Skip blinks. “Because you literally own a collection of fillet knives.”
Silence.
Maverick’s brow lifts slightly.
Skip continues, warming to his argument.
“You skin people alive for sport.”
“I don’t do it for sport,” Bones corrects calmly. “I do it for information.”
“That’s not better,” Skip shoots back. “You once explained the difference between vertical and horizontal skinning like it was a cooking tutorial to the man you had tied to a table.”
“It’s about efficiency,” Bones says, unbothered. “If you start at the clavicle and work down…”
“Okay,” Spike sighs. “We get it.”
Maverick leans back, studying Bones like he’s evaluating a weapon he’s already used.
“You enjoy screams?” Maverick asks mildly as if he hasn’t been in on at least ten of those skinnings.
“They’re informative,” Bones replies.
Skip gestures wildly. “See? That’s what I’m saying. You’ve got marble from Tuscany. We’ve got a man who treats human skin like upholstery.”
“High-quality upholstery,” Bones mutters.
Maverick’s lips curve faintly.
“You think we lack imagination,” he says smoothly.
Skip shrugs. “I’m just saying. Our scary guy looks like he sleeps well after a flaying.”
Maverick’s expression doesn’t change.
“In Sicily,” he says calmly, “we do not waste time with noise.”
Bones’ eyes sharpen slightly.
“We prefer silence,” he pauses. “There is a practice,” Maverick continues, voice almost conversational, “where a man is allowed to believe he is safe.”
Skip stops smiling.
“We remove his protection. Slowly. His accounts freeze. His partners vanish. His guards accept better offers. His driver calls in sick. His mistress stops answering. We let him feel the walls close,” Maverick says softly. “Not physically. Strategically.”
His eyes darken.
“Then one evening, he returns home… and finds his entire household gone. No blood. No screaming. Just absence. We do not send pieces,” Maverick continues quietly. “We send photographs.”
The room is silent now.
“And sometimes,” he adds, “we do not harm the man at all. We break his name.”
A pause.
“In our world, reputation is currency. When we are done, no one answers his calls. No one trades with him. No one shelters him. He walks into rooms, and men leave.”
Skip swallows.
