Antonio
The sky is still cloaked in darkness as I unlock the backdoor of Casa della Ombre . I needed to arrive before the chef and the kitchen staff to have enough time to set the stage for Valentino’s surprise. Procuring Prussic Acid wasn’t easy, but favors are a currency in this life, and I decided to cash one in.
Mixing the chemical in water is a delicate process, each cube a lethal promise waiting to be fulfilled. It’s convenient—almost too perfect—that Valentino insists on having his own personal ice cube tray. Once it’s prepared, I pour the liquid into it and slide it into the freezer.
Downstairs, I handle the next part of my plan. Carefully, I pry open the wooden crate and lift out the ornate display case. Inside, encased like a sacred relic, is the rarest bottle of whiskey known to man—the 1926 Macallan, bottle number twelve of twelve, with its hand-drawn label by Valero Adami. A masterpiece of indulgence.
“It’s almost a shame to waste something of such value,” I murmur, admiring the bottle’s pristine appearance. “But it has to be done.”
After arranging the bottle in the center of the conference table, I make my way through the tunnels to the newly built dungeon. The workmanship is impeccable. Anyone unfamiliar with the building’s original layout would never suspect this room wasn’t part of it.
The limestone-covered walls and heavy wooden beams create an ancient, foreboding atmosphere, like a medieval torture chamber. Six wrought-iron torches mounted on the walls provide the only light, their gas-fed flames casting restless shadows across the space. Sourced from a two-hundred-year-old barn outside the city, the stone and wood lend a sense of permanence—a space built to hold secrets.
Among the furnishings are a Saint Andrew’s cross, a spanking bench, and stockades. Chains and a selection of cuffs hang along one wall, cold and unyielding, perfectly fitted for the suspension system. I was even able to find a hanging cage and a fully functional stretching rack—everything on Valentino’s wish list of twisted cravings.
The dungeon waits, as silent and still as a crypt. Soon, it will be alive with the echoes of what’s to come. Valentino, the self-proclaimed connoisseur of rare luxuries, will be drawn by the allure of the 1926 Macallan. His final indulgence.
He’ll enter, unsuspecting, his greed blinding him to the trap laid at his feet. Just like Fortunato, lured by the promise of Amontillado, Valentino will be ensnared by his own desires. The walls, these ancient stones, will bear witness to his last breath.
Soon enough, the whispers of the past will awaken, filling this space with the echoes of retribution. And like those who’ve crossed the line before him, Valentino will be forever entombed—not by brick and mortar, but by the decisions he can never escape.
This room, with all its macabre grandeur, will only be used once.
After tonight, it’ll be nothing more than a tomb, a monument to a life built on deceit and violence.
* * *
The Procession of Saints, a revered annual tradition, draws crowds from all over the city. Inside the restaurant, anticipation fills the air as patrons gather by the windows, eager for their glimpse of the saints as they make their way down the street. With each passing minute, the atmosphere grows more electric.
“Lena,” I call as she steps out of the kitchen.
“May I have a word with you?”
She pauses, balancing a tray. “Be right there. I just need to drop this off.”
“I’ll be in my office.”
I sit at my desk, waiting, each second stretched taut with anticipation. No one, not even Dante, knows what’s about to unfold beneath their feet. I couldn’t risk Vigo overhearing a conversation or intercepting a text message. If he found out, it would mean my life.
Lena enters moments later. “Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“Close the door.” I motion toward it with a subtle nod.
“Am I in trouble?” she asks, her voice a little strained.
“No,” I say, my tone low but firm. “Have a seat.”
She perches on the edge of a chair watching me intently.
“Valentino will be here soon. I’ll be pulling you off the floor to take care of him.”
Her knee bounces and she tenses. “I’m not feeling well today.”
“You seemed fine all morning,” I reply, keeping my gaze locked on hers.
“I don’t want to be with him,” she says quietly, almost too quietly to hear.
“Why not.”
Wordlessly, Lena stands and begins unbuttoning her blouse. My horror grows with every inch of exposed skin. As the scars between her breasts come into view, I spot the crude carving of the word whore , and a sick churn twists in my stomach.
“What the fuck,” I say, the words slipping out as my fists clench. “Valentino did this to you?”
She nods, her eyes avoiding mine.
“Close your shirt,” I say, struggling to maintain my composure as I grip the back of my neck. My mind races, barely able to process what I’ve just seen. I assumed she’d willingly kept things going with him. After all, they’ve been involved for years. But this explains her strange behavior at my party.
I force a deep breath, cold calculation creeping back into my voice. “You’ll be available for whatever Valentino demands,” I say, the edge in my tone unmistakable. “Do I make myself clear?”
Lena stands abruptly, her face reddening with fury. “You’re as sick as he is.” She glares at me.
I lean back, expression cold. “About time you realized that.”
Without another word, she storms out, slamming the door behind her. I drop my head into my hands. She may hate me for this, but her fear will keep Valentino unsuspecting. It’s the only chance any of us have to finally be free of him.
“What’s going on? Lena looks like she’s about to tear someone apart,” Dante says as he steps into the office, his voice startling me.
“She asked to leave early, but I told her no. Valentino insisted on having her here.” I rub my temples, the tension pounding behind my eyes. “I’ve got no patience for this today—my head’s killing me.”
“Late night last night?” He smirks. “Who’d you bring home this time?”
I shrug, offering a grin. “Didn’t catch her name.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Speaking of Valentino, he sent me to find you. Says you’ve got something for him.”
“I do,” I reply, standing up. “We’ll be downstairs. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”