Chapter Three
I waited for two days before Achille Lamorgese came for me the first time. The halogen lights attached to the wall across from every cell glowed night and day. They didn’t reach my cot. Sleep wasn’t at the forefront of my concerns, though.
I imagined what I’d do with the shard in my hand.
It was from the plate I’d broken for that very purpose.
The plate Amelia had given me. I doubted she had even for once second considered what a mere plate could be turned into.
My mind always saw the potential for a weapon in everyday objects, something my father had trained me with from an early age.
It was late at night when the heavy door to the cellblock swung open, and Lamorgese entered, followed by Eduardo and three bodyguards. The guards had taken my expensive watch yesterday, so I wasn’t sure exactly what time it was.
Lamorgese favored his right side and looked ashen. My knife had definitely done its job.
He stopped in front of my cell, his smile menacing.
“I hope it hurts,” I muttered, faking bravado despite the fear simmering in my veins.
I didn’t know what to expect, only that it would be painful.
Father had hit me often, sometimes out of anger, sometimes for training, and I had done kickboxing and cage fighting since the age of four.
Still, I knew the additional humiliation and helplessness during torture made it much harder to bear.
I didn’t want to give Lamorgese the satisfaction of knowing my fear, though.
Lamorgese rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing arms that hadn’t seen a real fight or gym in a while. “Let’s see how long your arrogance lasts once I carve you up with my knife.”
My stomach roiled with anxiety, but I kept my face unimpressed. Fear was the enemy.
Lamorgese motioned at Eduardo. “Unlock the door and take him to the interrogation room.”
Eduardo hurried to follow the order, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “Get up.”
I stayed where I was, pretending I hadn’t heard him. I wouldn’t make this easy for them.
“Get up now!” Eduardo hissed, glancing at Lamorgese cautiously.
“I’m good where I am.”
Eduardo was by my side in two long strides and reached for my arm.
My fingers around the shard tightened. Launching up, I rammed it into the side of his throat with full force.
He stumbled back with wide eyes, clutching his throat and making choking sounds.
His horrified gaze moved to Lamorgese as if he hoped the asshole would jump to help him.
Eduardo was replaceable. Lamorgese wouldn’t shed a single tear over his demise.
“Grab him and watch out for weapons!” Lamorgese barked at the other men. I curled my fingers around another shard, thankful again for the plate Amelia had used to bring down my food.
Eduardo stumbled back until he hit the bars, then he sank down, gasping like a fish and trying to form words.
I didn’t feel an ounce of pity or regret.
The three other men stormed the cell at once and ambushed me.
I shoved to my feet when they were close enough and managed to slam the second shard into the shoulder of one of them before a fist collided with my face, knocking me back.
More hits followed until I was disoriented, and blood filled my mouth.
Brutal hands ripped my arms behind my back and tied them together, then two of them dragged me out of the cell past a furious Lamorgese.
“Go to our doctor and take him with you,” Lamorgese muttered, nodding toward Eduardo, who didn’t look like a doctor would be of much use anymore. The amount of blood that soaked his shirt and pants likely made up half of his body’s supply.
I was carried out of the cellblock into a room that my father had used for questioning in the past. The two assholes strapped me to a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor and checked that I was secure before Lamorgese appeared before me with a self-indulgent sneer.
“I’m wondering where you got the shards from? They remind me of the plates I get my food served on…” He narrowed his eyes. “Curious thing.”
“Maybe the last prisoner forgot them in my cell,” I said with a smirk.
His fist smashed into my nose, followed by a sickening crunch of bone breaking. I let out a muffled groan as pain spread in my face. Blood filled my nose and trickled down my throat, forcing me to swallow. Breathing became difficult, so I sucked in air through my open mouth.
“Who gave you that plate?”
“I got the delicious rotten sandwiches decorated with feces on that fancy plate.” I had flushed it down the toilet. Thanks to Amelia’s provisions, I hadn’t been tempted by hunger. Though more than two days would have to pass without eating for me to touch shit-covered food.
Lamorgese backhanded me even harder, whipping my head to the side. My neck ached from the sudden motion, and my head rang with the beginning of a headache. It was still nothing I hadn’t experienced before.
He walked over to a small table with utensils and picked up a pair of rusty pliers. “I’ll ask again nicely. Who gave you the plate?”
“You’ll torture me whether I tell you or not. Let’s have some fun first,” I muttered, even as my stomach coiled with terror at what might come next. Pliers had multiple uses during torture, and I would be submitted to at least one of them very soon.
I tried to focus on something else, an image inside me to keep me anchored, and as usual, a scene between my mother and me on my bed, reading a book before bedtime, came to mind.
When Lamorgese’s soldier gripped my hand, a memory of my mother’s soft voice played in my head, but the fantasy faltered as excruciating pain erupted in my finger.
It didn’t stop. More pain followed. I wasn’t sure for how long.
It felt like an eternity. When Lamorgese finally let up, my throat ached from screaming.
I hadn’t been able to stay silent. Through blurry eyes, I risked a look at my hands.
They were covered in blood. All five of my fingers were missing a nail.
My stomach roiled with a wave of nausea that I had trouble containing.
“Look at me,” Lamorgese barked.
I raised my head, swallowing hard. He still held the bloody pliers in his hand. The sight sent a new wave of fear through me. I focused on the spittle clinging to one end of his ugly mustache.
“If you tell me who gave you the plate, I won’t pull out your other nails, Nestore. Be wise.” He sounded almost fatherly. I knew better than to trust that voice, though I simply wanted the pain to stop.
“It was Eduardo. He’s known me all my life. He felt guilty.”
Lamorgese’s smile hardened. He smoothed his mustache. “Did he? Is that why you stabbed him? Is that how you repay someone who helps you?”
“He betrayed my family, and it’s how I treat traitors.”
“Problem is, I can’t question him anymore, can I?”
I didn’t say anything. My eyes were locked on the pliers Lamorgese slowly raised before me. I began to tremble.
“You said you wouldn’t go on if I told you, and I did.”
“Maybe you did, or maybe you lied. It’s for me to find out. But you’re right. I’m a man of my honor.” He handed the pliers to the other man. “I won’t keep going, but he will.”
I ripped at my bindings as the man approached me with the pliers. Then my world became painful again.
The questioning continued eternally. That was what it felt like, but I didn’t reveal the truth.
If I told Lamorgese that Amelia had brought food down to me, he would punish her, and I would lose the only person who might be my friend.
The idea was unbearable. When they dropped me on the floor of my cell later, I stayed exactly where I was.
My fingers were stiff from bruising, the pain still very prominent but getting better to handle. My face was swollen, and my ribs ached.
How was I supposed to survive days or weeks like this? What if weeks turned to months?
I waited anxiously on the upper landing, looking down at the floor below, hoping my father would emerge from the basement soon. The steel door was soundproof, so I couldn’t hear what was going on, but I worried he was hurting Nestore.
When Father finally came out and crossed the foyer below, my belly dropped. Blood covered his white shirt, and he was wiping his hands with a cloth. What if he’d killed Nestore?
My pulse sped up, my belly clenching so tightly I worried I’d throw up. I bounced on my heels, driven by the need to check on him, adrenaline making me almost lightheaded.
Father’s steps came closer as he ascended the staircase. I hid behind the library door, which was dark since it was night.
I held my breath when Father’s heavy steps passed the door and moved up the next staircase, then waited for the bang of his bedroom door before I dared to peek out.
The hallway was cloaked in darkness. Only light from below allowed my eyes to make out my surroundings.
My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I crept out into the hallway, then down the sweeping staircase.
I carried a bag with food, water, and a book for Nestore. I wasn’t sure what he liked to read, or if he liked to read at all. But life in the cell must be boring, so I wanted to help him keep his spirits up.
When I snuck down the narrow staircase to the basement, my breathing was shallow.
It didn’t even allow me to extend my arms all the way without touching the rough concrete walls.
I didn’t know if a guard was stationed down here.
It seemed unnecessary given that no one was getting out of those cells without the keys.
The moment I reached Nestore’s cell, my body froze with pure fear. Nestore lay on the floor, curled into himself. He wasn’t moving.
I gripped the bars, licking my cracked lips. “Nestore?” I whispered.
He didn’t move. One of his hands rested on the floor outstretched. It was covered in blood. Blood splatters also dotted the floor from where he lay to the basement door. Heat pressed against my eyes. “Nestore?” I whispered louder.