Chapter 32 NORA
NORA
Luca slipped through the back entrance with Matteo and the men, disappearing into the shadows just as boots pounded up the front stairs.
I stood alone in the empty room, smoothed my shirt, and waited.
When Bellini's thugs kicked the door off its hinges, a heavy sack dropped over my head, followed by a chemical rag pressed hard against my nose and mouth that sent my world spinning into black.
Cold flagstones press against my cheek. Darkness surrounds me, thick and heavy.
When I pull my hands back, metal bites into my wrists.
The cuffs are bolted high into the masonry, straining the muscles across my shoulders every time my heels slip.
The taste of chemical solvent coats the roof of my mouth.
Iron hinges groan. Yellow glare slices across the floor, burning my eyes. Two men step through the opening. The first has a crooked, broken nose and knuckles scarred white. The other rolls a piece of gray gum between his molars, jaws working in slow rhythm.
Nose spits a brown stream of tobacco across the flagstones. "Look who's here. Boss wants a chat."
I blink hard through the glare, forcing my chin up as I stare down his crooked snout. "Tell your boss I bill by the quarter hour and I don't do dungeons."
Gum snorts. His boot leather squeaks wet as he shifts his weight. "The bitch thinks she's funny."
I rattle the iron against the stone. "I think you need a mint. And maybe a high school diploma, but let's start with basic dental hygiene."
Keys jingle as Nose steps into my space, his sour breath washing over me. "Mouthy. I like that. Makes the quiet part more fun later when we break you."
I smile with all my teeth, holding his gaze. "Touch me without permission and I'll rearrange your remaining cartilage into modern art, you ugly prick. Fair warning."
He laughs, short and ugly, but his key clicks in the lock. The metal opens. Blood rushes into my fingers with a dull prickle. I roll my shoulders once, checking the damage. Bruised everywhere, but nothing broken.
They jerk me upright. My knees wobble, then lock into place. The hallway smells of wet concrete and stale smoke. We pass row after row of locked iron bars. Most are empty. One man sits in the dark and keeps his eyes glued to the floor.
They shove me into an interrogation room lit by a bare bulb. A steel table sits bolted to the floor between two chairs. Don Vincenzo Bellini waits on the other side, wearing an expensive gray suit and a dead, flat smile.
Don Vincenzo traces a manicured finger over a folder on the desk. "Nora Elizabeth Blake. Crisis management. London. Very impressive resume for someone who ends up in my basement."
I drop into the chair across from him and lean back, resting my wrists on the metal edge. "Your basement needs work. So do your guards."
Bellini taps a manicured finger against the tabletop. "You talk a lot for a woman in chains. The Morettis took from me. I take from them. It is simple math."
"Your math is garbage," I counter, leveling a cold stare right into his face. "I am not their property. I run my own business, and right now you're running up a massive bill."
He chuckles, a dry rasp that scrapes against the concrete walls. "You are bait, Miss Blake. While Luca panics and scrambles to get you back, I take his territory."
I lean in until the cuffs rattle against the steel. "Luca does not panic. And I don't sit around waiting to get rescued."
Bellini leans forward, his dark eyes fixed on mine. "We will see how tough he is when I send him pieces of you."
He stands up slowly and circles around the back of my chair. His breath turns warm against the side of my neck. "Everyone breaks, Nora. Some just need a little cold, a little blood, and enough pain."
"You smell like sour garlic and desperation," I bite out, refusing to flinch. "Back off."
His fingers grip my shoulder. I wrench sideways and slam my elbow straight into his ribs.
Air huffs out of his lungs. The guard with the broken nose lunges in and cracks the back of his hand across my cheekbone.
My head snaps to the side. Warm blood fills my mouth.
I turn back, spit red onto the metal tabletop, and bare my teeth in a tight grin.
"That all you've got? My last client hit harder and he was a tech bro with anxiety."
Bellini straightens his jacket, breathing measured now. "Restrain her properly. No more chairs. No more courtesy."
Hands shove me through the doorway. Cold iron clicks around both wrists, hoisting them high into the wall bracket until my toes barely graze the stones.
A sharp fire burns through my shoulders.
I clench my teeth and run my eyes across the wood of the heavy door.
Seventeen iron bolts stud the frame. The bottom hinge sits crooked, its pin loose and rusted.
Water glistens down the stones on the left, but the right side flakes dry.
Gum lingers in the doorway and jingles a plastic bottle between his fingers. "Boss told me you get water when you ask nice."
"Ask nice?" I laugh, the sound raw and jagged in my throat. "Sweetheart, the only thing I'll ask nice is for your dental records so I can match them to the floor later when I kick your teeth in."
The door bangs shut. Darkness drops over me like a wet sack. Water drips against the floor, steady as a clock. My shoulders shake. Heat burns up into my neck. I suck in air through my nose and blow it out through my teeth. Count to four. Count again. Plan the next move.
Minutes drag into hours. The ache in my arms turns numb and heavy. I wiggle my fingers to force blood into the tips. I list old clients. Phone numbers. Board members. Anything to keep my head clear. The latch rattles. Light cuts across the floor.
Bellini walks in alone. He holds a bottle of clear water in one hand. He bends down and sets it on the dirty stones, two feet past my shoes.
"Still upright," he observes. "Most beg by now."
I spit a bit of blood onto his shoe. "Most don't have my billing rate. Also most aren't me. Big fucking difference."
He crouches, studying me like a bug under a microscope. "I could make this easier. Information on Moretti shipments. Schedules. Soft targets. Speak and the cuffs come off. Food. A bed. Even a phone call home if you behave."
I snort, a sharp pain lacing through my ribs. "You want free consulting? Cute. My day rate starts at five figures and requires a contract, not a dungeon. Also I don't snitch on people I..." I catch myself, swallowing the word. "On people who annoy me less than you do."
His eyes glitter. "Love. You almost said love. How deliciously inconvenient for everyone."
"I almost said many things, you old bastard. Mostly involving your mother and a rusty cheese grater. Focus."
He stands. Nudges the bottle closer with his shoe, then farther again. Petty bastard. "Your loyalty is touching. Misplaced. Luca's parents died screaming. His uncle is a traitor in slow motion. The girl will be next if he doesn't fold. You are just the opening act."
Anger clears the fog better than water ever could. I glare through the darkness. "Threaten them again and I'll make sure every agency from here to London gets your grocery list. I have friends who eat men like you for breakfast and bill the leftovers."
He laughs, genuine this time. "God, I almost want to keep you. Such a waste under Moretti. Perhaps after I gut him I'll make you an offer. Real power. Not this romantic little captivity game."
"Hard pass," I counter, my voice cracking but firm. "I already have a job. And infinitely better taste in partners."
The heavy iron door swings open with a sharp clang. Heels click against the wet flagstones. Sara Bellini strides in, her designer trench coat swinging around her knees, and stops beside Don Vincenzo with a toxic sneer on her lips.
Sara waves a hand toward the guards. "Father, let me have her. Go handle the docks. I'll finish this little piece of trash myself."
Don Vincenzo glances between us, his mouth twitching into a thin line before he gives a cold nod. "Do not leave a mess, Sara. And do not take too long." He waves to the guards, and the three of them file out, leaving the heavy door half shut.
Sara pulls a thin silver blade from her designer pocket. She tilts her head and steps closer. "Look at you. Nora Elizabeth Blake. Luca's precious new plaything hanging like dirty laundry in my basement."
"Nice knife," I croak, eyes locked on hers. "Compensating for a lack of personality, or does being a mafia parasite just require accessories?"
She laughs, a high, grating screech that echoes off the stone.
"You think you're clever? Luca thinks he's a god, but my family tore his apart piece by piece.
We broke his parents. We made them beg in the dirt before we put bullets in their heads.
And Luca? He cried like a wounded dog while we took everything from him. "
A raw heat flares in my chest, but I lock my jaw and keep hanging there. "Luca has more spine in his little finger than your entire bloodline, you pathetic bitch."
Sara's smile turns vile, her eyes narrowing as she twirls the blade. "Oh, and don't get me started on little Sofia. That fragile little doll. Did Luca ever tell you about school? How easy it was to torment her?"
My fingers tighten into fists against the cold iron cuffs. "Keep her name out of your mouth."
Sara steps right into my face, venom dripping from every syllable. "I shoved her into bathroom stalls and dumped bleach on her clothes. I held her head underwater in the sinks until she choked and sobbed. She's weak. Pathetic. Just like you."
Something snaps inside me, white and blinding. The fear evaporates, replaced by pure, feral rage. Sofia's quiet face flashes in my mind, gentle and bruised, and every instinct screams for blood.
Sara raises the blade, aiming for my throat with a cruel smirk. "Time to die, London."
I don't hesitate. I bunch my legs and throw all my weight upward, yanking the loose rusted wall ring with a violent, bone-rattling jerk. The ancient mortar cracks and explodes in a shower of dust, tearing free from the wall.
Gravity drops me down like an anvil. Before Sara can even blink, I swing both cuffed hands around her neck, looping the heavy iron chain tight over her windpipe.
Sara lets out a strangled shriek, dropping her knife to claw desperately at the chain biting into her throat. We crash hard against the stone floor in a tangle of limbs.
My teeth bare as I twist the links with everything I have. "You touched Sofia? You miserable, sadistic cunt!"
She thrashes violently under me, heels drumming against the stone floor, nails gouging bloody furrows into my forearms. I ignore the pain. I drop all my weight onto her chest, knee planted over her ribs, and haul back on the metal links with every ounce of strength in my body.
Her face mottles purple. Her eyes bulge wide in sheer terror as she finally realizes nobody is coming down to save her. A sickening crack echoes off the walls as her neck collapses under the iron. Her hands slip from the chain, fluttering weakly against the floor before going completely limp.
I hold the pressure for three long seconds just to be certain.
Silence settles over the cellar, broken only by my ragged breathing.
I shove the body away and scramble backward on my hands and knees.
My stomach heaves violently. A sour rush of bile hits the back of my mouth, and I press my forehead against the damp, icy flagstones, choking back a sob as the brutal reality of what I just did slams into my chest like a wrecking ball.
I just killed a person. My hands won't stop shaking.
Her unblinking eyes stare into the dark, milky and blank.
Breathe, Nora. Don't fall apart now. Panic later or you're dead. I swallow down the bile, wipe the cold sweat from my forehead, and force my numb fingers to close around the silver knife on the floor.
I work the tip into the cuff locks, twisting until the pins pop with a sharp snap. The iron clatters to the stone. Blood rushes through my bruised wrists in a fiery tingle.
I grab Sara's trench coat, check her pockets for a sidearm, and slide the heavy keys into my waistband.
Then I push the heavy door open an inch, scanning the empty corridor ahead.
The Bellinis thought they caught a helpless hostage.
Now I'm walking out of their dungeon, and I'm burning their whole fucking empire to the ground.