“Very well. The ceremony should take place in two months’ time. Go now and attend to business.”
I nodded, then got out of there as swiftly as I could.
Over the course of the next week, I observed what Angelo termed his “escalation.” Prior to that day, the men had been beaten and threatened as they’d been asked vital information. Now I watched as Giorgio Bonifacio shrieked in agony as we doused his body with a hose and sent an electrical current through him like an outlet.
Electrocutions did damage to the brain that could be permanent if repeated, so care was necessary to keep from going too far. Zapping them into useless braindead blobs wouldn’t prove fruitful. Such a state would mean we wouldn’t have access to those critical internal codes, account numbers of their offshore holdings, and safe houses filled with cash and valuables.
Still, after an hour of electrocution, Giorgio continued to keep his secrets. Either that, or he never held any to begin with. As the second-born son, it was possible that Lorenzo hadn’t shared such information with him in the first place. Bored, I went to the next interrogation cell to see how Antonio fared.
Here, I found a different story. Where Giorgio seemed pissed off, Antonio looked pale and frightened. When the henchman came at him again with the electrical cord, he flinched in his bonds and attempted to skitter away. It was a sign I’d seen before. We were close to breaking him. Antonio had been punished for the same length of time as his younger brother, and since he was the heir, the likelihood of hitting paydirt was much more likely with him. I looked on dispassionately as his shrieks became pleading and his pleading became accompanied by sobs.
Then, all at once, he began to tell us what we needed to know.
“The p-password for the main c-computer is 4Q8Zy73,” he said, and my father stepped forward making him repeat it as he recorded his words with his phone.
On and on it went with Antonio divulging things we hadn’t even imagined the Bonifacios to have. It was an absolute treasure trove, and despite my father’s so-called change of heart, I knew the real reason why we’d succeeded. It was because of my suggestion. All Antonio had needed was more of a push.
After he’d spoken for roughly fifteen minutes, he seemed to run out of juice. We had plenty to run with, and since I’d already informed our men to check his facts, I knew that so far, everything he’d said was one hundred percent truthful. Still, my father nodded at Vittorio to continue the electrical torture, accompanied by horsewhipping. Antonio’s screams altered in pitch, and after asking why and swearing he’d told us everything, when Vittorio hit him again, he began to laugh hysterically. Manically.
His laughter became weeping, then he spouted nothing but nonsense. This was it. His mind had splintered. My father had pushed him too far, and now, we’d get nothing more out of him. The sheer wastefulness of this annoyed me, but I dared not contradict my father. Instead, I left to follow up on what I was certain would only be the tip of the Bonifacio iceberg while also making preparations to surprise my bride-to-be.
5
Lucia
After Romeo’s two consecutive visits, I didn’t see him again. A week passed, and the longer he stayed away, the more agitated I became. Because while the man himself had not appeared in my room, gifts sent by him did. Every single night.
The first night he sent a pair of dangling diamond earrings which glimmered with every move I made. I had been accustomed to wearing such jewelry all the time to ourfamiglia’smany formal functions and donning them made me feel sad again. I tore them out of my ears immediately, tears filling my eyes. Had Romeo sent these because he’d known they would upset me?
The next day I received a pair of stiletto shoes which I refused to put on. Doing so would mean giving in to whatever sadistic game he craved to play with me, and I wasn’t having it. I kicked the shoes under my bed and tossed the earrings into the top drawer of my dresser in a huff. Out of sight, out of mind.
When the third box came, I seriously considered ignoring it. He couldn’t hurt me if I didn’t let him. Right? I threw the box into the corner savagely, but this only made the cardboard bust open, expelling its contents. And its contents included more tissue as well as a formal evening gown in a scarlet red.
“SignoreRomeo might become angry if he comes and sees how you’re treating his presents,” Philippa told me, fear all over her expression. But I didn’t care.
“SignoreRomeo can fuck off,” I spat, then paused at my own coarse language.
I’d never used such a word in my life, but Romeo drove me to such distraction. I both loved and hated how he made me feel when he stopped by, and I despised being avoided in person while granting me one salacious present after another. I presented a strong front while the maid remained in the room but as soon as she vanished, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness, feeling guilty and confused.
Romeo excelled at making me feel both.
The following night a much smaller box came, and I sat on my bed, staring at it. Would it be better to open it or leave it untouched? Should I conceal it from sight or leave it lying like trash on the floor? Ultimately, I left it unopened beside the butterfly on my dresser. But then, Philippa arrived in the middle of the night and shook me awake. She flicked on my lamp, causing yellow light to blind me. Bewildered at being awakened, I blinked at her, trying to let my vision adjust. Only then did I notice how sleepy and flustered she looked. I sat up.
“Here,signorina. He told me I must give you this.”
She didn’t have to explain who “he” was.
“Why?” I asked, but she’d scampered out like some skittish nocturnal creature.
I unfolded the piece of paper to see his flawless script.
Open the gifts, Lucia, or I will be displeased.
My head jerked up as I glared around the room. He was watching me? How? Was it as uncomplicated as Philippa tattling on me, or was this more insidious? While I could detect no evidence of cameras, I was no spy. I knew from overhearing my father that there were ways to monitor people without their knowledge. I yanked my bed linens more closely to my chest, then realized how foolish that was. Romeo had already seen me naked, had touched the most intimate and private parts of my body. Still, I felt violated, as if I’d been laid out for anyone who happened by to ogle.
I doubted that even if Romeo had been watching me that he would allow anyone else to do so. The man had been so insanely jealous that he’d clocked my poor brother. I thought of Antonio and felt a pang. Though he’d always been the heir, in truth, he hadn’t been the best suited to it. While strong and manly, he also had a sensitive, more artistic spirit. Had he not been a Bonifacio, he might’ve lived in Soho doing nothing more hazardous than asking passersby if he could paint their portraits.
It was the thought of Antonio that finally made me heed Romeo’s words. My captor had been physically violent with my brother once already. I didn’t want to give him an excuse to get aggressive with him again.
