When I came to, I expected a bright shining light to emphasize the swelling pain I was feeling on the back of my head. Instead, I was engulfed in darkness, my hands and feet bound tightly, and fatigue threatening to take over me once again. I had no hope of untying myself and escaping, but I did try to move my wrists around in order to have the bonds be looser, but that resulted in more rope burn. In the distance there was a pounding noise which told me that Tom and his men were on their way to greet me. What was funny about it now was that I was no longer afraid. My worst fear had already been taken care of: the Holland mafia found me. What more could I be afraid of? Spiders?
There was a clacking on the metal floor from their footsteps and it grew closer with each anticipated second. By now, I was surrendering to fatigue and just as the door opened, I let my head drop and I closed my eyes. Maybe if I seemed to still be unconscious they wouldn't bother me.
"Nice try, sweetheart but we have cameras in every crack of this wall," Harrison said, "We knew you were awake before you did." "I thought you weren't going to kill me," my words were slurred, I wanted nothing more than to sleep, "Why do I have the feeling you're going to kill me?" "It all depends on how useful you are, Bella. If you decide to cooperate, you'll live a little longer. If you don't, I'll put a bullet in your head and go grab some lunch, but I think we both prefer the former, don't we?"
"I think we have differing opinions," I muttered, "I should've let you kill me when I was sixteen." "But then we would never have the pleasure of meeting again!" Harrison exclaimed, "I'm quite a nice fellow. I enjoy long walks on the beach, black and white movies-" "I understand, Humphrey Bogart," I hung my head down, "Just bring Tom in so we can get this over with."
"Believe it or not, I'm the nicer one," Harrison laughed before he knocked on the door, signalling Tom. The door then opened and with that the lights finally came on. Quickly I closed my eyes to avoid any more of a headache than I already had, but Tom lightly slapped my face twice. "Get used to it," he ordered, "It's not going to get any darker while you're here." Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked at the man who held me captive. He wore a different outfit than before. When he was in my apartment he was in a white dress shirt rolled to his forearms lazily tucked in and black dress pants. He looked more regal here, his jacket and pants matching and a black dress shirt this time, most likely to cover whatever stains that would come from interrogating me.
I never made eye contact with him, I didn't hold that power within me. Instead I looked past his eyes, and focused on his eyebrow that looked scarred. It was faux power on my part, but at least I was making an attempt. What did I have left to lose? "Your Marshal was named John, right?" he asked. So that's what I had left to lose. I nodded and whispered, "Did he suffer?" There was no point in praying that he survived, not when Tom Holland was involved. Tom shrugged and looked at Harrison, "Did he suffer?" "About as much as strangulation victims usually do," he reciprocated the shrug and I brought my head down once again. I'm so sorry, John.
Tom grabbed my face and forced me to look at him, much like before. "You have nobody now, Bella," he said, "You might as well cooperate." With the snap of his fingers, he had one of his men pull up a chair for him to sit on. From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a Bowie knife. He then proceeded to use the knife to cut the cloth that covered my thigh until there was nothing but skin. "You're going to answer some questions, Bella," Tom placed the tip of the blade on my thigh and I winced at the coolness. "Each one you refuse to answer you get a new scar," he then nicked the skin, causing me to gasp. He removed the blade from my skin and I couldn't help but focus on the blood that was trickling from the wound. This one wouldn't scar, but I wondered how many would.
"Who's in charge of the Biancattis?" Tom asked and I scoffed. Once again, the blade was on my thigh, threatening to bite. It was such a stupid question that I didn't give two shits about this upcoming laceration. "If you don't already know, you're dumber than I thought," I said, biting my lip as he dug the blade into my leg. "Strike one," he said, "I don't appreciate your tone, Miss Dante." "Then do your fucking research," I spat, "You run the underworld, am I right? Know your enemies." With that came another slice on my leg. This time I didn't react.
"Let me try again," Tom said through gritted teeth, "Who are their closest allies?" "What makes you think I know, hm?" I cocked my head to side, "My dad never told me he was a part of the mafia." Another slice, deeper than the last. "You're getting close to bleeding out, Miss Dante," Tom warned, his anger rising. I was on the verge of laughter. I didn't know if it was from fear or I was going mad, but I had power over him. I had knowledge he needed, he couldn't kill me even if he wanted to. "And are you going to let me bleed out? No," I said, "You're going to have me slip into a coma, take me to the infirmary and wait until I'm healed and start over."
He said nothing. Instead, he dug the knife straight into my leg and this time I cried out. He continued to cut through my skin, no doubt tearing muscles and hindering my ability to walk normally. I couldn't contain my screaming, the pain was unbearable. He then took the knife out quickly and I couldn't help but stare at the blade, my breathing labored. My blood soaked the knife to the handle. His hand was covered in blood as were his clothes.
My consciousness was slipping away from me once again. I watched lazily as my leg bled out as well as my life source. Maybe he would kill me, maybe I underestimated him. "Take her to the infirmary," Tom ordered and I felt multiple hands untying my binds and carry me out of the room. "We'll resume within the next few days," Tom chuckled as he said so, "Per your wishes, Miss Dante."
Ten days later I was put in the same exact chair I bled out on earlier. The only difference was that the chair was squeaky clean and there were about sixty stitches on my leg, so they opened the cloth on my other leg since it had yet to be marked. I was high on morphine so a dumb smile was plastered on my face and I knew I would give away answers easier than if I were sober. He had me where he wanted me and the devilish grin told me that he knew. He didn't even have his knife out this time.
"Welcome back, sweetheart," he greeted, "Are you willing to comply this time around?" Inside I was screaming no, but on the outside I nodded and said, "Whatever you want." "Excellent," he clapped his hands together and sat down, "Now tell me. Who's in charge of the Biancattis?" I tried to control it, but it was futile. I started to giggle endlessly before saying, "You're dumb." Tom's smile faltered when he realized he didn't get the answer he wanted. "Care to try that again?"
"You're dumb," I leant in and said it louder, "You're just trying to test me. You already know. And I know too. I want another question." My heart beat quickly, expecting him to pull out the knife, but he didn't. Instead, he nodded along, "You got me. I'll try another one. Do you know who the Biancattis work with?" he asked.
This was the million dollar question. I cursed myself for ever snooping on my dad's computer and I now understood why he never told me. If I never knew I was an unreliable witness. They would discard me and I would've been safe. Worst case scenario was I would cry for my life, confused on why these bad men wanted me. But I knew what they wanted. Six years didn't diminish what I knew.
I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and shook my head. Tom arched an eyebrow, amused at what I was doing. It didn't help that I was high off my ass so everything I did looked slow and stupid. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," his voice was hushed, as if he were speaking to a child in time out. Weirdly enough, it worked. My body relaxed, I felt comfortable around him when he was calm and there were no weapons in sight. But still I shook my head. "You'll kill me," I said, "Once I tell you you'll kill me." "I promise I won't," Tom then held out his pinky, "I pinky promise."
I curled my pinky around his, solidifying the promise. Internally I groaned at what I was doing but I couldn't stop it. It was like I was watching myself from the outside, unable to stop my actions. I wanted to hit myself repeatedly until I knocked myself out and live another day, but there was no strength in me at all. "The De Lucas supply our arms," I started, "Shipments come in every Thursday. We make our own drugs and have the Kennedys export them to our patrons while receiving their payments. For the clubs, the dancers are usually related to Biancattis or De Lucas, but our pimps are usually Maguire men. They solicit and we receive the rest of the revenue after each night. Biancattis, Kennedys, De Lucas, and Maguires run the entire east coast. Our west coast contact are the Adessos. Go through them and you basically destroy the Biancattis." I tried to cover my mouth with my hand, but I was bound to the chair. I snitched my family out. No, the morphine snitched my family out. It didn't matter, I was dead nevertheless.
It was ironic I began sobering up at this time. A tear slipped down my cheek and I hung my head low and began to quietly sob. I whispered apologies to my parents repeatedly before I looked up and glared at Harrison. "You should've fucking killed me," I shouted, "You should've fucking aimed for the head! Why didn't you aim for my fucking head? Tell me!" I didn't notice that my rage assisted me in moving my chair forward. My wrists were bleeding from the contact and the ropes were becoming looser. It wasn't strength, however, it was pure emotion.
Harrison didn't react, but he avoided eye contact with me. "You can't even fucking look at me," I said before I spat at him. It didn't go far, but it hit his shoes. "You orphaned me and you can't even look me in the eye! What happened to just a few days ago when you were practically coming at the idea of me being captured? You're nothing but a pussy. A fucking COP .357 is bigger than your dick." By then he met my eyes and I knew he was pissed. "You want to kill me now, don't you? Because I insulted your dick? Well do it! What's stopping you?"
Tom then put his hand over my mouth. "He's not someone you want to piss off, Miss Dante. I recommend you shut the fuck up." I looked at his hand before I averted my gaze to him. He wasn't pissed, humored, or anything. If anything he seemed sympathetic. It's not everyday a snitch just starts berating your right hand man out of a pique of vulnerability. I had much more to say to Harrison, but with Tom's hand covering my mouth and his warning ringing in my mind, I decided to call it quits and hang my head down again.
"Untie her and get her cleaned up," Tom said, taking me by surprise, "Make sure she's able to walk by next week." He pulled out the knife from his jacket and helped cut the rope on my wrists. Examining the bloody mess that came from my rage, he grabbed one of them and stroked his thumb lightly over the wounds. It wasn't a painful feeling, but it was uncomfortable yet addicting at the same time. It was a small gesture that fucked with my emotions in the ten seconds he did so. "We can't have you looking like a corpse on your big night out, can't we? I'm sure Georgiana has something to remedy this."
I have written 10,000 words the past day and a half. I am dead inside.
Don't forget to vote, comment, that good stuff.
~Not edited~