Chapter Fourteen #2
“For now,” Skip replies. “But rumors travel fast. We can’t let this drag too long.”
Maverick nods once.
“Good. That was necessary.”
He leans back slightly.
“Then the board is set.”
Foster folds his arms. “I’m monitoring financial movement. If a supplier suddenly ramps up production or shifts distribution patterns, we’ll see it.”
“I’ll keep pressure light in New York,” Maverick adds. “Not enough to spook them. Just enough to encourage confidence.”
“And we wait,” Spike says flatly.
“Yes,” Maverick agrees.
Bones exhales slowly. “I hate waiting.”
“So do I,” I mutter.
Maverick’s gaze sharpens.
“Patience,” he says quietly, “is often the most violent move on the board.”
“Somewhere out there,” Skip says with a slow grin, “someone thinks they just destabilized two powerful organizations.”
He gestures vaguely between us.
“Well. One mega-powerfully terrifying empire and one moderately intimidating one, anyway.”
Bones rolls his eyes like he’s bored of breathing.
Skip continues, pointing lazily toward Maverick.
“You, of course, being the mildly threatening ones. Us being the terrifying ones. Obviously.”
Spike sighs without even looking at him.
Maverick tilts his head, expression unreadable.
“Moderate power?” Maverick repeats mildly.
Skip shrugs. “I mean, you’ve got jets, marble floors, and child snipers eating gelato, sure. But do you have a Bones?”
Bones slowly turns his head.
“Why,” he asks flatly, “am I your example?”
Skip blinks. “Because you literally own a collection of fillet knives.”
Silence.
Maverick’s brow lifts slightly.
Skip continues, warming to his argument.
“You skin people alive for sport.”
“I don’t do it for sport,” Bones corrects calmly. “I do it for information.”
“That’s not better,” Skip shoots back. “You once explained the difference between vertical and horizontal skinning like it was a cooking tutorial to the man you had tied to a table.”
“It’s about efficiency,” Bones says, unbothered. “If you start at the clavicle and work down…”
“Okay,” Spike sighs. “We get it.”
Maverick leans back, studying Bones like he’s evaluating a weapon he’s already used.
“You enjoy screams?” Maverick asks mildly as if he hasn’t been in on at least ten of those skinnings.
“They’re informative,” Bones replies.
Skip gestures wildly. “See? That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got marble from Tuscany. We’ve got a man who treats human skin like upholstery.”
“High-quality upholstery,” Bones mutters.
Maverick’s lips curve faintly.
“You think we lack imagination,” he says smoothly.
Skip shrugs. “I’m just saying. Our scary guy looks like he sleeps well after a flaying.”
Maverick’s expression doesn’t change.
“In Sicily,” he says calmly, “we do not waste time with noise.”
Bones’ eyes sharpen slightly.
“We prefer silence,” he pauses. “There is a practice,” Maverick continues, voice almost conversational, “where a man is allowed to believe he is safe.”
Skip stops smiling.
“We remove his protection. Slowly. His accounts freeze. His partners vanish. His guards accept better offers. His driver calls in sick. His mistress stops answering. We let him feel the walls close,” Maverick says softly. “Not physically. Strategically.”
His eyes darken.
“Then one evening, he returns home… and finds his entire household gone. No blood. No screaming. Just absence. We do not send pieces,” Maverick continues quietly. “We send photographs.”
The room is silent now.
“And sometimes,” he adds, “we do not harm the man at all. We break his name.”
A pause.
“In our world, reputation is currency. When we are done, no one answers his calls. No one trades with him. No one shelters him. He walks into rooms, and men leave.”
Skip swallows.
“He begs for death,” Maverick finishes calmly. “And we do not grant it.”
That seems to get Bones’ attention.
Because it isn’t about pain.
It’s about control.
Bones’ mouth curves slightly.
“Slow,” he says.
“Yes,” Maverick agrees. “Generational.”
He leans back.
“You skin for information. We dismantle for legacy.”
Skip raises one hand slowly.
“I take it back. Mega-powerful empire.”
Spike exhales through his nose.
Maverick’s eyes flick to Bones one last time.
“And if necessary,” Maverick says evenly, “we are capable of noise as well. But I will admit… I do not have a man who performs work nearly as… fine-tuned… as yours.”
“Don,” Luca says from the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption. When you are finished here, several of the children are asking if you would join them in a game of Nascondino after their studies.”
I try not to notice the cluster of children attempting to hide behind Luca’s legs.
“Only if you tell that Mongrel Gianni that he can’t cheat and hide himself beneath his mother’s dress this time.” Luca’s stoic expression cracks instantly into a grin.
A small voice pipes up from somewhere in the giggling mass.
“Well, where else am I gonna hide, Don? No one ever looks there. They never look between Mama’s legs!”
“No,” Maverick replies smoothly. “I imagine they don’t. Your papa would not take kindly to such strategy.”
He rises from his chair slightly, leaning toward the doorway.
“Finish your studies,” he tells them. “And I will accept your challenge. But understand this…I know every shadow in this house. I built half of them. I will find you.”
A chorus of dramatic gasps.
Then cheerful shouts as they scatter down the hall.
Luca inclines his head once before following them out.
“I take it, Nascondino is hide and seek?” I ask.
“Yes,” Maverick replies, mock irritation crossing his features. “But I’m always voted to seek.”
“Because you’re terrifying,” Skip offers.
“Because I’m stubborn and don’t stop until every last one of them is found,” Maverick corrects. “Some of them are quite good.”
There’s warmth in his voice now. A different man than the one who discussed erasing bloodlines minutes ago.
He truly does love them.
And he’s good with them.
“Luckily, they all know the rules and follow them,” Maverick says. “And a single word stops the game immediately. No questions. No hesitation. You can never be too safe when it comes to children.”
I remember last year…the night he told us about his wife and daughter.
I glance toward the hallway where the children disappeared, their laughter fading.
I can’t imagine what it must feel like to stand in a house full of children’s laughter when your own child rests in the ground.
To hear little feet running, and know yours never will again.