27. 27 – Luciano
27 – Luciano
T he Courtyard is full.
Although I wouldn’t call it a crowd.
Pockets of people linger in small groups. Corvo, Morelli, V’Arezzo, Fusco, even a handful of Asante students. They whisper to each other as they back away to let us through, their eyes on Cat. On all of us.
She chose our entrance well.
But there are not enough . Not nearly enough, and by the tightening of Cat’s face, she realizes it too.
This is no army.
Too young, too raw.
Too scared.
And these are the ones who chose to stay.
Our enforcers are waiting beside the red oak tree. Shadows from the weight swinging from the branches next to them darken Nico’s face as he steps forward. “I’m fucking glad to see you, Luc.”
“Likewise.” Vincent has his head bent, murmuring to Cat as Rocco and Dante listen in. “Have you looked?”
He shakes his head, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “You said not to.”
I did. The message is mine. I won’t let anyone else carry the nightmare of whatever is waiting for me.
I turn to the oak tree – one part of this campus that does look untouched. The red leaves glisten like freshly spilled blood, and I sweep my eyes over the gift Matteo has left me.
Three bodies hang from the branches, swaying lightly in the breeze and covered in thick black plastic.
Three dark hoods cover their faces.
Cat stays by my side as I reach out and rip a white envelope from the middle body. My name is printed on the outside in sprawling, messy handwriting.
Luciano,
I know how much you enjoy a party.
MC
“That’s it?” Cat frowns.
I flip the note over. Written on the other side is a date and time.
“Two hours from now,” Cat mutters. “Any bet this is connected to his little RICO game?”
“I wouldn’t waste my money.” Slowly, I reach for the first hood on the left, tugging it free.
The mannequin spins slowly, grotesquely painted in the mockery of a face. “The hell is that supposed to be?”
Cat slides a knife free. She stabs it into the plastic, slicing through the thick material and ripping it away.
The bottom drops out of my stomach as I take in the thick black letters printed across the mannequin’s chest.
AMIE.
I stare at those letters for more than a minute before I crumple the note in my hand, storming over to the swaying figure on the right and rip the hood away.
Another mannequin.
Cat’s face turns ashen. “ Vincent .”
At her shout, he appears beside her, Dom a half-step behind him. “Where’s Tony?”
Vincent hesitates. “I… don’t know. He hasn’t been around much.”
“Call him,” she says tightly. “Right now. Tell him to get back here within the hour.”
Vincent follows her eyes, curses as he digs in his pocket. Frowning, I look between them and back to the mannequin, taking in the jagged mark slashed down its face. I don’t recognise it, twisted as it is. “Who is this supposed to be?”
Silently, she slices the plastic away, and behind me, both Gio and Stefano hiss in realization.
FRANKIE.
Stefano steps around me, moving for Cat, but she ducks away from him, holding up a hand. “Don’t.”
“It’s not your fault.” He pushes those words at her, even as the guilt crawls across her face.
“She went there for me that night,” she says tightly. “And she didn’t come out. Salvatore found her.”
I think of the women dancing around Matteo, night after night. The boasts he made. “And he gave her to Matteo.”
Gio sounds rough when he speaks. “She knew the risks, Cat. She chose to go. She wanted to fight.”
Cat stares down at her nails, searching for something. I don’t stop her when she stalks to the final mannequin and rips off the hood.
It slips from her hand, her lips parting as she jerks back.
The boy is almost unrecognisable. The flesh has been ripped away, torn and hacked to leave little more than a lump of flesh behind, fleshless lips twisted in a horrific, final scream. Swallowing, Cat steps closer to examine him. “It’s Alessandro.”
Beside me, Dom swipes his hand over his face. “Fucking hell. He was barely more than a kid .”
Cat is staring at those sightless eyes, her muscles locked. She doesn’t argue when I take the dagger from her hand and rip through the final piece of material. The name has been carved into his battered chest, spiky scarlet letters.
CATERINA.
She remains still. “Sandro was the hacker I sent into the Corvo accounts.”
The hacker that locked Matteo out.
“Two hours,” I say quietly. An apology in my voice. “It’s not much time to prepare.”
“No. But we have had longer than that,” she says tightly. She gestures for the knife, flipping the handle in her hand. And then she throws it, the roar of rage tearing from her throat as the knife slices through the rope. She catches Alessandro’s body without flinching, grips him and lowers him to the floor before kneeling. Her head bows.
Dom’s hand on my arm stops me. “Give her a minute.”
I turn, taking in the avid onlookers. Some of them inch closer, craning to see. When I cross my arms, Dom turns too. Gio follows. Dante. Stefano.
They decide to look away and fucking fast.