A Madness of Crows: Mafia University #3

4. Day 0– Caterina

The pain rips up my spine, bowing it until my back arches. My entire body rattles as electricity surges through me, my brain feeling as though it’s shaking inside my skull as my knees fold like the strings of a puppet.

Cut.

Agony everywhere. Laughter.

And those dogs – their heavy, hot breath puffs into my face, those growls fucking intimidating when I already feel as though I might piss myself.

Curling up into a ball, I wait for it to end.

A voice bellows, and recognition flickers.

He caught up.

Of course he did. He knows this place far better than I do.

A prison made for me. For others like me.

The adrenaline begins to fade, and all that’s left… is pain. Agony, and exhaustion, and fear, all battling for dominance inside my chest, filling up my throat until it’s difficult to take a breath.

Every part of me hurts. And my tattoo…

I can’t think about it. What they have taken from me, what Stefano took from me as he dared to stand in front of me and order me to fucking breathe—

Another name for my list. It feels endless at this point.

Almost… hopeless.

When hands lift me, I don’t struggle. The cold air around me is soon replaced by something a few degrees warmer – not by much, but enough to calm the violent shivering overtaking my bones. Cracking my eyelids open, I stare out, taking in the concrete walls that pass by.

Stefano is silent, his hands cradling me with unexpected gentleness as he strides along.

Of course, he wouldn’t want his father’s new pet to sustain any more damage. I might not be usable.

The sudden surge of nausea is violent, and I twist, Stefano’s hands tightening in response. “I’m going to—,”

I heave violently, and a quiet curse sounds above me. He sets me down, holding me upright and tugging my hair back as the heaves wrack my body.

There’s not much to come up. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

The shaking only increases, even as the heaving trails off. Silent, Stefano lifts me again, heading down towards another doorway. My head feels foggy, unsteady.

I don’t want to go into that room.

“Let me go,” I whisper. He stops a few feet away, and I glance up at him. Take in his dark eyes, too dark to be called brown – closer to the night sky. He stares at me, silent and closed-off. “Please.”

The word slips free. Too close to begging for my liking, but my options are severely limited.

I will not escape from here without help.

Those eyes linger for a second too long before they close, his lightly tanned skin paler than normal as he starts to move again. “Don’t ask me again, Caterina.”

I stare at him, mindless and numb, as we enter a dark bedroom. Stefano flicks on a lamp on the mahogany sideboard, illuminating the dark green walls before carrying me over to the large, ornately carved wooden bed.

I almost laugh at the clichéd black satin sheets, but none of this is funny.

I try to push him away as he sets me down, but his hands land on my shoulders, holding me in place. “Let me see the burn.”

“Go to fucking hell.” I aim my fist at his face, but he dodges it easily, grabbing my hands and holding them in one massive, tattooed hand as he pushes my dress aside. Furious, I buck, and he swears.

“Just stay– for fuck’s sake, I’m trying to help you—,”

“Help me?” I laugh in his face, even though there’s no amusement left in me. “Like you helped me back there? You certainly seem comfortable enough with a branding iron, Asante. Do you brand every girl that passes through before they’re sold?”

His grip around my wrist tightens, dark emotion washing across his expression. “You don’t know a single fucking thing about my life, Caterina. You’ve been here for five minutes. I’ve been here for fourteen years.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not one of them,” I hiss the words back at him, barbed and vicious. “You’re the fucking Asante heir, Stefano. This is your fucking house, and you are allowing women to be raped downstairs.”

At his flinch, the anger only surges, a smoldering flame erupting as I throw all of the emotion burning in my chest at him. “Excuse me if I don’t want your little pity party. Go and fuck yourself. Oh - but don’t forget to tie me up before you go, so your father – or your uncle, whatever he is - can rape me too.”

I scream those last words at him, directly into his face, and he pales.

Both of us are breathing heavily. My lungs burn as though the oxygen I’m sucking down in gasps isn’t reaching them, as if I’m going to pass out as my words force themselves into the air.

Stefano lets go of my hands as if they’re on fire, and I shove him back. “Fuck your medicalcare and false concern. Get on with your orders, heir.”

I hold out my wrists, and he stares as if they’ll bite him. “Caterina—,”

“No.” I snarl at him. “This? This is nothing. He can think that he’s won. But watch your fucking back, Stefano, because if it takes me the rest of my goddamned life, I am going to kill you. You, and everyone else in this fucking pit.”

They can brand me.

Trainme.

Burn who I was into ashes.

But when I ignite, I’m taking every single one of them with me.

We stare at each other in the wake of my declaration. A silent stand-off.

Stefano is first to look away, swiping a hand over his face.

“There are over a thousand cameras in this house. In every single room, focused on every single area - except for this one, and the en-suite next door. There are no blind spots, and every camera has a microphone. The cameras are monitored at all times.”

I blink, but don’t say anything, eyeing him as he moves to one of the carved wooden posts. He picks up a metal cuff attached to the wood with a chain as if he’s weighing it before he slowly drags it over to where I sit. My back is rigid as he leans forward and wraps it around my ankle. “More than a hundred guards patrol the grounds and halls at all times. Every single one is armed. You saw the dogs.”

He moves to my other ankle. Ties that cuff into place. Tests it with his finger, before he motions to the bedding behind me. “Lie down, Caterina. Before you fall down.”

So he can chain my wrists.

The shaking returns. I don’t move.

His voice is quiet. “He will not come tonight. He’ll be drinking for hours. Cecile will fight tooth and nail to make sure he doesn’t get anywhere near you.”

Our eyes meet. There’s nothing to suggest he’s lying in his gaze.

Something to be grateful to the bitch for. Although her choice in men is seriously questionable.

When I lay down, he moves around the bed, circling my wrist in careful fingers and pulling it up. I stare at the ceiling. “Why bother tying me down at all, if you’re so convinced he won’t come?”

“Because he will check. If I don’t, both of us will pay the price.”

This place - the games at play…

I swallow. This is so far from the Cosa Nostra that I know.

There is no honor here. No bonds of family, friendship, loyalty.

I’ve spent a lifetime building those bonds, working to understand them so that one day, I might lead and be proud to do so.

Luc… Luc was right about this place. And it hurts to even think his name, so I shove it far down, pushing down that grief in my chest.

I’m out of my depth. And if I don’t tread carefully, I am not the one who’ll suffer for it. So I lay there, and I listen.

“Salvatore – he plays games.” Stefano tugs at my wrist before he moves on to the last one. “You need to know that. Emotional torture is his favorite method. He’ll put you on edge, keep you there for as long as possible until it feels as though your mind will snap from fear of what will happen, and when.”

The bed sinks beneath me, and I jerk as his hand brushes my breast. He murmurs an apology as he peels the material back, ignoring my hiss at the sting and leaning in to examine the brand he placed on my skin.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I can’t push him away, not with my fucking hands tied. “It needs treatment. And this way, you can’t fight with me over it.”

He ignores my glower. The door slams shut behind him, and I’m left alone.

Silence. The brand throbs.

I will be forever scarred by the time I spend here, no matter how short. Or… how long.

I swallow. Swallow again, as the lump in my throat expands.

Alessia.

The ceiling above my head blurs.

Luc.

My cheeks are wet.

Bea.

Pepe.

My breathing begins to shudder, my throat tight with a sharp ache.

Dom.

Dante.

Gio.

Gio. I blink, my head turning towards the door. When Stefano walks back in, a first aid kit in his hands, I interrupt before he can speak. “I need you to do something for me.”

He says nothing as he walks toward me, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I told you. I can’t help you.”

His voice is… tired.

“Not that. I need you to send Gio a message.”

Dark eyes fix on mine. “What kind of message?”

Not a no. Not a refusal.

My heart thumps inside my chest. “Luc was… stabbed, tonight. Before… before they took me. I don’t know if the others have found him. I need you to send the coordinates to Gio, just in case. Please.”

Stefano considers it.

“You owe me this,” I breathe. “This is nothing to you. But it could mean life or death for him.”

He shakes his head, his words pitying. “Cat… it’s been hours. He’ll be dead by now.”

My eyes close. “He’s not dead.”

He’s not dead.

“Give me the coordinates.” My eyes blink open, and I press my lips together at the sight of the screen in his hands. He waits, typing them in as I reel them off before he hesitates.

“My phone is monitored. Bugged. Whatever I send him, Salvatore will likely see it. I’ll send the coordinates, but anything else will only go badly for you.”

I stare at him. They track his phone.

“And what will he do to you? For sending them?”

He shrugs. “Nothing, I imagine. I’m his heir, after all. But I would prefer not to push my luck.”

The word sounds… bitter, coming from his lips. As if, perhaps, he would prefer not to be the Asante heir at all.

My mouth opens, but he’s already pressing the screen, and I exhale as the message goes through. “It’s done.”

If I wasn’t lying down, I might have collapsed at those two words.

Please be enough. Please be in time.

I let him check the brand, flinching as he carefully dabs a strong-smelling ointment on the burns. “I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I think I’ve misheard him at first. He doesn’t look at me as he works, his fingers surprisingly gentle considering their size. I watch him steadily. “Who are you, Stefano?”

Thisman… this man is not the cold-eyed monster who pressed a branding iron to my skin without flinching.

I wonder if he’ll respond at all as he packs the kit away, but he does.

“I am exactly what they made me,” he says abruptly. “Do not trust me, Caterina. I cannot be your ally and his weapon at the same time. I can’t choose you.”

He stands as I take in his words. “Do you need the bathroom? Water?”

Slowly, I shake my head.

“Then I’ll be outside the door.” He pauses. “If anything changes tonight… I’ll tell you.”

It’s as much as he’s willing to give me.

An advance warning, if my husband intends to come to this room. Moments to prepare myself.

At my nod, he pulls the door open and closes it behind him with a soft snick.

I watch the closed door for long, tortuous minutes, watch it until my vision swims. Waiting for the punchline.

For Salvatore Asante to walk in.

My body is exhausted. I need to rest, need it desperately enough that it’s making the choice for me, dragging my eyelids down. I fight it as much as I can, struggle to stay awake, aware, ready—