Chapter 51
EMBERLINE
Bruno didn’t rush.
He worked with a deliberate precision that told me he enjoyed his work—the cadence of pain, the rise and fall of screaming, and he did it all with the quiet, practiced ease of someone who had done this too many times to count.
Strange. I’d never have pegged the brawny bodyguard to be so delicate with a knife, but here we were.
I hung from iron chains bolted into the ceiling, my wrists bound above my head, the weight of my body pulling at my shoulders until the tendons and joints burned. My toes barely brushed the drain beneath me, just enough to keep me from dislocating something.
This wasn’t mercy.
Just a way to prolong the game.
My blood—and piss—pooled around the drain, splattered one wall, stained the shackles and many of Bruno’s tools, and so far, he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted.
Because I didn’t know.
I was half tempted to make something up—send them to Cleveland, for instance—but that would only prolong my pain. No, thanks.
Desperation was apparent in the sheen of sweat on Bruno’s swarthy, burned face, the way his eyebrows formed a single hairy line, the way he tossed his fillet knife onto the metal tray with a curse, sending everything flying.
Sucks when you don’t get what you want.
The damp concrete had a familiar smell now. Or it could be all this rock, stretching out in all directions, as if this place had been carved into the mountain.
The longer Burno worked, the deeper recognition settled.
I knew exactly where I was—Rocco’s basement.
A flicker of grim satisfaction cut through the haze of pain. There was an entire room of incriminating proof somewhere close by, and if I could get out of this room—if I could survive Bruno—then I had evidence of Rocco’s treachery. Of his shadowy deals with Lord Blackwood.
Of Giovanni’s monstrous plans.
The crack of leather snapped my focus back to the present.
Pain flashed sharply across my ribs, driving the air from my lungs as the whip bit into already broken skin. I jerked against the chains, a pitiful sound tearing loose from my throat before I could stop myself.
I wasn’t trying to be brave, but I had to conserve my strength, and every scream cost me, especially hanging like a piece of meat from a hook.
Bruno stepped in front of me, examining his work with a critical eye, like an artist deciding where to place the next brush stroke. “You should just give him what he wants,” he said conversationally. “Make it easier on yourself. No sense suffering when the truth will come out, eventually.”
I forced my head up, vision swimming as I found him through the blur. “Are you still here? I was about to take a nap,” I rasped.
His mouth twitched.
Behind him, Giovanni stood in the cleanest part of the room, monk’s robe as immaculate as ever, hands clasped loosely behind his back as though I was nothing but a minor inconvenience interrupting his busy day.
I didn’t even know when he’d arrived. Maybe he’d never left.
“I always know when you’re lying, Emberline,” my uncle said calmly. “You can’t keep any secrets from me.”
A weak laugh scraped my poor, raw throat. “Is that so? Then you obviously know it was me who put that frog in your bed when I was five. I hope it shit on your pillow.”
“You know where the Basin is.” There was a tightness in his voice when he continued. “You were there when it was taken. You were part of the plan.”
“There’s a famous saying… how does it go? Oh yeah,” I managed to make eye contact. “Certainty is not the same as truth. Have you ever heard it?”
Bruno’s next strike landed across my back, harder, blood leaking down my spine, the back of my legs. I bit back my scream, teeth clenched hard enough to ache.
Giovanni tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was under a microscope. “I’ve been waiting for a very long time.” He sounded almost thoughtful. “Years of careful maneuvering. Alliances built with the most odious of accomplices. Sacrifices, Emberline, I wish I hadn’t made.”
His gaze sharpened.
“And then you wrecked everything, and for what?”
I met his eyes, forcing my vision to steady. “Just wanted to ruin all your fun, I suppose. Guess you’re shit out of luck without your big, bloody rock. How were you planning on accessing the magic, anyway? You’re no witch.” I paused. “Or priestess.”
Come on, give me something, uncle. Spill your secrets.
His lips curved faintly, “I have everything I need, niece, don’t you worry.” He almost sounded… pleased, as if he’d won this round. Then that smile turned brittle. “You were supposed to be useful. A weapon to point in the right direction, but you are a failure.”
Another lash.
This one I felt all the way down to my spine.
“You were supposed to kill them when you had the chance,” Giovanni continued, as if the interruption hadn’t happened. “Gabriel. Dante. Marcello. I offered you the opportunity of a lifetime. But you couldn’t even avenge your father properly, could you?”
I leveled my stare on him. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get my revenge, Uncle. And this time, I have the right enemy.” Then I was thrashing against the chains, the whip landing again and again, wave after wave of pain rolling through me, threatening to drag me under.
“You were weak,” he went on, his voice cooling. “You chose to align yourself with them. To protect them. To become… attached.”
I swallowed hard, tasting blood.
“Then,” he said, “you stole the Basin.” His expression hardened, the faint amusement gone now. “I can tolerate traitors,” he said quietly. “They serve a purpose. They can be used, much like I used you.”
Bruno stepped closer again, the whip hanging loose at his side as he waited for instruction, hunger written all over his face as Giovanni’s eyes skimmed down my ravaged body, the blood steadily dripping into the drain beneath me.
“But thieves,” he hissed, “are a different matter. Once you steal, you can never be trusted again.”
A breathless laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
“Well then,” I husked, my voice rough from pain. “You should really hang onto those values of yours. It sounds like they’ve served you well. Good luck with your hunt for the Basin. The world’s a big fucking place, so have fun searching.”
My uncle nodded, and Bruno went wild, the world fracturing at the edges, pain spiking so sharply it blurred everything for a second. My head dropped forward, breath coming in uneven pulls as I fought to stay conscious.
I told myself this was good.
Anger made people sloppy. Sloppy people made mistakes.
And I really needed someone to make a mistake before I lost consciousness.
Pain lanced through my shoulders, down my arms, but I waited. Bruno would cut me down soon. Hopefully, he’d untie me. And now that I knew where I was being held, there was a chance I could get out of this.
And when I did get out of here, I would get that proof into the right hands, and Giovanni would be finished.
Emilia might not trust me, but she would trust the evidence. And once she discovered Lord Blackwood’s involvement, she’d have no choice but to act.
And with her help… we could bring them down.
Giovanni, Rocco, Blackwood… all of them.
Through my fog of pain, I tried to focus on Bruno and Gio’s conversation, both of them clearly frustrated. I let my head drop again, letting my body go slack enough to sell the lie. My breathing turned shallow, uneven, as though I was slipping away.
Then, finally, Giovanni headed for the door.
“This will take time,” he said, more to himself than to either of us.
“And I have other matters to attend to. Cut her down. No water. No food. We’ll see what a few days and an empty stomach can do.
” Silence settled in his wake, and Bruno exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders like a man settling in for a long night before heading in my direction.
I lifted my head, meeting his eyes, and this time, when I smiled, there was nothing weak about it.
Because Giovanni might be the one asking the questions.
But Bruno was the one I had to break.