Chapter 28: Empty Spaces (Luca Moretti POV)
Chapter 28: Empty Spaces (Luca Moretti POV)
My wrists sting, the coarse ropes cutting into my skin as I twist against the metal chair, the warehouse’s damp air heavy in my lungs. O’Connor’s men snatched me from the safehouse, bursting through the back door while Nico checked the front, their hands rough as they shoved a sack over my head and threw me into a van that stank of gasoline and sweat. Now I’m here, tied up, the sack ripped off, a flickering bulb overhead casting jagged shadows on the concrete walls. I’m humming Nico’s ballad, low and uneven, picturing his cross keychain, his promise to find me keeping the panic from swallowing me whole.
“Stop moving,” a guard snaps, a wiry guy with a snake tattoo curling up his forearm, slouched against a stack of crates labeled Port of Chicago. He’s flipping a lighter open and closed, the click grating on my nerves.
I ignore him, my fingers brushing a shard of glass on the floor, probably from a broken bottle, its edge sharp enough to cut. I palm it, hiding it behind my back, and start sawing at the ropes, the glass biting my thumb. “This Sean’s plan?” I ask, keeping my voice steady, hoping to distract him. “Grab me to get to Nico?”
He smirks, tossing the lighter onto a crate and grabbing a cigarette, lighting it with a quick flick. “Gia’s the one who pointed us at you,” he says, exhaling smoke. “Told Sean you’re Nico’s soft spot. Makes you leverage.”
My chest tightens, but I keep sawing, the rope fraying strand by strand. Gia’s betrayal stings, her desperate plea at the pier, I’m protecting you, now a lie I can’t unhear. I tuck a curl behind my ear, my knife long gone, taken when they dragged me from the van. “She’s playing you,” I say, my voice sharp. “Gia’s only out for herself.”
The guard laughs, stepping closer, his boots scuffing the concrete. “Keep talking, kid,” he says, grabbing my jaw, his fingers digging in. “You’ll spill where Nico’s hiding before we’re done.”
I jerk my head away, spitting at his feet, and he swings, his fist clipping my cheek, the pain sharp but not enough to stop me. I taste blood, but I keep humming, focusing on Nico’s voice, his hand squeezing mine in the truck. The glass cuts deeper, one rope snapping loose, but I keep my hands still, waiting for a chance.
Another guard, a stocky guy with a buzz cut, a radio clipped to his belt, steps in from a side door, his voice low but clear. “Vinny’s pissed,” he says to Snake Tattoo, tossing a phone onto the crate. “Raf’s late with the cash drop. Sean’s giving him till dawn, then we hit the Valenti stash house.”
Snake Tattoo grabs the phone, swiping through it, his cigarette dangling. “Raf’s got the $50,000,” he says, his voice tight. “He’s just stalling, thinks he can outsmart Sean.”
I saw harder, another rope giving way, my wrists slick with blood and sweat. Raf’s deal, laundering Valenti cash to cover his debts, is unraveling, and I’m caught in the middle. I need to get out, warn Nico before Sean’s crew moves. “You’re banking on Raf?” I say, forcing a laugh to keep their attention. “He’s been screwing you over from the start.”
Buzz Cut turns, his radio crackling, and steps toward me, grabbing a crowbar from a crate. “Shut your mouth,” he says, raising it like he’s ready to swing. “Or I’ll make sure Nico finds you in pieces.”
I freeze, the glass still in my hand, but I meet his eyes, my voice steady. “Nico’s coming,” I say, gripping the shard tighter. “And he’ll tear you apart.”
Snake Tattoo laughs, flicking his cigarette butt at my feet. “Big talk for a tied-up barman,” he says, but his eyes flick to the door, like he’s not so sure.
I’m almost through the last rope when Buzz Cut’s radio crackles again, a voice cutting through: “Van’s ready. Move the kid to the dock at midnight.” I swallow hard, my humming faltering, and saw faster, the glass slipping in my bloody fingers. Midnight’s too soon, Nico needs more time.
I’m about to bait them again when Snake Tattoo grabs a water bottle from the crate, tossing it to Buzz Cut. “Keep him alive,” he says, heading for the side door. “Sean wants him for the trade.”
Buzz Cut catches the bottle, setting the crowbar down, and steps closer, unscrewing the cap. “Drink,” he says, holding it to my lips, but I turn my head, letting the water splash my shirt. He curses, grabbing my hair, and I use the moment to slice the final rope, my hands free but still hidden behind my back.
I’m ready to lunge when the main warehouse door creaks open, heavy footsteps echoing on the concrete, slow and deliberate. Both guards spin, Snake Tattoo grabbing his gun from the crate, Buzz Cut dropping the bottle, the plastic clattering to the floor. My heart slams against my ribs, the glass shard slick in my hand, as the footsteps grow louder, closer.