A Madness of Crows: Mafia University #3

3. Day 0 – Stefano

Ishoulder my way through the raucous crowd, my head already pounding from the music. Salvatore’s men snarl as they turn, eyes glassy with drink and lust, but they soon turn away again when they see me.

Dismissive.

I’m looking for Salvatore, but I meet Dario first. Salvatore’s thin, wiry, dark-haired enforcer turns as I push past him, his nasally voice grating on my last fucking nerve as usual. “He’s busy.”

The girl he’s gripping looks like she’s about to collapse, her eyes dull and vacant. I glance over her, my lips tightening before I look back at Dario. “He summoned me.”

Demanded my presence, after the events at the capo meeting that overturned the hierarchy of the Cosa Nostra in one fell swoop. And like a faithful lapdog, here I am.

I sweep a mocking bow. “I’m only ever at his service, Dario.”

Dario doesn’t hide his disdain. “Of course.”

None of them bother to hide it anymore.

Leaving him behind, I continue my search around the room. When I finally see him, he’s lounging in a velvet armchair someone clearly dragged in for this evening. His eyes are icy as I move to stand in front of him.

Legs spread. Arms behind my back. Eyes on the ground.

“Stefano.”

My gut churns at the glee in his voice. It’s never a good sign. When he doesn’t say anything else, I glance up. “You called for me?”

He surveys me, a beer hanging from his hand. “I did. I presume you’ve heard the news?”

I keep my face blank. Carefully so, as I turn the words over in my head. Examine them. “I was at the meeting.”

A meeting of blood and betrayal. Joseph, Frank, Paul… fucking hell. Three capos. All of them, dead within moments of each other.

Little wonder that my uncle feels like celebrating.

He laughs, low and amused at my composure. “Things have moved on somewhat since then, nipote. Try to keep up.”

My brows draw together at that, but he waves me to his side. “Stand here.”

So, it”s going to be one of those nights. I wonder who has been marked for punishment this time. My eyes slide through the writhing mass in front of us as I take my place at his shoulder. To witness.

Possibly to deliver, if my uncle is in the mood.

I don’t particularly care.

There’s not a single person in this room that I would spit on if they were on fire. Except, perhaps, those that did not choose to be here.

Although it would probably be a mercy to let them die.

When Salvatore stands, the sound dies within seconds. The music pauses, the sea of faces turning to him.

There is no adoration here. No true loyalty.

My uncle rules the Asante line with fear and pain and little else.

When he speaks, the quiet words carry throughout the silent room.

“Benvenuto, i miei amici. We gather this evening to celebrate a new dawn for the Cosa Nostra, and for the Asante line.”

Cheers ring out. His men holler and stamp their feet, greed on their faces.

Salvatore holds up a hand, surveying the crowd. “But that is not all we celebrate.”

Trepidation knits my brows together before I force them to straighten, push my features back into that expressionless mask.

I wait. All of us, wait.

“An alliance,” Salvatore finally continues. His tone is cool. Amused. “Between two of the oldest houses. The Asante and Corvo families.”

The crowd murmurs. Some eyes flick to me, wondering.

My own muscles have locked up. I cannot move, cannot breathe, my eyes locked on my uncle. On the anticipation lingering on his face.

No.

She got away. She left.

Salvatore turns to offer me a mocking grin before he speaks again. He waves a hand. “Please welcome my wife. Caterina Asante.”

My world narrows to a thin dot of light as she appears.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Caterina Corvo stares around her, her face impassive despite the leers being thrown her way. The crowd splits into two, creating a path leading her straight towards us. She moves slowly, warily. Poised and ready as if she’ll launch herself into battle, despite her wrists clamped behind her back.

I glance down at her outfit. Take in the expanse of golden skin on show, lithe limbs scantily clad in a mockery of virgin white.

My jaw tightens before I flick my gaze back up.

And our eyes lock. Hers widen, those hazel depths flaring as if surprised, before they narrow.

Caterina looks at me as if she’s never seen me before. In a way I have never seen her look at me. At anyone – not even Gio, when he placed il bacio della morte on her head. Hatred, true hatred, shines on her face, mixed with disdain as she intentionally turns from me back to my uncle.

The truth in her stare hits like the knives she loves so much.

Despite her bare feet, her clothing, she holds herself like a queen. Like an heir.

It does not go unnoticed.

Salvatore isn’t smiling by the time she reaches us. She surveys us both before she turns as if in dismissal, glancing across the crowd.

More than one person shifts beneath that stare.

If we were anywhere else, I might be amused. But here—

This is not the place.

I will the thought, the silent plea to get through to her, knowing it’s impossible. She’s not paying me any attention as she sweeps the room. Silent. Assessing.

Not like a victim at all.

Behind her, Cecile lingers. And this time, my lips do twitch. The swelling on her face, the telltale trace of blood beneath her nose, is difficult to miss.

Whispers break out as eyes move between the two women. Caterina stands tall, even as Cecile cowers before Salvatore with the air of someone who knows they’ve fucked up.

My uncle’s favored whore may have taken Cat through the dungeon on their way here, but she stands there as though fresh from a summer walk. No hint of a dent in her stoic demeanor.

The only trace I’ve seen that she was down there at all was when she looked at me.

It’s been a long time since I felt the emotion currently churning in my gut.

Shame.

Salvatore settles back in his chair, leaving her standing there. A silent stand-off ensues, and the longer it continues, the angrier he gets.

Finally, he beckons Cecile to him with a crook of his finger. She shoves past Cat, her lip already trembling with excuses and apologies as she leans down to whisper in my uncle’s ear.

Everyone pauses, even them, at the drawled, mocking words that ring through the quiet. “Did your mothers never teach you that it’s rude to whisper?”

Despite myself, my eyes widen.

I glance down at Salvatore to gauge his response. His scarred hand flexes, stretching and closing as he watches her. A murmur to Cecile has her scurrying away, her eyes lighting up with excitement that tightens my chest as I watch her disappear through the crowd.

Caterina… begins to whistle. Tuneless and loud, before she sighs. “This is a fucking awful party, Asante.”

I can barely breathe as her voice carries. In the crowd, a drunken laugh is quickly silenced.

Salvatore taps his fingers against the chair. I wait – we all wait – for the explosion, but he just smiles at her. Almost indulgent.

Behind her, Cecile reappears.

My blood runs cold.

Salvatore stands, making his way down the two concrete steps to her side. Cat goes still as he lifts a bronze curl, rubbing it between his fingers. “Cecile did a decent job cleaning you up, at least.”

The revulsion is clear on her face as she steps back. Salvatore nods at Dario, and he beckons two soldiers forward.

She barely flinches as they grab her, her eyes locked on my uncle as he trails his fingers through her hair. Down.

The abhorrence I feel is matched only by her own expression. It flattens, her voice cold. “Don’t touch me.”

Salvatore ignores the words. She twists, but the soldiers hold her in place as he pushes the gauzy white material aside, baring more of her skin. “There it is. Cecile mentioned your little tattoo.”

Cecile smirks.

“We have a little initiation ceremony of our own here.” Salvatore stares at her skin. Traces his finger over the wingspan of the crow spanning her upper breast and up towards her shoulder.

A smile tugs at his lips. Anticipation. “Consider it a wedding gift, wife. A reminder of your new station.”

Dread numbs my fingers, my chest, as he turns to me. I knew it was coming. Prayed that it wouldn’t.

I don’t know why I even bothered. There is no god here, in this fucking hell-forsaken place. Something I learned years ago.

I smooth the thoughts away as I step forward. Cecile almost skips to me before she sets the bucket down, the bronze rod already in place. A frown appears between Caterina’s eyes as they flicker between the metal and my face. For the first time, I see uncertainty there, as I walk to stand in front of her.

I steel myself for what happens next. “Acetone?”

My voice is cold. As cold as the liquid bubbling furiously in that bucket, a mixture of acetone and dry ice. Cecile tosses me a cloth, and I take the bottle from one of the soldiers.

Cat jerks against the hands gripping her as I step forwards. Her eyes are burning, shimmering shades of amber and flame. “Don’t you touch me.”

Better me than any of them.

Ignoring her, I yank the material down to get a better look. The tattoo looks almost new, recently healed at that. Beneath, her skin flushes, her breathing coming quicker as I wipe over the dark lines.

The skilled outline of the crow is beautiful.

Symbolic.

And I’m about to tear it away from her.

There are too many eyes on us, greedy as they wait for the show. She doesn’t flinch at the cold of the liquid against her skin, doesn’t say anything else. Her lips are a tight line when I step away, turning my back on her as I head to the bucket and carefully pick it up. I don’t bother with protective gloves.

I’m careful to wipe any anger from my face as I glance down. Of course, Cecile would choose the biggest from the rods we have.

“Get her on her knees.”

I don’t – can’t – watch the struggle behind me. Don’t want to see the defiance in those eyes fading, the challenge, as she struggles, kicking and twisting and biting as the men curse, forcing her down.

She cannot win here, and she knows it. But still, she fights, makes them work for every single inch of ground gained as they slowly pin her, huffing and swearing.

Caterina glares up at me, panting, and I crouch down on my ankles, setting the bucket aside for a moment.

She swears at me when I take her hair, pushing the strands to the other side of her neck so it doesn’t get in the way. “Figlio di puttana. Stronzo.”

Ignoring her vitriol, I wait for her eyes to meet mine, wild and panicked and furious, before I hold up the bit. “So you don’t swallow your tongue.”

It’s happened before. She gauges me, her eyes flickering between my face and the strip of leather in my hands. Weighing up the cost, before her mouth opens.

The bit stretches her mouth, and behind us, Salvatore murmurs something that makes laughter erupt from the men around him. When her cheeks flush, eyes darting to him, I grip her chin. “Look at me.”

My voice is harsh and low. As harsh as it needs to be to do this, to do it in the right way so he doesn’t force me to take it any further, and she comes out of it with the least amount of scarring. “When I tell you, take a deep breath. You won’t feel anything for a few seconds, and then the pain will be…,”

I stop. Indescribable.

The pain is beyond anything I can explain. There is nothing I can truly say to help, nothing I can do, aside from making sure everything is correct so we don’t have to fucking repeat it.

“You have to try and stay still,” I force out. My throat feels like the fucking desert, dry and scratchy. “Move, and it’s worse. Don’t struggle.”

The look she gives me – I would burn up on the spot if she had the power. Her chin dips in a barely noticeable nod, and she braces herself against the men holding her. I level them with a glare. “Hold her steady. This goes wrong, you’ll pay for it.”

“Enough delaying.” My uncle snaps the words from where he watches, drink in hand. “Get on with it, nipote.”

Caterina’s eyes flash to mine, considering.

But any confusion is stripped away, overtaken by the darkness in her gaze as I pull that bronze rod free. The head looks huge in comparison to her as I hold it out, the dry ice creating a vapor that swirls around it.

I swallow. Force my hand to steady.

“Breathe.”

She sucks in, her teeth clamping down on the leather, and I swear I can feel the precise moment that another little piece of my humanity chips away. Maybe the last of it.

As I press the branding rod against her skin.

A choked, horrific sound tears from her throat as her head jerks forward. But her body… Caterina stays still, as I hold the brand in place against that golden skin. My hand presses it down, the light burning scent a familiar one as I keep my eyes on her, ready to jerk it away if she collapses.

I should have known better.

She breathes heavily as I pull the brand back, stare at the deep red mark. The outline of a shield that pierces the wings of her crow tattoo, splits it into pieces with angry red burns.

The Asante crest.

I have never branded someone without them screaming. Never.

But she breathes in and out, tears trickling from her eyes as she bites down on that bit. And she does not let it go.

The men holding her exchange glances as I hand off the rod and go to her. My fingers brush against her unmarked skin as I nudge her head to the side to check the mark. All I can hear is her heavy breathing, the pained pants.

But not a single scream escapes her lips.

“It’s done.”

Salvatore’s mouth is tipped into a smile when I turn around, but there’s no humor in his face as he stares down at her. He wanted her to scream, to beg, to put on a show for the amusement of the men in this room.

She gave him nothing.

I glance over my shoulder as she staggers to her feet. The tears are still there, impossible for her to stop as they flow down her face. Nobody could take that amount of pain without their body forcing a reaction.

She spits out the bit, her voice hoarse and shaking. “I’ve had better gifts.”

Silence. Such deep silence, as everyone watches. Even Cecile’s mouth is open.

Salvatore’s jaw tightens, and he flicks his fingers towards me, tossing me a key. “Take her to the guest room. Restrain her.”

The room that he reserves for his toys.

I just catch the instinctive refusal that hovers on my tongue. “Of course.”

With a bow of my head, I move to her. The two grunts holding her in place step away at my glare, and she pushes against me in silent refusal when I move to lift her into my arms.

“You can’t walk.” My mutter is almost voiceless. Caterina grips my wrist.

“Watch me.”

If she wants to collapse on her way out, I’m not going to argue with her. I keep a firm grip on her arm as I tow her through the crowd, men stepping back to clear a path without challenge.

She’s slow, but she puts one foot in front of the other without complaint. I’m amazed she’s still fucking conscious. It would be better if she wasn’t, for these early minutes.

Although the pain would still be there when she woke. My eyes skitter down to the vivid burns marring her skin, and away.

When we reach the hall, she attempts to rip her arm out of my grip, but I hold her tightly, dragging her wrists towards me as I slide the key into the lock. Giving her a few seconds of freedom before she’s chained up again.

The metal barely bounces off the floor before she yanks herself away. My hand shoots out to grab her upper arm.

“Get your fucking hands off me, Asante, before I break them.”

“You’re in no condition to break anything.” I glance down the hall. Two soldiers stand on duty at the very end, at the entrance to the dungeon, but everyone else is either on the perimeter or at the party.

My distraction is my own mistake.

She sinks her teeth into the skin of my upper arm, hard enough that I feel the warm flow of blood even through the white shirt I’m wearing.

The pain is nothing. But the surprise makes me let go, and she doesn’t waste a second of her bought time.

Caterina runs.

Takes off on feet that should be unsteady, and it takes me more than a second to recover. To wheel around and watch her stagger off the wall with a pained noise before she regains her balance as she races away from me in the opposite direction to the guards.

And I… pause. For several precious seconds, I watch that gap between us grow bigger. She’s fucking fast as she whips around the corner.

Gone.

If we were anywhere else, maybe she’d have a chance.

Maybe I would even give it to her.

But here—

“Shit.” I glance down at the blood spreading across the arm of my shirt before I set off after her at a sprint.

My heart thuds as I turn that corner. “Caterina!”

My roar startles her as she reaches the next turning. Her hair whips over her shoulder as she glances back at me, jaw firming in determination and fear as I eat up that distance between us, my shoes pounding against the concrete floor.

“Don’t—,”

But my hissed warning is lost as she disappears again. Even with her injuries, she’s fast. But not fast enough. Not here.

This fortress was built to contain girls like her.

And it’s not anger that fills my chest as I hear the squeal of one of the exit doors opening ahead.

It’s fear. Cold, excruciating fear, and I will my feet to move faster, to catch up to her before they do.

Shouts erupt from the courtyard.

The dogs begin to bark.

And the choked cry that reaches me draws a snarl from my throat as I reach those doors and race outside after her.

She’s on her side, curled up and shaking as the dogs pin her down. Above her, a guard raises a stunner, preparing to jam it into her side.

50,000 volts of electricity.

Amidst the shouting, the jeers of the guards that surround them, they don’t hear my furious bellow. I hit the back of the line with a roar, shoving through just in time to watch as the barbs pierce her side – and she convulses, her muscles twitching and spasming.

Laughter, all around me. They enjoy this, every single one of them. Enjoy the shows they put on whenever a girl manages to escape from the dungeon.

The laughter cuts out when my fist crunches into the guard’s face. He staggers back with a groan, the stunner dropping to the ground. Angry shouts as the men around me close in, but I whirl around, my face icy.

They pause in recognition. Some glance down at Caterina.

I force my voice to remain steady. “I wonder what will happen when Salvatore learns that you decided to pin his wife to the ground and send fifty thousand volts into her body?”

The guard I hit sits up with a groan, but his face whitens at my word. “We were only following orders. We didn’t know—,”

“Save your excuses for the capo.” Men start to slink away in the hope of escaping attention as I maintain eye contact with those still gathered around us. “You know how much he enjoys them.”

Silence. The only exception is the guard on the ground. He snorts. “He’ll probably give us a raise.”

Cat groans, low and weak, and the sound sends a fucking fog over my vision. Turning, I kick the asshole straight in the face, watching as he collapses back, his eyes rolling up in his head.

The crowd disperses quickly after that. Most of them, at least.

Silently, I kneel by her side and tug the barb from her skin, inspecting the twin puncture wounds. The area around her brand is bleeding too, pin pricks of liquid that trickle down as I slide my hands underneath her and get to my feet.

“Move.”

The few remaining guards scatter. Entertainment over - at least, until the next escape attempt.

I have seen the aftermath of those attempts too many times.

Jaw firming, I glare down at Caterina’s limp body, holding her close. She was only a few feet from the wall separating us from the outside world, although we’re miles from our closest neighbor.

The guards let her get that close, letting her think she might get as far as the gate, before they set the dogs on her. She’s lucky they didn’t rip her apart.

And I turn, my footsteps as heavy as my heart inside my chest as I carry her back inside.