“Normally, you prefer the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ tactic. I’m surprised you controlled yourself this time.” Westminster can’t resist a peek into the darkness either.
I don’t look. There’s nothing to see but black.
“My wife stood at the back of a cupboard in the dark for three hours, petrified for her life.” The familiar anger flows through my blood. It’s almost calming now that I’ve dealt with everyone involved and Caterina is mine. “The oubliette is shaped like a bottle. He can lie down.”
“Generous of you,” Westminster says, with a touch of sarcasm.
“How deep is it?” Steve asks, turning his head to examine the stone walls that are akin to a well.
“Twelve feet to the bottom, though it seems it would have been deeper originally. The floor presumably was built up a little over the centuries with whatever was thrown in.”
Steve blanches and steps away from the entrance.
“Mmm. You don’t want to fall down there,” I say. “Probably would break several bones.”
A low sound like a dying animal reverberates up.
We all hear it.
My hands curl into fists and I wish I’d just killed the zasranets man immediately.
“We’ll return to the party now.” I’ve spent too long away from my wife already. “But another time, I can get the drone out so you can look if you’re curious?—”
“This is not how the London Mafia Syndicate approves of dealing with conflicts,” Westminster interrupts me.
“Mmm.” It’s nothing more than an acknowledgement.
There’s a hush full of the awareness that I didn’t have to show Westminster this, and could have killed the man in the oubliette immediately. I don’t want to pull that bastard out, but he isn’t yet dead. That’s all the concession Westminster gets.
And he seems to know that. “I appreciate your change in practice.”
“For this mafia leader. The others…” I take out my phone and ping him the file I have with the names, list of notable activities, and photographs of the men I killed in my quest for vengeance against all who hurt Caterina. The two who directly hurt her, and those stupid enough to be found hurting women or children when my need to kill was on a hair trigger.
Westminster pulls out his phone and scans the document. His eyebrows raise. “Geraci was involved with…”
“Yes,” I confirm. Neither of us speak further, but we share a glance of mutual disgust.
Westminster pockets his phone. “Understood.”
A croak echoes up from the hole. Weaker this time.
Rage flares again in my chest, but Westminster’s expression is impassive.
“How long did you say he’s been in there?” In contrast, the lines of Steve’s face crease with concern.
“He’s probably dead by now,” Westminster lies calmly. “And we have a marriage to celebrate, and a family reunited.”
“Exactly.” And a family begun. Pride flows through me remembering again that my wife is pregnant under that pure white dress.
Steve straightens, as though coming from a trance. “How about we just forget about this whole thing?”
I close the trapdoor and the three of us move the racking back into place. Then the cellar is dead silent again.
“Now.” I turn a couple of bottles on the rack, pretending to search. “This space is almost empty, but I have some excellent wine arriving next week that will be stored here for twenty or more years.”
I pull out champagne and pass it to Steve and Westminster. “I think you’ll enjoy these. They’re properly aged and chilled.”
“Served cold, you might say, Boss.” Steve accepts two bottles.
