Chapter 6
SIX
Caelian
Dresden is a city divided. The rich live in an entirely different city than the poor.
The streets transform from dirtied and decayed to bright and clean on the wealthy side.
Police patrol the neighborhoods and keep order there.
On the other side of the gate dividing upper Dresden with the rest of the city, residents aren’t so lucky.
As we drive into the deepest part of the city, I’m acutely aware we’re passing through Nevaeh’s old stomping grounds.
We drive by the squat building known as the dormitories for the ballerinas dancing for the Dresden Dance Company.
The area couldn’t be more depressing with its chipped brick and barren courtyard where trees wither and die, brown leaves scattered across the cement floor.
Visions of Nevaeh coming and going materialize before my eyes.
Nevaeh in a winter coat limping from exhaustion after another long day at practice.
Nevaeh scurrying after dark to make it to one of Ignazio’s dinner parties.
Nevaeh as a smaller girl wandering out to the vacant courtyard in hopes she could enjoy the afternoon but finding the dead leaves at her feet.
All while Ignazio, the dance company, the Vorones, and Nero, more than anyone, made a profit off her talent.
If I’d known where to find my angel, I would’ve bought her sooner.
An aspect of our relationship she would probably be horrified by, but she wouldn’t understand why.
The thought of her suffering for years in the contract she was in tears away at me.
So much time we spent apart that was wasted; so much time she spent living in squalid servitude when she could’ve been mine.
Why doesn’t she understand she’s better off with me? How can she not see she belongs by my side?
Disgruntlement festers inside me. Tension lances through my jaw and makes me bite down harder. I scowl at the glass pane of the car window.
Matteo’s with me, behind the wheel as I sulk. He throws a glance to his right. “C, something wrong?”
“Keep driving.”
“Those were her dorms, weren’t they?”
“What’s your point?”
He gives a shrug. “You seem pissed off. Well… you’ve been pissed off for a while now.”
“My wife is missing!” I growl. “She fled from our home in the middle of the fucking night. What part of ‘this is very fucking serious’ don’t you understand, Matteo?”
“I didn’t say I don’t understand.”
“Then shut the hell up or I’ll jam my pocketknife in your esophagus.”
Matteo being the career soldato he is, merely grins at my bloody threat. He’s no stranger to violence; he’s aware of what our lifestyle entails and what I’m capable of. I once murdered his twin brother in cold blood before his eyes.
“We’ll find her,” Matteo mutters, almost more to himself.
Though I’m aware he’s speaking to me. He simply doesn’t want to piss me off any further.
Night falls over the cityscape. Decent, law-abiding citizens rush to make it home on time. Being out after dark in Dresden normally poses a real danger to anyone easily preyed upon. The creeps and criminals come out at night.
The divide between the city is never more pronounced—the rich and famous hide behind the gate leading into their neighborhood while the rest of humanity struggles for survival.
Even the city lights are not enough to banish the malevolence that lives and breathes in the darkness.
From the time I was a young boy I’ve understood how fucked up it all is. As the son of Carmine Ziccardi, I was privileged compared to most. My family lived behind the gate. We vacationed out of the state for holiday. Sometimes out of the country in Southern Italy.
Once I was older, I worked my way up to capo. I earned my own wealth so I could move out to the middle of nowhere in the mountains.
I might not’ve lived in poverty, but I get the plight of the people who do.
Yet Nevi wants to return to this?
Or did she truly believe she was saving her family? Did she believe their lives were on the line? Why wouldn’t she come to me with this news?
I would’ve done what was necessary to get them help. I would’ve ensured her mother lived.
Apparently, that wasn’t good enough for her.
“How much longer?” I ask moodily.
“We’re a couple blocks out. According to the radio channel we hacked from Nero’s men, they were closing in on them.”
“Nevaeh, her mother, and Ignazio.”
“Her father, C,” Matteo says. “He’s with them. He must’ve found some escape from Nero.”
The muscles in my clenched fist strain even tighter. I’m sitting in the front seat of the car like I’m about to smash the glass window with my bare hands.
“But Nero’s guys showed up. They’ve found Ignazio.”
“And the others? Nevaeh?”
“Not sure.”
“I don’t give a damn about recovering Ignazio. He could be fed to a pack of wild dogs for all I fucking care.”
“Don’t you see, C? If we find where Nero’s taking Ignazio, we could find where they’ll bring Nevaeh,” Matteo explains. “If they haven’t caught her already.”
Untold levels of stress spike inside me at the thought Nevaeh has been captured by Nero. For as strong and talented as she is, my ballerina will always be precious and delicate in my eyes. She’s not meant to be captured by the enemy and used as a bargaining chip.
Nero’s infamous for the torture he inflicts on his war prisoners. Traitors that stab him in the back. Fallen mafia bosses and criminal lords that he dominates. All categories of people Nero is known for torturing until they beg for death.
In a few blocks, we arrive to the warehouse where Matteo and my men have learned Nero’s crew is operating out of. We make sure we’re strapped with plenty of guns and ammo before we step out of our vehicle and approach.
We’re still operating on a reconnaissance level. But should shit pop off, we’re ready for that too.
Coming up the side of the deserted warehouse, we pass several boarded windows.
The wooden boards vary in how they’re nailed on.
A few of the windows are completely covered up.
Others have the boards at different angles, creating crevices.
We find a window with the latter and peer through the opening to spy inside.
The board still obstructs much of what we can see.
My view mostly consists of the ceiling of one of the rooms. If I strain my eyeball to peer lower, I can catch vague sightings of people moving in the background. Nero’s men as they gather to strategize.
It doesn’t feel like enough. It’s useless if we can’t see anything.
But then comes the slithery voice that unmistakably belongs to Ignazio, and suddenly sound is all we need.
“You can’t be serious,” he sputters out. “You can’t really blame me for what’s happening? How was I supposed to know they disobeyed Nero? I saw a tearful mother searching for her daughter and—ARGH!”
He’s interrupted by a hard smack to the face. The sharp sound reverberates through the air.
“Didn’t we already tell you to shut up?” snarls one of Nero’s guys. “Keep talking and we’ll knock a tooth out.”
“Bu-bu-but,” Ignazio stutters. “Wh-what if I can… if I tell you wh-where they are?”
“Keep writing checks your mouth can’t cash. Nero’s been waiting for a chance to get rid of you.”
“I can! I can tell you. I sw-swear on my… my life.”
His blubbering, his begging disturbs me at my core.
I could be in the most agonizing pain of my life, on the brink of death, with my worst enemy holding the antidote to my illness, and still I wouldn’t beg. I wouldn’t cower to other men like a fucking pussy.
I’d take death and welcome it like a confidant.
The disgust I have for rats like Ignazio knows no bounds. Not only is he sobbing weakly and getting bitch-slapped, he’s offering to turn on the others. He’ll give Nero’s crew information on Nevaeh’s family in exchange for his own well-being.
The fucking coward.
If he ever frees himself and I come across him, I’ll gut him myself.
“C,” Matteo whispers, nudging my side, “did you hear that? The place they found them at. It’s another warehouse not far from here.”
“Then what the hell are we waiting for?” I snarl back in a whisper. “She could still be there.”
We return to the car parked blocks away from where Nero’s men have brought Ignazio. The second warehouse Matteo overheard them mentioning is less than two miles off.
My twitchy heart pounds faster. We pull up outside the building and rush in still strapped. From inside the pocket of the cargo pants I’m wearing, my phone chimes. Few people have this number. Only my closest inner circle.
Including Nevaeh.
“You’re covered in blood.” Ms. Poitier’s tongue ticks in her mouth. Her heavy-lidded eyes flash with disapproval, her mouth at a bend. “Should I be surprised?”
She steps into the bathroom as I step into the glass box that is my shower.
A partition separates the half of the bathroom I’m standing in and the half toward the front where she is.
Though it’s not as if I’d care if she could see more than she can—I’ve never been shy about my naked form.
I’ve walked out of my bedroom with my big dick swinging, enraged by something I needed addressed right then and there, or if I were in the middle of another flare up.
I grab the bar of soap in the shower nook and let the hot water pass over me. The blood staining my skin washes away within seconds, pooling at the drain before slipping down. Scrubbing my skin clean, I say, “Since when do you care about bloodshed?”
“Since you went on the warpath about your missing wife.”
“We’ve done what we had to do.”
“You seem to have convinced yourself of that. Which is fine. But now you want to get me involved.”
“And?”
Ms. Poitier glares at me despite the fog clouding the glass shower. “You don’t see why I want nothing to do with it?”
“You are my only female employee. You do it… or one of my men will.”
I’m not sure I could make good on the threat—I’m far too possessive to ever allow it—but it works as a scare tactic for Ms. Poitier.
She goes rigid, her face pulled tight. “Fine. If that’s what you want. I’ll report back.”
In the time she’s gone, I finish my shower. My skin’s squeaky fucking clean by the time I emerge. We’d encountered some of Nero’s men after all when we were trying to drive out of the city. They’d found out we were in the area conducting our own search.
Matteo and I barely have a scratch on us.
None of the handful of Nero’s men are still breathing tonight.
I slip into a pair of sweatpants and come up to the dresser where I’ve kept her ring. I pick up the tiny gold band that could never fit my pinky finger let alone my ring finger. But it fits so perfectly on Nevaeh’s small, slender hand. She took it off the night she left me.
She took off the ring that symbolized our union.
I grit my teeth as a deep darkness consumes me.
Rage I wasn’t sure I could ever feel for mia bella ballerina.
Now I know that wasn’t true. I thought wrong. The rage I feel toward her for what she’s done scares me. It makes me uncertain of what I’m capable of, even if I’m a beast.
I’m more than enraged. I’m fucking hurt and betrayed. All factors that push the rage into new unknown territory.
…’til I realize I thought I wanted Nevi back to protect and take care of her.
What I really want is to punish her for what she’s done to me. Make her suffer like she deserves, like she made me fucking suffer.
Ms. Poitier returns within the hour, her body language stiffer than earlier. “It’s done. She’s… she’s ready for you, C.”
I glance in the mirror at my dark, feral expression then turn away to head for the door. “Good. It’s time mia bella ballerina suffers a bit.”