Chapter 15
Finn
Gianna can't stomach the sight of blood. I know that like I know my own heartbeat.
The memory flashes in my mind, her horrified expression when I accidentally sliced my hand peeling a potato back in her college hostel kitchen. She turned green instantly, rushing for a towel, panicking more than I was.
She couldn't even look at the wound. That memory hits me as I face her. How could she agree to Declan's request?
"Good," Declan says, nodding with far too much satisfaction. "I'll send someone to bring you in the next five minutes." Declan moves to the door and before stepping out, he throws a look over his shoulder at me, one of disappointment and simmering anger. But I don't care.
The door closes behind him, and I turn fully to Gianna. She's pale. Her shoulders are trembling slightly, and her eyes dart to the floor like she's trying to find a way to escape. She looks like she's about to pass out.
"You can't do it, Gianna," I say quickly, reaching out to grab her shoulders with both hands, my grip firm but gentle. "You don't have to. I'll convince Declan. I don't care what he thinks. I won't let him push you into this."
She looks up at me slowly, and the moment our eyes meet, I feel something crack in my chest. She's terrified. It's written all over her face.
"I have to, Finn," she whispers. "There's no way Declan will trust me if I don't."
I shake my head, jaw tightening. "I trust you," I tell her.
Her lips pull into a thin smile. "I know. But he doesn't. And I can't keep living like this, looking over my shoulder every second, waiting for him to make his final judgment. I have to earn his trust. If this is the only way... then I'll do it."
My heart thuds in my chest, hard and loud. I want to tell her no. I want to lock the door and keep her here, away from all this, but I know Gianna will see this through, and besides, Declan isn't going to back down either.
Declan keeps his word. After five minutes, a guard comes to fetch Gianna. I tag along because I can't bear to imagine her going through it without me by her side. I hate this so much, but I have no choice.
I follow beside her as we step onto the estate floor with the bodyguard trailing before us.
I don't quite remember his name, but I've seen him several times.
My gaze keeps shifting to Gianna every second.
What is going through her head? We enter the small apartment sitting a distance away from the high-rise building and head straight to its basement.
Declan's basement is colder than I remember.
The thick metal door shuts behind us with a thud.
The hallway leading to it is lit with nothing but a single flickering light bulb swinging from the ceiling.
I've been down here more than I can count, but today, it feels different because Gianna is walking beside me.
She says nothing, but I feel her nerves in the silence she carries like a shroud. Her fingers twitch at her side, and every few steps she glances at me, searching for something I can't give her right now: comfort.
We stop at the thick black door. Declan stands outside of it, arms crossed, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
"This is it," Declan says. He swings the door open with a rusty creak.
The room is exactly as I remember it. The walls are stone-cold and damp.
There's a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows in all directions.
William and Jacob, and a few other men are present.
I glance at Jacob's knuckles, bruised and blistered. He definitely did the work on the guy.
A metal drain sits in the center of the concrete floor, already rusted from the amount of blood it has consumed. Chains of all sizes hang on the wall, and in the center of the room is the chair. Wooden, cracked, and stained. The man tied to it already looks half-dead.
His head hangs low, chin pressed to his chest. His arms are bound tightly behind the chair, legs spread and strapped to each leg of the seat. Dried blood crusts his hairline, and his lips are swollen, already split. Someone worked him over before we got here.
Gianna stops in the doorway. I see it, the sudden intake of breath, the way her feet hesitate, but then she steps inside. I follow close behind. I've never seen her like this before. Her eyes scan the room slowly. She swallows hard, and that's when I look away, because I know this is wrong.
Declan walks forward and places a metal tray on the table beside the chair. A selection of tools shines under the overhead bulb. A pair of pliers, a short rod, and a box of nails.
"Pick one," Declan says to her.
Gianna doesn't move. I step forward, about to tell him this is all a waste of time, but she reaches for the rod, gripping it like it's heavier than it is.
The man in the chair lifts his head, his eyes brimming with pain.
"Tell me," Declan begins, walking a slow circle around him, "did you give the Italians the location of our Boston shipment?"
The man groans. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Declan nods at Gianna. "Then make him remember.
" She doesn't hesitate. I watch her eyes dart between me, Declan, and the man.
Then, she steps forward and presses the hot iron against his thigh.
The man screams. Gianna doesn't flinch. Her eyes close for a second, but when she opens them, they're hard.
I hate this. I hate that Declan is using her like this. The man screams again, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Gianna pulls back the rod, and Declan steps in closer. "Tell me what you know," Declan says again with a calm voice like he's just ordering a coffee.
"I didn't... I swear... I didn't tell anyone..."
Gianna remains frozen there, but I see it, the way her shoulders shake every time the man cries out.
The way she tries not to look at the burn she's left.
"Again," Declan says coldly. She raises the rod.
I can't take this anymore. She's putting up a front, trying to appear strong, but I can see the horror behind her eyes.
I know Declan hardly cares about the man tied to the chair. This is a test, not for loyalty, but of cruelty; of how far Gianna will go before she breaks. Watching her slowly fall apart in this room is worse than any torture I've ever witnessed.
The torture continues. The man's screams echo in the room, becoming more and more familiar.
Declan makes Gianna switch between torture devices: the rod, a knife that she digs into the man's wrist, pliers that she uses to pull his fingernails.
It is brutal. When Declan finally has enough, he leaves the room, but not before giving Gianna a nod.
William and the guys follow after him almost immediately.
The iron rod drops to the floor from Gianna's hand as the door closes behind them. The room is quiet for a second, and I don't know how to comfort her. I'm the coward who let this happen. I can't believe I called her a coward when I'm the same.
"Gianna," I call, slowly walking around her like any slight misstep will make her crumble.
She doesn't reply to me. Her shoulders sag, and my heart drops to my stomach when I see her face.
She looks like she just saw a ghost. The man in the chair has passed out from all the pain, but her eyes remain locked on him.
"Are you okay?" I ask even though I already know the answer to that. "Gianna. Say something," I plead, my fear visible in my voice. She finally raises her head, and tears swim in her eyes. She raises her bloodied hand to her face, trying to say something, but no words come out.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see her eyelids slowly drop before her body catches up. I reach for her in a rush before she hits the floor. "Gianna. Gianna." I shake her, but she doesn't budge.