“It’s a shame you never learned how to be honest.” I motioned to Vincenzo. “Can you help me with him?”
“Help… help with what?” the courier stammered, fear blazing in his eyes.
We didn’t respond. Instead, Vincenzo and I hauled him out of the chair and into the backroom. The courier’s struggles wereweak as he was pulled across the floor, a trail of crimson marking his path.
The room was lined with meat hooks, glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights. Cold steel dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if anticipating what was about to happen. I let my eyes roam over them, letting the sight sink into the courier’s mind.
The courier’s eyes went wide, glancing at the hooks, at Vincenzo, at me, and I knew the lesson was finally sinking in. Fear was a tool in the cruel game I played.
I lifted him up and pressed the hook against his back, just enough to make him flinch. “You’ve run out of time,” I said softly, letting each word land like a hammer. “No more games.”
Before he could even stammer, I let go. The sudden release made him stumble forward, arms flailing uselessly, and the sharp edge of the hook pierced through his shoulder blade.
He screamed, high-pitched and raw, the sound echoing off the tiled walls. Blood spattered across the floor as he twisted, trying desperately to pull himself free. Every movement only drove the hook deeper, and I let him struggle, savoring the terror radiating off him.
He tried to speak, his lips trembling, voice cracking. “I—”
A wet cough cut him off, and a spray of blood hit the tile. His eyes widened in panic as he gagged, hacking violently, the taste of iron filling his mouth.
I lifted him by the rope, letting the weight of his body pull against the steel. His arms flailed weakly, kicking at the floor, but the ropes and the hook held him tight. Blood dripped steadily from the wound in his shoulder, dark and thick, splattering across the tiles and pooling beneath him. The metallic scent filled the room, sharp and intoxicating.
Finally, his body sagged limply against the hook, eyes rolling back as darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. His chestheaved shallowly, blood still trickling from his mouth, and then, with a final shudder, he passed out.
“Only a matter of time until he’s dead,” Emilio said, breaking the silence.
I watched the courier hang there, chest rising and falling in short, ragged spasms. The blood darkened the tile beneath him, little black rivers spreading toward the drain. For a moment I just looked, as if I was studying a ledger and not a body.
“Yeah. We’ll get a clean up crew here,” I responded. “Let’s get anything he’s carrying. Ledger. Phones. Anything with names.”
Vincenzo walked over to the courier’s limp body and started going through his pockets. He hummed under his breath for a second, then glanced up with a half-amused expression.
“Maybe we should’ve done this before he was covered in blood,” he said, sarcastic but not unkind.
A corner of my mouth twitched. “Maybe. But then it wouldn’t be as memorable.”
For a moment, we were just three men in a butcher shop, sifting through what was left behind. Business as usual.
“Let’s finish up,” I said, turning toward the door. “We’ve still got work to do.”
And without another glance at the body, we stepped out into the night.
Chapter 13
Tessa
Every time I convinced myself I’d seen the worst this brownstone could do, it proved me wrong. Like the first day I tried to do Felix’s laundry and nearly screamed at the bloodstains. I had thought for sure that was the worst thing about living here, but it definitely wasn’t.
It was the boredom that got to me. Once the adrenaline wore off and I slipped into a routine, I realized there was nothing to do. The TVs were dead, the internet was out of reach, and reading only lasted me about an hour before it put me to sleep.
I knew I was supposed to be spending most of my time cleaning, and I did, though it felt like trying to mop up the ocean with a rag. Every surface had its own layer of grime, every room its own smell, and no matter how hard I worked, the house stayed just as disgusting.
Which was why, when I heard the front door creak open, I froze mid-scrub. Felix had left for work barely an hour ago. He wouldn’t be back this soon.
I wiped my damp hands on my jeans and crept toward the sound, every step careful and quiet. The house seemed to hold its breath with me, floorboards groaning softly under my weight, the faint hum of the radiator filling the silence.
The front door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. I pressed myself against the wall, heart hammering, and leaned just enough to peer around the corner.
A man stood there. Well-dressed, suit sharp and shoes polished, as if he had stepped out of some magazine ad. But I didn’t recognize him. Not from anywhere, not at all.
