Chapter 59: Chapter Fifty-Nine

Frankie inhaled deeply through his nose as he came awake.

“Yowza!” Frankie said with a shiver.

He felt a buzzing under his skin. As whatever they’d injected him with worked through his bloodstream, he took stock of the various pains it illuminated. The Phelans hadn’t roughed him up too bad. They’d rebroken his finger, broken a couple ribs, given him a beating that left most of his body feeling sore and bruised. All in all, a fair treatment considering he hadn’t put up a fight. He adjusted his hands behind his back and something cut into his skin: razorwire. Nice touch.

“Ow,” Frankie groaned as the pain in his body seemed to pulse out. He blinked a few times, trying to look around at the brightly lit room.

He was being kept in a rather large space. The concrete walls were rounded at the top. The floor was also concrete and slightly wet. The air he breathed in was damp, and cold. He looked to his right and finally spotted his captor: Sergei Vasiliev. He appeared to be the only one there. He wore a long, black, rubber butcher apron that fell nearly to his feet and covered his tailored suit along with rubber gloves that went past his elbows. Sergei studied the various instruments he had neatly lined up along a steel table. He picked up a pair of pliers and raised a brow before shaking his head and putting it back down.

“What did you inject me with?” Frankie asked, throwing his head back as the drug caused the temperature of his body to rise and his knees to bounce.

“Methamphetamine,” Sergei said, his voice distant and bored.

“Damn,” Frankie said with a chuckle. “You’re messing with my sobriety, Sergei. I’ll have to give my ten-year chip back.”

Sergei ignored him. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. He set the phone down on his table.

“Yes?” Asher asked on the other end of the phone.

“He’s awake. Come inside now,” Sergei ordered.

“Tell him to bring some popcorn,” Frankie suggested with a chuckle. “And an Icee!” he yelled at the phone still sitting on the table. “Blue raspberry! Not cherry.”

The door opened and Asher came in, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. His face was as white as his name described. His eyes went from Frankie to Sergei, his nerves palpable. Sergei gave him a nod, granting some unspoken permission.

Asher took a few leaps forward. “What were you thinking, Frank? You just handed yourself over?”

Frankie smirked. “Your boy toy went underground.” He glanced around his space. “Literally. How else was I supposed to interrogate him?”

Sergei guffawed. “You won’t be the one doing the interrogating.”

“No?” Frankie asked, pursing his lips. “Wanna know what I’ve already discovered?”

Sergei rolled his eyes in response.

“Let’s see, you’re working with the Phelans now. I’d be careful with that lot, they tend to harbor a grudge. If you’re willing to work with them, it means you really don’t think you’ll be getting to Gloria without a massive show of force. Good hunch with that one. You’ve brought me back to Chicago. I’m guessing we’re in the old freight tunnels. Based on the commotion overhead, we’re centrally located and right below your main headquarters? Lastly, you’ve brought Asher here as your only witness to whatever you’ve got planned for me. Poor guy, is this his punishment for still having googly eyes for me? You two should really consider couples counseling.”

Sergei took a few steps toward Frankie and jabbed a taser in his neck. Frankie’s jaw clenched as the voltage carried through his body, tightening his muscles to a painful degree. A foul burning smell filled the air before Sergei pulled away.

“Did…. I… Strike… a nerve? Damn… I’m… good,” Frankie muttered through his ragged breathing. “Are you sure you’d even be able to get it up for Gloria? Is that why Asher was supposed to be there during your wedding night? He was supposed to be your fluffer?”

Another round of voltage coursed through his veins. The razor wire cut into the flesh of his wrists and ankles as his body contracted against the electricity.

When Sergei finally released him, Frankie slumped forward to be caught by his restraints. He laughed between sharp inhales. “If you didn’t want me to chat, you should have chosen a different drug, Vasiliev.”

“You know what I don’t like about you, Donati?” Sergei asked, walking back to his table of torture.

“My devilishly good looks, obviously,” Frankie panted, flashing the smile that made women suddenly forget how scary he looked.

“You never shut up. Never stop joking. People think you’re a funny guy but you know what I see?”

Frankie pulled his lips to the side and shrugged. “I have to go with the handsomeness answer again.”

“I see a scared little fourteen-year old boy, who ran away from home to a city he had no business being in.” Sergei turned back to him. “I see a boy who bit off more than he can chew and has been trying to swallow ever since.”

Frankie smirked. “I always swallow.” He looked to Asher. “Don’t I, Ash?”

Asher shook his head, warning him to stop.

“You don’t intimidate me,” Sergei continued. “You don’t scare me. I don’t feel anything for you more than the same annoyance I’d feel for a pigeon’s shit on my shoe.”

“Oh come on, shit you can wash off. Me? I’ll cling to you until you're scrubbing your own hands raw,” Frankie taunted.

Sergei walked over, his expression unimpressed. He used a pair of scissors to strip his shirt off.

“Ohhhh, now we’re getting to the fun part,” Frankie said, shimmying his shoulders a bit.

Sergei’s eyes ventured over Frankie’s torso then halted on his collarbone. His expression turned from indifferent to pure, unfiltered fury.

Frankie glanced down and smiled. “You like it? She sure as fuck does. Lays her head right on top of it,” Frankie said, puffing his chest out a bit.

Sergei backhanded him, sending Frankie back to the floor. He heard a crunch and a moment later a shock of pain reverberated up from his left wrist. He hissed as the razor wire cut deep into the flesh that held together his broken bones.

“Zaberi yego! –Pick him up!\--” Sergei snapped.

Asher rushed forward as best he could on crutches and lifted Frankie up with a groan.

“Ne trogayte yego! –Hands off of him!\--” he ordered again.

Asher was quick to obey.

Frankie winced as he tried to resituate himself. He glanced over at Sergei who was furiously trying to figure out what tool to use on his victim next. Frankie watched his frantic movements. He analyzed the twisted expression Sergei bore. The realization hit him like one of the freight trains that used to frequent these very tunnels.

“Oh my God,” Frankie said, the disbelief evident in his voice. “You… actually care about her.”

Sergei’s eyes flicked up and away in less than a blink. Frankie looked over at Asher to see a similar look of shock crossing his features.

“Let me see if I can guess what happened here, Sergei,” Frankie said, leaning back, knowing he’d just gained the upper hand. “You were signed over to a girl at a young age. Daddy drilled into you that her value was that of an empire, a legacy, a way to make Daddy proud. He made it clear she wasn’t to be worshiped, only used as a tool and you followed suit like a good little boy. You watch her grow up. First a cute little girl, then an awkward pre-teen and then, one day, before you know it, BAM! She’s fucking drop dead gorgeous with eyes that are incapable of hiding their challenge. You’re intrigued. Then, one day when you're overseeing the violation of her womanhood, you see her fight back. You see her land a punch. Knock one of your strongest men back. Almost make it out the door to freedom. That’s when it happened, wasn't it? You fell in love with her.”

Sergei’s palms were braced on the table, his shoulders rose and fell hard while his eyes stared forward, filled with fury.

“That’s why you refuse to back down. It’s not about pride. It’s not even about the empire. You could find another girl. There is no shortage of virgin maids with dowries the size of the Russian tundra. You’re… angry she chose someone else. More specifically, you’re angry she chose me,” Frankie surmised.

Sergei picked up a scalpel and strode toward Frankie with a pronounced frown. He gripped Frankie's shoulder in a vice that threatened to snap his collarbone. He leaned down to look him in the eye.

“She hasn’t chosen anyone,” Sergei growled. “She doesn’t get to choose. She’s mine. I own her.” His eyes went down to the name etched into Frankie’s skin. “I’ll start here,” he began, his scalpel positioned at the edge of the last letter. “Then I’ll do society a favor and dissect your voice box from your fucking throat. You’ve taken from me. Twice now,” Sergei hissed. He flashed the scalpel. “Now you’ll watch as I take it all back.”

Frankie bared his teeth as Sergei made the first shallow cut. The scalpel dug below the surface of his skin and then downward. Frankie’s breath came in short, shallow rasps as Sergei continued his cut, outlining Gloria’s name. It wasn’t until he started to peel back the tattoo from his chest that Frankie finally screamed against the pain.