“This is me. This has everything to do with me, and I will not sit back, not when my blood is threatened.” I said calmly.
“I’ll take you down to him.” Lance stood and adjusted his leather jacket.
I stumped out my cigar in a crystal ashtray. Shrugging out of my Armani coat, I placed it on my coat hanger and rolled up my sleeves.
“Let’s go have some fun, shall we? It’s been too long, Lance.” I offered him a grin he didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he let out a sigh.
He followed me down the passage in silence and pushed the button for the elevator, stepping back to stand beside me. I cast him a sidelong glance. “It’s been twenty-five years. He’s evaded me that long.”
There was nothing more to say, he understood. I would not rest until Castello was bleeding by my hands, and any man who aided him would meet much the same fate.
We stepped out of the elevator into the basement, my guards standing upright as I passed them. We walked down the long, well-lit corridor that looked like the hallway of a fancy hotel. Some parts of this base were even nicer than the best hotels. Other areas though, like the room we were about to enter, were not. This was where we kept the filth, the less than humane. Lance entered a code and opened the metal door.
The Cavalieri brought Diego Marcel to New Orleans, smuggled him and his family out of Mexico because he’d done right by us, kept us informed. But apparently he got an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he forgot who he belonged to. He forgot, and I had no problem reminding him.
The muffled words coming from the man tied to the chair in the middle of the room were incoherent as he struggled against his restraints. The light that hung overhead illuminated him, making him the center of attention. His week-long stench filled the room, and it was enough to make anyone else retch. It didn’t bother me though. In fact, I’d become immune to it over the years. He grunted again, rocking back and forth in the chair he occupied. His black hair was matted to his forehead, and beads of sweat dripped from his hairline, down his caramel skin, pooling at his lips. I sat on a chair across from him, my elbows on my knees, as I stared at him for a couple of seconds without blinking or saying anything. I turned my neck from side to side, clicking out the kinks.
There were two other men in the dimly lit room with me, but his eyes hadn’t left mine since I’d walked into the room. It was the first and last time this man would see me. He should consider it an honor. I cocked my head to the side and watched him intently as his eyes silently pleaded with me. After a while, he started begging out loud, and it became offensive. He understood that this was the end, yet he did not have the dignity to accept it. He sensed it, death, the way it knocked at his door demanding entry. This was what I missed about being out in the field. The fear. When death approaches, you feel it, a day, maybe two before. It sits beside you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder like a good friend. I was glad to facilitate this union. He had been a fool to forget that Arthur Calthorpe was not a man to cross
Some doubted I was human. I’d heard men and their whores whisper about me, saying my blood runs black. Who knows? Maybe it’s true. I’d never let a man get close enough to draw some. I stood and closed the short distance between us, my shoes not making a sound. I leaned in, as close to his face as I could manage, the stench of fear filling my nostrils. I wanted to savor this one. It was only fitting.
“The way I see it is that you have one chance, Diego. Where is Stephen Castello?” I enunciated the words as I looked the man in the eye. He shook his head to and fro violently, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I only did the drop-off at the post box. I didn’t know the man who handed it to me. I swear -”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. All of this could be avoided, sì? If you’d just told us that when you arrived.” Isn’t that right boys?” I looked at the men around me. “Look at you now, all bruised. That pretty face of yours.”
He looked hopefully at me.
“Only the drop-off?”
He nodded.
I held out my gloved hand and Lance stepped forward, a deep frown set on his features. He would have slit this man’s throat in a heartbeat, but this, this was my job to finish. They would never understand the reason I wanted to handle this on my own since it was not a story I wished to revisit at that point. It was deeply personal, but they all knew it was rare that I got my hands dirty. I grit my teeth. “Now, if I took the time to come down here, the least you can do is make it worth my while, capisce?”
Tears fell down his tanned cheeks, and I smiled. A man who cries in the face of adversity isn’t one who could gain my respect, so I spat at him. He flinched, earning him a backhand across his face.
I took the serrated blade held out to me and held it under the bright light above him. It sparkled and sent slivers of light across the room.
“Perfection.”
He was a strong one despite having lost a lot of blood, but he was about to lose a whole lot more. The blood had crusted over the cut above his swollen right eye, and his face which was once alluring was now unrecognizable. I’d heard about his reputation with the ladies despite being a married man, but I didn’t give two fucks about that in any case.
“Do you know why they call me Diavolo, my friend?” His eyes widened as I traced his tied hand with the pointed end of the blade, nipping him softly. I removed his gag.
“Please, senor, I do not know where Castello is. My family. Please. I would never -” he pleaded, spittle falling from his lips, making me flinch in disgust.
I held his wrist down, ignoring his whimpering. “It’s because I don’t have a soul. I never did need one...” I trailed off.
Looking him right in the eyes, I pressed the sharp end of the blade into the flesh of his index finger. It hit just between the joint between the finger and the hand. When realization hit him, his screams echoed in the room. “I’m going to take one, for each of your children. Yes, and then one for Esmeralda.” I snarled.
The blade sliced through flesh and tendon like a thin ribbon, Diego’s cries filling the room When Seth, my youngest knight offered me a gag I stopped him with one glare, causing him to shrug and step back. The young ones are easily annoyed by these things, they don’t want the hassle of all the screaming, they like it quick. I, on the other hand, like the sound of pain. I liked the sound of his fear. I drank it in like a fine wine.
“Let him hear his own whines for each finger I take.” My voice was cold, unfeeling. “Shall I send them to Esmeralda, Diego?” The man was gasping for breath, shivering in agony.
When I was done with him, Diego slumped over the chair. Seven fingers in total laying in a box. Crimson liquid seeped from the spots his fingers previously occupied. It fell like a waterfall on to the floor, some of it on my shoes and pants. After I slit his double-crossing throat, I would send these souvenirs to his wife. I imagined her horrified expression at the thought, and it made me smile. Almost.
“Maybe I can pay Esmeralda a personal visit, huh? There are several ways I’d like to take that pretty Latina.”
I lifted up the box so he could see what his betrayal had cost him.
“He...he’s here...” the man spat, his gasps filling the air. “New Orleans.”
“Now, you could have saved yourself the trouble, Amigo, if you’d just said that.”
“Please, senor -” his words were stunted when I sliced a clean cut from one side of his throat to the other, blood pouring out of the wound. He gurgled and gasped until his convulsions subsided.
“Clean this up,” I said through gritted teeth, the knife falling from my grasp as I watched the life leave his eyes. And then I walked away from the disgusting scene. It was Stephen Castello I wanted, and he had no fucking idea what was coming his way. He’d been on the run from me for good reason, and he was about to find out what happened to traitors like him.
