We pushed the cart down the last aisle, grabbing a few last items in silence. The mundane task felt oddly intimate, just him and me navigating shelves, arguing quietly over which cereal to buy, laughing softly at each other’s stubbornness.
And yet, beneath the small moments of normalcy, the undercurrent of danger never left. Every glance he gave me, every brush of his hand, reminded me exactly who I was with, and why I shouldn’t let myself feel anything close to comfort.
Chapter 12
Felix
Ipushed the door open to the back room of the butcher shop, letting the smell of blood and raw meat hit me.
This was always one of my favorite places to work. The smell, the mess, the way the red gleamed under the harsh lights—it was honest. Clean. No pretenses. I ran a hand along the counter, feeling the cold metal beneath my fingers, and let my eyes settle on the man tied to the chair.
He was small, scrappy, a courier I’d barely noticed until now. Now, every nervous twitch and shallow breath screamed guilt—or at least fear. Good.
“Who’s been stealing the money?” I asked, my voice low, measured. Let it linger. Let him stew in the silence.
Vincenzo and Emilio stood against the wall, saying nothing, but their eyes darted constantly between me and the courier.
The courier swallowed hard, his hands trembling where they were tied. “I—I don’t know! Maybe… maybe it was them!” He said, motioning towards my two friends.
I laughed out loud. The man couldn’t even lie properly. “Maybe it was them,” I repeated, amusement coating my voice.
I knew it wasn’t them. Not Vincenzo, not Emilio. The truth was staring me right in the face, hidden behind this courier’s panicked eyes.
I let the silence stretch, letting the weight of it press down on him. Every twitch, every stutter, every drop of sweat told me more than words ever could. “You think pointing fingers will save you?” I said slowly, voice low and dangerous. “It won’t. Ialwaysfind the truth.”
The courier’s eyes widened, flicking to my friends. Vincenzo’s jaw tightened. Emilio’s eyes narrowed. His fear was spreading, subtle but undeniable.
“So, are you going to give me the information I’m looking for?” I asked, letting each word drip with quiet menace.
“No! I didn’t take anything! I swear!” The courier’s voice cracked, desperation bleeding through every syllable. His eyes darted wildly between Vincenzo and Emilio, as if sheer panic could shift the blame again.
“Shame.” I took the blade from my back pocket, the metal cold and precise, and began sawing at his left ear.
He screamed, a raw, high-pitched sound that made the tiles vibrate beneath us. The smell of blood hit me, mingling with the butcher shop’s familiar stench, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction at the fear coursing through him.
“Looks like you’ll be a modern day Van Gogh,” I said, ripping the flesh further and further away from his skull.
“No, please!” he screamed, the sound hoarse and ragged, echoing off the tiled walls. His hands flailed, but the ropes held tight.
I leaned in close, letting the cold edge of the blade press against the raw skin, savoring the way fear made him small. “You can scream all you want,” I said, “but the only thing that will stop me is the truth. Who took the money?”
“I don’t know his name,” the courier sobbed. “He sent a different guy every time.”
I tilted my head, studying him. His words were useless. Lies, half-truths, fear… all of it just noise. My patience wasn’t infinite, and I made sure he knew it.
“Different guy every time?” I repeated. I leaned closer, the knife still in my hand, the smell of blood thick in the air. “You expect me to believe that? That every single time, someone else just magically stole from me?”
He shook his head violently, sobbing harder. “I—I don’t know his name! Please! I swear, I only delivered the money!”
I let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Of course you don’t.” My eyes flicked to Vincenzo and Emilio, who rolled their eyes as if they were bored by the whole exchange.
I turned my gaze back to the courier, letting the knife hang loosely in my hand. “Well, if you don’t know anything else, I suppose we have to let you go.”
“R-really?” he said between sobs.
“No.”
Before he could process it, I pressed the blade against his ear and finished cutting, ripping it away cleanly. His scream tore through the butcher shop, raw and high-pitched, and the metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils.
