Chapter 8 Charlie
Charlie
The morning sun pours its harsh light over the estate as I tug on my running shoes, a flicker of restless energy burning beneath my skin.
I’ve been couped up at the estate for just over two weeks, unsure how I’m meant to survive one whole year here.
So far, my days are spent wandering the mansion and awkward dinners with the brothers.
At least movie night was good. Stefano really seems to hate the idea of me being here, and I don’t know why.
At least the rest are more tolerable. Mattia is doing everything possible to earn the best friend title.
It might be good to have one of them on my side.
I grab my phone and quickly shoot a message to Mel.
Hey bestie, just checking in. Still alive. x
I chuck my phone back on my bed and head out.
My feet find the dirt trail behind the mansion, and I start to run. The crunch of gravel, the birds chirping in the trees above, and trees rustling around me, has my breath falling into a calming rhythm.
After a short run past the brothers’ home, I catch sight of a shed hidden amongst the trees.
My pulse spikes as a cold knot begins to twist tight in my gut.
I spot two soldiers standing out front, their eyes sharp and unforgiving.
Over the last week, I’ve started to notice more odd things around the estate.
For one, there’s a ridiculous amount of soldiers here guarding the estate.
Two, Luciano seems to be in charge. Everyone here nods and shows their respect as he walks past them, but no one utters a word to him when I’m near, like I can’t be trusted.
And three, the brothers must have weird jobs because they come and go all hours of the night.
I crouch low into the bushes, my heart hammering loudly against my chest. I strain to catch every word they exchange—they’re speaking in Italian as well. The taller soldier steps forward, punching in a code ‘3851’ into the keypad. The door clicks open, and they slip inside.
Holding my breath, I count to thirty and wait for the coast to clear, making sure no one else is about to round the corner of the shed.
I quickly jump up and move towards the door, my hands trembling as I punch the same code.
The door unlatches, and I push it open to reveal a stairwell spiraling down into darkness.
I descend slowly, the air growing damp and biting with every step I take further. Voices echo faintly below.
A long corridor comes into view and stretches as far as I can see.
This place is huge, but you would never have known from outside.
I hug the wall, moving silently while trying to avoid making any noises.
A light spills from an open door nearby as the voices start to shout again.
I press myself behind some crates stacked in the hallway, my heart pounding so loud I’m afraid they might hear. And then I see him.
A young man chained to a chair in the middle of the room, blindfolded and fighting like hell against the soldiers.
The room itself looks like a crime scene.
The walls, which I assume were once white, are now coated in multiple shades of red.
His muffled shouts claw at my chest, fear starting to rise, but I don’t dare to move.
The soldiers interrogate him right before my eyes, brutally and unrelenting.
Their fists smash against his flesh. Every single finger is snapped and his nails ripped free.
They scorch his skin with a flamethrower and the smell of burning flesh is overwhelming.
Vomit sits in the back of my throat, but I push myself hard to keep it down. I can’t make a noise.
As time stretches, the torture doesn’t seem like it’s going to end.
They start hacking off his body parts with sharp knives; first his ears, then his tongue.
Just when I think they might be done, the soldiers shove a knife into his stomach.
How is this guy still breathing? He must be close to bleeding out.
I’m frozen, caught between shock and the paralyzing terror of being caught.
What would Luciano do if he knew I came down here?
But also, why do they have this? Who are these men?
What the fuck kind of businesses did my mother run?
A million thoughts are running through my mind when a single gunshot shatters through the air. Bang. The man goes limp as more blood pools beneath him. A scream tears from my throat before I can stop it, raw and desperate, echoing through the cold, dark halls.
Rough hands yank me out from my hiding spot, long fingers tangling in my hair, dragging me like a rag doll into the room.
I’m thrown beside the cold, lifeless body, and the metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils.
Panic claws at me as I scramble, desperate to escape, but a brutal kick to my stomach steals the breath from my lungs.
“Guarda Cosa abbiamo qui, Nico.” Look what we have here, Nico. He pulls harshly on my hair, hauling me upright. I reach out, fingers clawing to free myself, but his grip only tightens. A savage punch lands on my cheek, pain exploding across my face.
“Stop squirming,” he growls, dragging me through the blood and onto a stiff metal chair. Cold steel bites into my wrists as heavy chains lock me in place, my arms bound behind me. My tears betray me, slipping down my cheeks as I try to pull free of the chains.
“Please, let me go,” I plead, my voice trembling with fear.
“Who do you work for?” His demand is sharp and cruel.
Feeling trapped and terrified, I shake my head, my vision blurred in tears.
“Please, this is a mistake.” I look around the room but there’s no help in sight.
He turns and punches me in the mouth, splitting my lip. Metallic floods my mouth. “What family are you spying for?” He gets right up into my face, so close I can smell the cigarettes on his breath.
“No one. I’m not a spy,” I sob.
“Non le credo, Marco.” I don’t believe her, Marco.
Nico’s eyes burn into me. He grabs his knife off the table, the blade still dripping with the dead guy’s blood, as he toys with it between his fingers.
He steps closer, and I let out an ear-piercing scream, praying someone will hear me.
I kick my legs out desperately, but it only makes him laugh, a cold, cruel sound. He’s enjoying this.
He wedges himself between my thighs, using his legs to force them open. He traces the knife slowly from my thigh up to my chest and along my face. I shake my head sideways, trying to retreat, but he clamps a hand on my chin, squeezing my jaw hard to pry my mouth open.
“What a pretty mouth you have. I should put it to good use,” he murmurs, his fingers starting to play with his belt.
Panic surges through me. I thrust my knee up high, jabbing him in the balls. He buckles over slightly, hissing, “You bitch,” before backhanding me across the face.
My head snaps sideways, and more pain spreads across my face.
He runs his blade down my shirt, tearing through the fabric, and I can feel it piercing my skin.
My sports bra is now shredded, exposing me.
Blood trickles down slowly from where he has pierced my skin.
They’re trying to break me down piece by piece.
He leans in and bites hard on the top of my breast, my flesh breaking under his teeth. A desperate sound escapes my lips.
Marco yells, “Zittitela!” Shut her up. “Devo chiamare il Don.” I need to call the Don. Don? Why does that sound familiar?
Nico lands another savage punch to my stomach, stealing the breath from my lungs once again. I gasp, struggling to breathe. Tears flood my eyes. Terror, pain, and a cold dread tightens its grip on me as I fear what might come next.