Chapter 19: Chapter 19

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Every punch, every strike, every heavy blow to the head had the guy shouting profanities at the armed men beating him till he could barely speak.

I winced and watched from afar. Fortunately, I wasn't the one hanging from thick, long chains, clutching onto them as if my life depended on it.

The guy in shackles lifted his head while the rest of his bruised body helplessly swayed.  The taller goon toyed with a baseball bat, using it to hit Niccolo's outstretched limbs.

"Figlio—  Cazzo!" Niccolo's handcuffed wrists stayed attached to a concrete beam.  Metal clanking against metal echoed within the cold walls of the basement. We all watched the Vinciguerra heir suffer. At least he still had the energy to swear out loud.

I scowled when Niccolo glared at me again. Utter hostility hardened the guy's darkened eyes as I stood in the corner. Watching. Waiting.

Did Niccolo blame me?  It wasn't my fault we ended up here. He made the choice to betray my trust;  the guy even tried to blackmail my family.

"Animali!"  Loud grunts of agony filled the next minute as Niccolo tried to stay conscious amid the cruel beating they put him through. Bright red liquid stained his lean chest and stomach. His bound hands hung above his shaved head that shone with sweat and fresh blood.

The scenario definitely was what I'd expected, but I didn't exactly predict my father would actually torture the guy for hours.  I didn't even think Pappa had been keeping Niccolo a prisoner in this warehouse for months now.

Matter of fact, Stefano Falco never got his hands dirty for a nobody, but this one might've pushed the right buttons to warrant a good beating from the big boss.

"Torturing him's not gonna solve anything." I stared at my father's wrinkled, bearded face and waited for his stone-cold expression to change.

If only I had the heart to forgive the person I once thought would give me the contentment and sense of belonging I'd always craved, I would stop the blatant homicide about to take place right in front of us. My naivety got the better of me, sure. But back then, I'd actually felt that our friendship had been genuine. At least for a while.

Should I question my father's orders and stop all this pointless violence? Or just pretend this vengeful act of brutality didn't bother me at all?

"We're not trying to solve anything, bambino," Pappa muttered while wiping splotches of blood off his knuckle.

So why beat the living daylights out of the guy?  Why keep Niccolo alive?  I didn't take my eyes off the bloodshed until deafening gunshots disrupted my train of thought.

"Shit!" I covered my ears and backed off. "Was that really necessary?" I scowled.

The hostage.

Immediately, I turned to check up on Niccolo, now being laughed at by my father's thugs. Their guns pointed straight at Niccolo's shaved head. The poor guy's chest continued to heave. Dirt and sweat tainted the blood smears concealing the sharp angles of his face. Must hurt like a son of a bitch to be in his shoes right now.

"Simply teaching him a lesson."

"You're not his parents." I frowned at Pappa's vacuous gaze. "Leave it to them."

"Funny that you think they still care." Pappa even grinned at the suggestion. "Or perhaps you're just as clueless as I thought." His gaze narrowed while his thick brows contorted on his wrinkled forehead.

Sooner than I could react, my father's guileless response wedged a giant pause on all my  thoughts. I stood still. Waiting for my rage to simmer down took me a moment.  Self-control was always something I struggled with. But not now. Not before my father's  scrutinizing eyes.

Calm. Focus. Move past it. It's just another test.  "What you businessmen do to each other, that's your problem."

"Ah. So your stupid boyfriend didn't tell you?" Pappa calmly backed away from the scene and lit a cigarette. "He sold them out to the Russians."

"What?" I walked with my father towards the colder corner of the basement. "What's that got to do with the business?"

"You mean, 'our business'?" Pappa sighed out loud and took a moment, as if reflecting on something. "At some point, Maximiliano...you'll have to assume liability and learn to care for your responsibilities in this family." His blue-gray eyes squinted at me.

"Why bring him here then if it's the Vinciguerras that's got beef with the Russians?" I stared past the glass windows separating the makeshift office from the rest of the dingy basement.  My father's henchmen, at the moment, still enjoyed making a punching bag out of Niccolo's limp and trembling body.

"Maxim, stop asking stupid questions, fuck's sake."

"I'm just curious, not stupid."

"Ilya sent him here. To spy on you, me, everyone in the family. Niccolo is his godson and tech guy."

"Ilya?" I scowled.

"Božić. They teamed up with the Mihajlović clan. But of course you wouldn't know that."

Did he mean the current top two Serbian-Russian mafia group tried to kill Cloe and Lorenzio?  "Who told you?"

"The kid confessed." Pappa glanced to Niccolo, and then took a drag from his cigarette.

A tense silence stretched. I watched Pappa sit behind the old wooden desk, the time on the wall clock well past midnight. So the Russian mobsters were definitely after our entire family now. Merely because we were competition?

What else did Niccolo confess to besides being a spy for those money-obsessed murderous assholes? How the heck did I not put the puzzle pieces together soon enough?

"I don't need to tell you being a smart businessman is how I'm able to provide for this family." Pappa sighed as I sat in front of his desk. "Those who try to mess with our plans are just setbacks."

Okay. He sounded thoroughly pissed now, so I wouldn't dare object his opinions.

"I want them out of the way no matter the costs. Question is: are you up to it?"

"You told Mamma about this? About your plans with the Tomassinis?"

"Perché lo chiedi a me?"

"Pappa..." I sighed.  "She needs to know." I stared at Pappa, trying to sound as neutral as possible. "We can't lie to her forever."

My Mamma Eleana had mostly been ignorant when it came to the family's underground, off-the-books transactions.  Pappa might just be the sneakiest businessman to ever exist in Italy.

It was safe to say my father loved making money and extending his influence more than he appreciated his wife's decades of loyalty and commitment.

My jaw tensed up at the thought. My nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists. Were businessmen always that soulless and narcissistic?

Pappa shook his head faintly.  "She doesn't need to know everything."

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