A Madness of Crows: Mafia University #3

2. Day 0 – Caterina

The barking is the first thing that registers as Salvatore drags me from the car, his hand gripping my upper arm when I stumble, the sharp stones digging into the pads of my bare feet. My heels have vanished, lost in the struggle and left in the car behind me as I look up.

Dozens of dogs, leashed and vicious-looking, stroll the perimeter of the metal-gray fortress that rises above us. Each controlled by equally vicious-looking men in black with guns strapped to their chests.

There is no softness, no decoration. Nothing that conveys any sense of home about the building in front of me.

Just those endless gray walls that rise up into the air; small, narrow windows built in at irregular intervals.

It looks like a prison. I stare up, expressionless, as Salvatore brushes my hair back. His breath grazes my throat. “Welcome home, Caterina.”

The men standing around us glance at me quickly before looking away. There’s curiosity there, but they say nothing as Salvatore steers me to where a woman waits, flanked by two faceless soldiers.

She smiles at Salvatore, red lips stretching into a purr. “A new arrival. Who do we have here?”

There’s only ice in her eyes as she looks at me. Her black hair tumbles in neat curls down either side of her face, pale skinned and elfin. She looks a little older than I am, but impossible to know for sure. She glances back at Stefano, a question unvoiced on her pursed lips.

“Cecile, this is Caterina. My wife.”

The woman blanches. There’s actual jealousy in her eyes, her lip curling up as she scans me again, this time wary. “I see.”

I don’t say anything at all as I stare back at her. In her sleek, fitted green dress, her six-inch elegant black heels, she looks far too comfortable in this environment to be an ally.

My assumption is confirmed when Salvatore thrusts me towards her. The men on either side step forwards, taking hold of my arms. “Get her ready and then bring her up.”

Cecile raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Downstairs?”

I glance at Salvatore, catching his nod as he starts towards the house. “We’ll discuss her training later.”

My lips press together as Cecile eyes me again. Something vicious lingers in her gaze. “Wonderful.”

No, this woman will not be an ally.

I look all around me as I’m pulled forward. Looking for any gaps, anything that might give me an advantage if I can get away. The tall wooden gates built into the wall open as Salvatore disappears inside without looking back, and the men drag me after him. Cecile walks ahead of us, her hips swaying as she clicks her fingers impatiently. “Come.”

As if I can do anything else with their hands on me. “Are you talking to me or the dog?”

She turns at my snide tone. Feigned surprise sits on her face as she strolls to my side, The guards pause.

Her fingers shoot out, gripping my chin between sharp, vivid red nails. Cecile leans in close to me, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her deep blue eyes.

“We,” she murmurs, “are going to be such good friends, Caterina.”

There’s a promise in the curve of her lips as she turns from me. I keep my mouth shut as I pass through the gates into a cobbled courtyard. There are men everywhere, as if this is a military base and not a Cosa Nostra stronghold.

I know why.

My suspicions - the nausea churning in my stomach - both only grow stronger as I’m pulled through another set of doors, this time emerging into a dim hallway. The straight concrete floor, void of carpet or anything resembling comfort seems to go on for miles, the brass lamps adorning the walls the only decoration to be seen.

“Cheery,” I mutter as I’m almost carried along. Cecile opens one of the many doors, revealing a concrete staircase.

“I’m glad you think so,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Since you’ll be spending a lot of time here.”

We descend the steps, curving down and around, until we reach a locked set of steel bars. A guard steps forward to unlock it for Cecile, and she sweeps past him.

It takes me a moment to place the sound that echoes around us.

Breathing.

Lots of breathing. Muffled, shuddering, slow.

And the—

My own breath stops in my lungs. Cut short, as I look to either side of me. The men don’t stop, don’t even glance, too used to the sight as they drag me along.

Faces stare back at me. So many faces.

Gaunt. Shadowed. Lost.

Red haired, blonde, brunette. Green, blue, brown eyes skate over me, dull and lifeless.

The vomit rushes up my throat, pooling in my mouth as Cecile pauses in front of another door. “In you go.”

One girl stares out at me, her eyes brighter than the rest and her hands curled around the bars of her cage. Cecile notices, and the girl skitters back as her hand smashes against the bars without looking down.

My face is full of the disgust that swallows up every thought, my mouth filled with the knowledge that the Asante family are truly the traffickers everyone murmurs about.

Stefano.

That disgust and disappointment battles for dominance as I think of him. So quiet. A silent shadow at campus.

He came to warn me about his father but has a sex trafficking operation in place beneath his home.

Liar. Scum.

And as I pass Cecile, I look up into those blue eyes, letting the hate in, letting it fuel the fire burning inside my chest. “You’re going to die first.”

She recoils as my spit hits her directly in the face, her head banging into the door as she jerks back. Gasps fill the corridor, immediately silenced by one of the soldiers smashing the baton he carries into those bars. My breathing is ragged as I lift my chin, the men holding me stopping as if in shock.

Cecile lifts a hand to her face, wiping the evidence of my anger away. “Get her inside.”

And if she was cold before, it’s nothing to the ice layering her tone now.

The door slams closed behind us, sealing us into a brightly lit room. In the middle, steam curls from the steel bathtub secured to the floor, drains circling it to get rid of any water on the floor.

Mirrors line the wall opposite us, the wall-to-ceiling reflection interrupted only by the long shelf covered with products and items that all contribute to making those girls outside… presentable.

Thisis the darkness of the Cosa Nostra. The true evil. And as they strip me, unfazed despite my struggles, as they force me down into that bath with my wrists still tied, I snarl the words at Cecile. “How the fuck do you live with yourself?”

“Easily.” She steps away from the shelf, a bottle in her hand. “Put her under.”

Water rushes into my nose, my mouth, as they shove me down. I thrash, burning pain appearing between my eyes, up my nose before they drag me back out, gasping and spluttering and disorientated.

Cecile’s nails are sharp as knives as they dig into my skull, scrubbing in the shampoo. I’m still catching my breath when the world disappears again, no warning this time to let me close my mouth.

This time, she keeps me down longer. Enough that my ankles smash into the steel edges of the bath, light-headedness threatening to steal my consciousness.

Her face is closer this time when they yank me out, and I heave for air.

“Do you see, now?” she whispers. A nail scratches the side of my face, not hard enough to mark but to prove her point. “Throw your little tantrums, but you’re just another face on the carousel, Caterina. You’ll go the same way as the rest of them, and when you leave, I will still be here. I’m looking forward to it.”

Breathing heavily, we watch each other.

The scream she lets out as my head connects with the bridge of her nose might be the most satisfying noise I’ve ever heard. That, or the crunch of her nose breaking. Or possibly the thud of her head connecting with the floor.

One of them. Any of them.

I glance over the edge of the bath, taking in the sight of her sprawled body. Blood is already flowing from her nose, her black hair hanging over her face as she presses her hand against her nose to stem the flow.

“I am not scared of you.”

My voice is strong, hoarse but strong as she sits up, gaping at me. I spread my lips into something resembling a grin. “You’re a bully with a fucking power complex, and if my wrists weren’t tied, you would already be dead.”

She pales as I hold her eyes. “They will have to untie me at some point, Cecile. And as soon as they do, I will find you.”

Favored pet or not.

Her eyes narrow. “Put her under again.”

Thrashing. Tearing, my lungs burning with the need to breathe as the panic threatens to consume me.

Say their names.

Alessia. Luc. Dante. Dom. Gio.

The names of our dead.

Bea. Pepe. Frank. Paul.

Joseph.

A desperate gasp of air as my head breaches the surface. Then—

“Again.”

I don’t know how long it continues. I lose count, my sole focus on staying conscious as I repeat their names in my head, over and over again.

When they finally drag me out, I’m barely half-awake, coughing and choking on the air I was so desperate for as they place me in front of the mirror.

Cecile, her face already swelling, circles me with a scowl. “Turn her.”

I aim a kick at her stomach when she reaches me, but she dodges it. Her fingers prod at me, brushing over the various scars that litter my body.

She lingers over the thin stretch marks under my navel, her voice shrill and demanding. “What are these?”

She doesn’t dodge my kick this time. It glances off her, though, and the slap she delivers to my face in return burns.

I don’t respond, and she moves onto my crow tattoo. A grimace appears on her face as she inspects it. “This will have to go.”

She glances at my face, and a tiny, victorious smile curls at her lips. “Yes, we’ll get rid of that.”

I don’t respond, staring straight ahead. Refusing to let her see how much that possibility hurts.

It’s just skin. Doesn’t matter.

It feels like a lifetime as Cecile dresses me like her own personal doll. The men maneuvering me at her command are silent, no commentary on my body as one holds my legs still and she snaps white silk underwear into place. “White for the bride, of course.”

I flinch at that one. Her laugh is soft, more assured as they wrestle me into a ridiculous excuse for a nightgown, soft and flimsy and… white.

I’ve had enough of this room.

I stay still, feigning docility as Cecile dries my hair into waves and does my make-up, her gaze suspicious and her fingers stiff as she dabs and shapes my face.

She pats my cheek when she’s done. “Good girl. You’re a quick learner.”

I fucking hate this woman.

When they escort me out, turning right this time instead of going back the way we arrived, I don’t look away from the girls. I stare at every single one of them, taking in their faces, their fear and pain.

Not many of them look back. Too many are curled up at the back of the too-small spaces, their faces turned away. Listless. Sleeping, maybe.

Or drugged.

When the cages end, there’s a new hell to navigate as we walk through an arched entrance connected to the cage room.

“You may as well get the tour.” Cecile smiles at me through her battered face. “The full experience, as it were.”

I force myself to remain stoic. To log details with a detachment that almost scares me, as I take in the beds. The straps. The benches. The boxes, big enough to fit a torso, with a hole in the end.

Hell.

Cecile is still watching me. I glance around, forcing a yawn to my lips. “I was promised a party. This doesn’t feel very festive.”

She sweeps ahead of me, through the door at the end and up a new set of stairs. There’s carpet on these, the thick pile soft beneath my bare feet.

The heavy, pounding bass of music playing ahead of us bounces off the walls, laughter and cheering and the clink of too much alcohol giving me advance notice of what we’re about to walk into.

Cecile silently holds up a hand, gesturing at us to wait, and I don’t hold back my smirk as her hand rises to her swollen nose.

I hope it fucking hurts.

The bass cuts off, and tension tightens my shoulders as the seconds stretch into minutes. I force my breathing to remain steady, force any emotion from my face. Readying for whatever battle lies ahead.

Cecile listens, waiting.

“Now.”

And I’m shoved out into the room.