18. Aidan
These past fewdays have been running like a well-oiled machine. Blakely has been really understanding, which I must say, I’m surprised. Despite our sexual encounters, she doesn’t trust me. And I understand that. I lost her once, but she lost me as well. My state at the time was pitiful, and I can’t imagine how she felt.
The sofa sinks beneath Scott’s weight.
“Brother, you can’t keep going like this. It’s been three months, alcohol won’t be the solution,” he says.
I look at him through my drunken eyes.
“Fuck off.” I lift the bottle and drink directly from it. “Ye don’ understand. I had her, and poof, I lost her in the blink of an eye.”
“I know, brother, but she’d never want you to be in this state.”
“Ye thin’? I thin’ she’d want me deed.” I take another sip of the whisky. “I cannae. I need her. I cannae breathe. It’s like she took my heart and left with it.” I look around for my phone.
“What are you doing? And why is your accent always so thick when you drink?” he asks, shaking his head.
“My phone. I need my phone. She needs to ken.” I look at him with pleading eyes. “She needs to ken I love her. That I’ll never betray her like that and that it was to keep her safe.”
His eyes are filled with sadness. “I know, brother. I know. But with the threats we’ve received against her–”
I cut him off. “I ken.”
Eight years. Eight fucking years with the feeling of not being able to breathe without her. And every person who tries to take her away from me again will die.
Hunched behind a bush, I can feel the rough bark scratching my skin as I scan the area for any sign of the person who stabbed Blake. For days now, I’ve been meticulously tracking his every move, waiting for the perfect moment to make my move. Andrea Bianchi. That’s his name.
The street is lit up like a ghostly pathway by the bright full moon. I didn’t reveal my intentions to anyone and kept quiet about what I was up to. This is between him and me. What is mine was violated, and he will pay for every single touch.
I hear a cacophony of laughter and chatter coming from the pub, and suddenly the door swings open. I observe him walking towards his car, the tip of the cigarette glowing orange in the dim light.
Placing my mask over my face, I move slowly, trying to avoid drawing attention to myself. The street is deserted. Without hesitation, I grab my gun from my holster and press it firmly against the back of his head.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” I say, reaching for my knife in case he is foolish enough to move a single hair.
“Stronza. Who are you?” he asks, with his heavy accent.
“I think you’re asking the wrong question there. But you’ll know soon enough,” I say with a sly grin. He makes a move in an attempt to disarm me, but I’m already anticipating it and manage to thwart his efforts. With a swift motion, I strike him on the head, causing him to crumple to the ground, and then wrap my arm tightly around his throat.
With an iron grip, I hold him tightly, feeling his frantic attempts to break free, but my hold only grows stronger with each attempt. His eyes bulge out of their sockets as he gasps for air, and his face turns an alarming shade of red. I lean in close to his ear, my voice low and menacing. “Next time, think twice before messing with what’s mine.”
He gurgles out a response, “Who...who are you?”
I chuckle darkly. “Oh, you”ll find out soon enough.” I feel his body go limp as I squeeze harder, the sound of his gasping breaths fading away.
“Sleep,” I murmur. Once I safely stow away my gun and knife, I scan the area to ensure that no one is watching before binding his arms behind his back and hoisting him into the boot of my car - a challenging feat. The guy is heavy. I wipe the sweat from my forehead once I’m done with him.
As the engine hums to life, I pull out my phone and type out Scott’s number.
“Aidan, what’s up, man?”
“Meet me at the den.” I leave it at that and don’t provide any additional information. The den is what you could call our interrogatory space. Even though no one ever comes out alive.
As I begin driving, the sudden vibration of my phone catches my attention, signalling a new message.
Unknown number
You may want to see this. Kore.
Attached to the message is a video. I click play, trying to focus on the road at the same time. What the fuck is that? The video shows three people talking to each other. One of them is completely masked, and the other one is hidden by the darkness of the room. I can barely see his face. But the last one. I can clearly see the last one.
Needing to focus, I quickly stop on the side road to comprehend what I’m seeing.
“Do you think they know?”asks the masked man.
“No. They’re so focused on the Snakes that they’re not looking elsewhere.” I know this voice, but I can’t put my finger on it. The darkness of the room completely conceals his face. Goddamnit.
“Good. The deal still stands. I want them dead. They’re no good for business,” says the masked man.
“We will, father. You can count on me.”What the actual fuck? Shaan is the one talking. Mother fucker. He’s been working for me for years, and he’s the one trying to kill me? Before I have time to do anything, my phone rings again.
“Did you get it too?” asks Scott on the other end of the line. My jaw is contracted, my fist tightening on the steering wheel of my car.
“I did. Don’t do anything. I’m almost there.”
“What the actual fuck? How did Kore have access to this video?” asks Scott before I’m even out of the car. We both walk towards my boot, my lips sealed. I say nothing. Opening it, he looks at me with confused eyes.
“Are you going to explain yourself, or shall I guess?”
“Scott, meet Andrea Bianchi. The guy that stabbed your sister. And as for your questions,” I pause, looking at the guy lying in front of me, “I guess you’ll have your answers soon.” His eyes, filled with anger, scan the situation and size it up.
“Are you telling me you went on a hunt without including me? I’m hurt, brother. I love a good hunt.” I shake my head. This guy is something else. His mask is already on the top of his head as if he has been waiting for this.
“Quit your whining, princess,” I say as I point at the guy in my boot. “And give me a hand getting him inside.”
It takes us a few minutes to transport him into the den. Sitting him on the chair placed in the middle of the space, I take the rope and make sure to attach and tighten his hands and his legs to the back of the chair.
The room is dark, and only the small lights of the ceiling illuminate the tiny area. The smell of blood and detergent is all over the place. There’s a table in the back of the room, filled with all I will need to start my interrogation. Knife, hammer, mallet, axe, nose pliers, saw, and a pipe wrench. You name it, it’s here. My favourite is the pipe wrench. You can easily break fingers slowly and painfully with it.
Taking a big bucket of ice, I throw it in his face.
“Wakey, wakey.” His body slowly begins to move as he stirs awake. My fingers dig into his hair as I pull his head back, my other hand delivering a swift, stinging slap to his cheek. “Time to wake the fuck up.”
Scott leans against the wall at the back, his mask on his face, aware that this particular task is mine to handle. He can play with him all he wants, but the final blow will be mine.
Opening his eyes slowly, he scans the area around him, probably wondering how he got here.
“Cazzo. What am I doing here?”
Before grabbing the chair that I placed in front of him, I move towards the table to grab the hammer.
“Huh, huh. I don’t think you’re in any position to ask any questions. But I have some for you, and I expect answers.” Bringing my chair closer to him, I say, “Do you remember stabbing a woman not long ago?”
The recognition in his eyes is immediate.
“I’m here because of that bitch?” he spits out.
“Wrong answer, lad,” says Scott. Andrea now notices my shadow in the back of the room.
He looks back and forth at both of us. “You… You’re the Slicer,” he says, looking at Scott, who I know has a huge smile beneath his mask. He loves the recognition. He bores his eyes into mine before saying, “And you’re the Spectre.” Fear dances in his eyes.
“Aye, we are. Glad our reputation precedes us. Now, the first question I have for you is, who the fuck are you working for?” He’s not going to answer right away, but I’ll make him. Grabbing my hammer tighter, I lean in a bit more. “I asked you a fucking question,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “And I expect an answer. Who the fuck are you working for?”
Andrea looks at me, his eyes darting around the room as if he”s searching for a way out. But there”s no escape for him now.
“Very well.” The sound of my hammer hitting his right hand on the armrest echoes through the room. The crack of his bones breaking resonates in my ears as he cries out in agony.
“Let me try something else. Who kidnapped the women?” The adrenaline rush flows through my veins. Although I would gladly kill him right this moment, I need answers.
His ragged breathing intensifies as he spits in my face answering, “I won’t say shit.”
Lifting my hammer again, I hit his left hand this time. The sound of his screams is music to my ears. Standing up, I walk slowly around him.
“I have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
“They will find me. And they will kill you.”
“Is that so? They might have to get in line. The waiting list is quite lengthy,” I say, smirking. Forming a fist, I hit his face. God, that feels good. His face is now bleeding. “Maybe the hammer was too soft for you. That’s my bad,” I say as I grab the pipe wrench. “Maybe this will work better. Let me ask you again. For. Who. Do. You. Work?” I accentuate each of my words. No answer. Not surprising. “Very well. Which hand did you use to stab her?” Silence. “You don’t want to answer? That’s fine. I’ll pick one for you.”
“Va fan culo,” he spits out.
I’m done playing nice. Taking his index finger, I press the tool against it and squeeze until he can feel the pain.
“Oh, but I would much rather get fucked right now. Unfortunately for me, you’re not very cooperative.” I direct my gaze towards Scott and ask, “Is he?”
“No, he is not. And to be honest,” he fakes a yawn, “I’m starting to get a bit bored.”
“You hear him? He is bored. We don’t want to disappoint him, do we?” As I press the wrench against his finger, the loud crack of his broken bone lingers in the air. But I don’t stop there. I press harder until his finger is falling off of his hand. Blood spurts all over us, and his screams are louder than before.
“I think he passed out,” says Scott. “Eww, his finger is on the floor.”
“Seriously? You’re disgusted by his finger?” He had expressed his disgust for fingers before, but come on, it’s a bit excessive. The guy has killed more people than I can count, and he’s disgusted by that?
“What? It reminds me of Thing in the Addams Family. It always creeped me out,” he says, his mouth full of something.
“Are you eating something right now?” I ask him in disbelief.
“Chocolate. Do you want some?” he proposes, pointing his chocolate bar in my direction. I refuse, shaking my head when we hear moans coming from Andrea.
“Welcome back,” I say, “Ready to continue?”
“You won’t get any answers from me.” He groans as he speaks.
“Oh, but I fucking will. So, where were we? Oh aye, I was going to cut off your middle finger.”
“Can I play with him?” asks Scott, which makes me chuckle.
“Maybe later.” I return my attention to Andrea. “What are your plans? Why do you want us dead, and what does it have to do with the women you’ve been trafficking?” My pipe wrench is still in my hand. “Still no answer?” I repeat the same process with his other finger. Except that this time, I decide not to wait and apply more pressure immediately, causing him to wince in agony while the blood starts to gush out of his finger, still attached to my tool. He loses consciousness again. Annoying.
Judging by the sounds coming from him, I’m guessing Scott is repulsed.
“Seriously, I don’t do well with fingers. Same with feet. I find them disgusting.”
“Stop eating chocolate while I’m doing this. Maybe you’ll feel better. Pussy.” I hide my last word in a cough.
Not long after, Andrea stirs awake again.
“Figlio de puttana.” The blood dripping from his mouth makes me smile.
“Are you ready to talk now?” I exchange my wrench with an electric drill. Once he sees it, his eyes grow bigger. “So, who are you working for?” Leaning closer, I turn on the drill, making him jump. When I’m closer to the hand that still has all five fingers, he starts to speak.
“F-Fusco.”
“Fusco, what?” I don’t know why I’m asking because I already know his answer.
“H-he’s the one I’m w-working for. And h-he’s working w-with the S-Snakes,” he admits as he tries to breathe through the pain. Blakely was right all along. She’s always right.
“Why?”
“B-because he w-wants your f-father’s position and the S-Snakes want y-your f-father’s business.” Greedy little bitches.
“How many of your guys have infiltrated my team?” I need to know. One is already too many, but I need to be prepared if there’s more than one. When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn the drill back on. Fear dances in his eyes. Did he piss himself? The smell confirms it.
“O-one.” I think he may have lost consciousness again, so I slap him hard on his face.
“Who and why?”
“S-Shaan. He is F-Fusco’s s-son.” Mother fucker. I didn’t see that coming. I hear Scott curse under his breath as he comes closer.
“Do you know the woman you stabbed and were planning to traffic?” Andrea shakes his head. “That’s my sister. I’d happily kill you, but I’ll give the privilege to my brother here.”
Let me have this privilege? Like he had any choice in the matter. The piece of shit touched her, and for that, he’ll die by my hand. Deciding I’ve had enough of these little games and have the answers I wanted, I pull out my gun and shoot him right in between the eyes.
The sound of a gasp hangs heavy in the air as we turn to face the unexpected guest.
Not a soul knows about the existence of this room except my da’, who would not even bat an eye at the sight of me taking someone’s life.
Blakely’s eyes are focused intently on us as if studying our every move.
“Shit.” Now it’s Scott’s turn to curse.