream as Gustavo yanked her out of the car, his face flushed with frustration. Claw marks grazed his cheek.

“Calm down,” he hissed.

Isabella managed to get free of his grip and went sprawling to the ground. She was dressed in a silk dressing gown, paired with feathery slippers of the same color. Beneath her unbound hair, her eyes were round with hatred, but beneath the anger, fear lurked.

“Leave me–!”

“Isabella,” I commanded.

She snapped her head to me, face paling several shades before she curled her lip back. “You’re going to kill me, Giova

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Isabella paused, wariness entering her expression. “Then why have you pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night and taken me here?” She glanced at the boats that surrounded the docks and shrunk away. “What are you going to do to me?”

I stepped closer, crouching down to her level, and twisting my shoulders so she had some privacy from my men. She looked up at me, eyes filled to the brim with feelings I couldn’t even name. Fear and anger I knew, but the desolate sadness was new to me. Almost like she felt betrayed.

“I’m not going to kill you, Isabella. Gustavo shouldn’t have given you that impression.” He would be punished, I decided, though I wasn’t one hundred percent sure why.

Isabella wrapped her arms around herself but kept her chin high. “What are you going to do then?” Her eyes darted over my shoulder, taking in the half a dozen soldati that surrounded us. I knew the fears that were ru