Chapter 42 Fon
Fon
Fon looked down at the footprints in the dust, his eyes tracking the big, booted treads marking the earth, prowling a perimeter and keeping their prisoner captive.
Francesco had done his job well. He always did.
He wasn’t an intelligent man, but he was loyal and obedient – Dante had been right to keep him close as he rose in wealth and position.
He hesitated, taking a breath and steadying himself before he put the key in the lock and turned it.
Sunlight fell into the dark space with its usual indolence and he watched as the inmate retracted from the sudden assault.
Fede moved slowly, gingerly, pressing his body from the ground, and when he lifted his head his eyes seemed to bulge in his face.
The difference in him was marked. He had lost weight and looked filthy; his hair had lost its smartly clipped Roman shape, and his beard was thick.
He no longer looked like a duke’s son but like any of the campieri around here.
He blinked several times and Fon saw him flinch as he realized it was he who had come this time, not Francesco.
Had Francesco been rough with him these past weeks?
He looked for signs of assault – wounds, bruises, inert limbs lying at awkward angles; the henchman had developed a love for pain – but Fede seemed in decent shape. Just weak.
‘You came back.’ Fede’s voice was hoarse, as if the darkness was robbing him of substance.
‘… Francesco’s on a job,’ Fon said roughly, moving in and setting down the food. Gabriella had prepared some arancini and he crouched down, opening the parcels carefully. He handed them to Fede, the food lying within like jewels in paper crowns.
Fede said nothing, watching him closely as if bracing for a kick.
The traces of their last meeting hung in the air, like whispers that had been unable to escape this room too.
Am I your prisoner or your king? Fon still felt the humiliation of the encounter; it sat on his skin like a tattoo, branding him as the weaker man.
Inferior. The yellow-bellied coward Fon knew he really was – and that Fede had known he was, too, ever since that day on the rocks.
‘… I didn’t think I’d see you again.’
‘As I said, Francesco’s needed elsewhere today.’
‘So? You could have let me starve,’ Fede shrugged.
‘As I’ve also told you before, we need you alive.’
‘So then I have some leverage.’
The comment was pointed and Fon regarded him more closely, seeing how the delicious food remained untouched.
Had he been deliberately refusing his meals – was that why he’d grown thin?
If so, Francesco hadn’t reported it. But Fede was an intelligent man and Fon knew he’d be looking for any advantage he could find.
‘If you mean by going on hunger strike, then no, you don’t.
We would still continue as planned, but on receipt of the ransom we would simply hand back your body for burial.
’ Fon stared at him, his eyes as cold and hard as his words.
He would not leave here today on the back foot.
‘… But that would be regrettable, Fede. Death does not have to be the outcome of this.’
‘As if you care whether I live or die!’ Fede scoffed, tipping his head back against the wall.
He sighed, the sound ancient and deep. ‘You really think I believe you’re going to let me walk out of here?
’ He looked back at Fon through slitted eyes.
‘… I know how this ends … I know you. I’ve seen your faces.
And you know that if I get a shot at freedom I’ll go straight to the police …
’ His voice trailed off as he saw Fon’s slight smirk.
‘Ah … But you’ve got your people there too, of course,’ he sighed, too exhausted to even sound defeated.
There was another silence.
‘Eat,’ Fon commanded.
Defiance flashed in Fede’s eyes as he refused to move. He had nothing left to lose and denial was the only control he had left.
Fon walked over to the wooden chair and sat in it. Fede seemed to prefer the floor. ‘You know, it takes a surprisingly long time to die from starvation,’ he said, his elbows on his knees as he looked down at his captive.
‘Not if I stopped drinking.’
‘True – you could be dead within days,’ Fon conceded. ‘And we would have to bring up our timings accordingly.’
‘Timings? Like a schedule?’ Fede gave a laugh that almost reached his eyes. ‘So you’ve done this before?’
Fon gave him a puzzled look. ‘Of course, many times. Why would you think you’re the first – or even the only one? You’re not special, Fede.’
Fede’s eyes flashed at the insult, and Fon felt himself grow in stature.
‘Although usually the ransom has been paid by now, so I suppose you are unique in that respect. Your father really doesn’t seem that bothered by your fate.
’ They were cruel taunts, he knew, and he watched the pain flash behind Fede’s eyes.
‘I’ll be honest – we’ve been surprised. We thought he valued you more than this. ’
Fede looked away, sinking further back against the wall, his arms limp in his lap. ‘Then you really don’t know my family at all,’ he murmured.
Fon looked at him in surprise. He had been expecting more comeback, more fight than this.
He had been gearing himself up for this confrontation for days; it was all he had been able to think about, but this wasn’t the man Fon had left here eighteen days ago.
Something in Fede was breaking: his hope in his father, his spirit.
‘… Eat.’ He picked up an arancini ball from the paper by his feet and held it out.
Fede stared back dully at him.
Fon leaned in closer, holding it up to his face. ‘I said, eat,’ he snarled. He knew the insubordination was intended as another humiliation, and he wouldn’t lose this time. He would not walk out of here until it was written in stone which one of them was king.
Still Fede didn’t stir. He just blinked.
His hands were chained together in front of him, but at this proximity, Fon knew Fede could hit upwards with his bunched fists and get the chain around his head and neck …
Fede was the bigger man, it was true, but he was diminished after weeks spent motionless and alone in the dark.
Fon took the risk as he suddenly launched himself forward off the chair, falling to his knees and, in a swift movement, pushing Fede’s head against the wall.
He gripped his jaw hard, forcing it open, and with his other hand put the curve of the arancini ball to his mouth and held it there – but Fede wouldn’t bite down.
‘Eat!’
Fede eyeballed him, the whites of his eyes like a skittish horse, as they remained locked, immobile, on the ground. Fon could feel the muscles in his hand shake as emotions flooded him: anger. Rage. Contempt. He would not leave here as the loser.
Fede groaned as the flavours seeped onto his tongue, glaring at Fon as his own body worked against him, crying out for the meal.
Fon knew it must be a worse torture to the starving man to endure this than to abstain from it altogether.
For several seconds they remained locked in suspension …
until Fon saw a tear slowly slide from the outer corner of Fede’s eye. His jaw relaxed and he bit down.
‘Good,’ Fon said quietly, sinking back onto his heels and watching as the prisoner slowly chewed, head hanging down in shame.
It was a victory. Fon had won this battle convincingly, but he felt somehow spent after the confrontation.
He’d wanted to break Fede, to enforce his power, but now that he had …
He had never hated Fede. The Franchettis, yes.
His arrogant father, his spoilt sister and Cosimo, of course, the lifelong thorn in his side.
But Fede had always been different, a better man than the rest of them.
If only it could have been Cosimo chained up here, not his brother.
‘For what it’s worth, I want you to get out of this alive, Fede.’ His voice was low, barely more than a whisper, even though there was no one else around for miles.
‘Why? Why do you care so much?’
‘Because I know you.’
‘We were never friends, Fon.’ It was intended to hurt but Fon felt bulletproof now. He had anticipated exactly this slight.
‘No,’ Fon agreed. ‘But I still know you far better than you think …’ The urge to reveal Fede’s secret sat on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t help it; he wanted him to know he knew.
He watched Fede eat, knowing he should remain silent. That to show compassion was weak, every word eroding his hard-won advantage. And yet … ‘You never noticed me, growing up … No one did. But I always saw you. I watched you all. I wanted to be just like you.’
Fede’s eyes disinterestedly flicked in his direction. Now that he had started to eat, he seemingly couldn’t stop, his fingers cramming the food into his mouth with increasing urgency.
Fon gave a small smile as he sank back into the memories, crossing his legs at the ankles, elbows looped on his knees.
‘… I looked forward to your return every summer. I admired you more than you could possibly know … Your family’s return to the port was always the highlight of the year, for everyone – even Dante, though he’d never admit it.
’ He watched Fede reach for the other paper parcels, dragging them over the ground towards him.
Defeated. Compliant. ‘I don’t want to see you die here. ’
But there was no reply. Fede wasn’t interested in making friends with him. He just wanted to survive him.