Chapter 36 Ren

Chapter 36 Ren
Ren

The jet is already humming with a low, constant vibration by the time we reach the private airstrip. The sound of the engines cuts through the silence of the mountains like a cold blade through silk. I climb the steps without slowing down or looking back, and Matteo follows directly behind me.

Neither of us speaks because there is nothing left to say that has not already been punctuated by the deaths of twelve men.

Inside the cabin, the air smells of expensive leather and jet fuel. I take my seat and loosen the cuff of my shirt, feeling my pulse begin to steady. The hot rage that consumed me at the villa has settled into something colder and much more dangerous. Rage is usually loud and chaotic, but this is quiet.

We take off within minutes of the door sealing shut. As we climb, the mountains shrink beneath us until the villa becomes nothing more than a pale speck in the distance. Amelia is still there, armed and certainly angry, but she is safe for the time being. I close my eyes against the moonlight and replay Marco’s report in my mind. Twelve men were sent back like cargo as a message. Gianni wants my attention, and I am going to ensure he receives exactly what he asked for.

We land in Verona just before dusk when the sky is painted in dull orange and fading blue. A car is waiting for us near the hangar, and Matteo collects the keys from the driver before sliding behind the wheel. I take the passenger seat this time and watch the city lights begin to flicker on as we drive through the familiar streets. Verona looks the same as it always does, appearing calm and civil on the surface while hiding its rot beneath the architecture. We pull up to the stone building we use for meetings, a place tucked behind an iron gate with no markings to identify it.

Marco is waiting for us inside the study. He looks much worse than he sounded on the phone, with a wrinkled shirt and eyes that are bloodshot from a lack of sleep. He stands the moment I enter the room. I offer a single nod in response as I walk past him. I ask for the report. He swallows hard and explains that the container is secured and that they intercepted it before the police or customs could interfere. He hesitates before adding that the Brutali Assassini organisation made sure we would know exactly who was responsible.

I tell him I already know and turn my attention to the task at hand. Gianni has never been a man who knows how to whisper; he is the type of person who consistently mistakes volume for power. I tell the men we are moving tonight. When Marco asks if we are sending a team, I tell him I am going myself. The room goes still at my words, and Matteo studies my face for a long moment before suggesting that I should stay in the car. I glance at him and agree, knowing that the mystery of the Shadow is more effective than the man himself.

Night falls slowly over the city, and by the time we are ready, Verona is wrapped in total darkness. I change in silence, pulling on a black suit that is tailored close to my frame and a pair of black gloves. The mask covers my features and the voice enhancer rests against my throat to alter my tone into something deep and inhuman. The shades complete the illusion and transform me into the thing they fear most. I am no longer Ren Moretti; I am the Shadow.

When I step outside, my Soldati are already assembled in a loose line near the vehicles. They are dressed in black and armed, standing with a calm demeanor that requires no questions. We move as one, forming a convoy that drives across the city while streetlights flash over the hood of the car. I sit in the back seat and watch the target building come into view. Gianni’s headquarters is far less subtle than mine, being a large and loud structure covered in unnecessary gold fixtures. Even at night, the building seems to glow with his personal arrogance.

We park across the street and I remain seated in the back of the car. Matteo adjusts the small microphone pinned beneath his shirt collar and checks to see if the connection is clear. I tell him I can hear him perfectly. The men exit the vehicles casually, without rushing or drawing their weapons. They look like simple businessmen arriving for a late meeting. The front doors open before they even reach them, proving that Gianni has cameras watching every angle.

I lean back into the cold leather seat and watch the building while my breathing remains slow and controlled. Inside my ear, the audio feed crackles to life. I hear the heavy thud of Gianni’s office door opening and the sound of his raspy, self-satisfied chuckle.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Matteo?" Gianni asks, his voice thick with a smugness that radiates through the earpiece. "Has Ren finally sent you to beg for terms? Or did he just run out of men to hide behind?"

"Rumors have been circulating, Gianni," Matteo replies. His voice is a low, dangerous velvet. "I came to verify the truth of them personally."

"Rumors?" Gianni snorts. I hear the squeak of his leather chair as he leans back. "What rumors? That I am the one actually running the ports now? That my men are the ones holding the keys to the north? Those aren't rumors, boy. Those are headlines."

"The rumor is that you are claiming to be the next Shadow," Matteo says. The silence that follows is heavy. "That you think the Moretti name no longer carries weight in this city."

Gianni erupts into a roar of laughter that sounds like gravel in a blender. I hear the distinct wet slap of his hand hitting the mahogany of his desk. "Claiming? It is a fact. Ren Moretti is a ghost. He ran the second things got hot. He is a weak, spoiled brat hiding in some hole like a rat while I take what is mine. The boy does not have the stomach for this life. He is likely crying in a closet somewhere while his empire burns."

"You speak very highly of yourself, Gianni," Matteo says. "For a man who hasn't seen the Shadow in years."

"I speak the truth!" Gianni snaps, his voice rising in pitch. "Moretti is a dead man walking. He is a joke. A rich kid with too many toys and not enough balls to use them. Tell him that when you find whatever sewer he is rotting in. Tell him the Brutali are done waiting for a corpse to move off the throne."

"He built an empire on fear, Gianni," Matteo reminds him quietly.

"Fear fades when the monster disappears," Gianni counters. "Men need a real leader. Someone visible. Someone bold. Not a myth. If Moretti was still half the man his father was, he would be standing here right now. But he isn't, is he? Because he's a coward."

I tilt my head slightly and press a button on the console beside me. Across the street, the headlights of our remaining vehicles turn on simultaneously, flooding the entrance of the building with blinding white light. I hear the laughter falter in my ear.

"What is that?" Gianni demands, his voice tight. "What the hell is going on outside?"

"You talk a lot, Gianni," Matteo says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "For a man who hasn't checked his perimeter."

I open the car door slowly and step out into the cool night air. The mask feels natural now, like a second face. I walk toward the entrance while the two guards outside freeze at the sight of the black vehicles and the armed men standing in perfect formation. I do not break my stride as I walk past them. Inside the building, I hear voices rising in panic and the sound of feet pounding against the marble floors. By the time I reach the entrance, Matteo is standing in the doorway and steps aside without a word.

The office is large and ugly, filled with gold frames and expensive art that means nothing to me. Gianni stands behind his desk with a face that has lost all its color. For a long moment, he does not recognize me, but then he sees the mask and the shades. His mouth opens slightly and he stares in silence. I stop a few feet from his desk and wait for the room to go quiet.

"Good evening, Gianni," I say, the voice enhancer grinding my words into a metallic rasp. "You seem disappointed. I was under the impression you wanted to speak to me."

Gianni swallows hard and tries to recover by forcing a shaky smile. "This is... unexpected. Just business talk, Ren. We were just discussing the future."

"I was informed you were sitting on my throne," I say. I take a slow step forward. "You sent twelve of my men back in a container. You tortured them to look powerful. But power is knowing when to speak, and when to stay silent."

Gianni backs away from his desk, his hands trembling. "You hide behind a mask," he spits, though his voice cracks. "You are nothing without the fear it brings."

I lean forward, placing my gloved hands on the edge of his desk. "Fear is simply memory, Gianni. And I am about to give you a very long memory."

I remove one glove slowly and place it on his desk, telling him that now everyone in the city will see what happens when someone confuses noise for strength. I nod once, and my men seize him. He struggles and begs, his arrogance replaced by a high-pitched wail as they drag him toward the door. I turn to Matteo.

"Make sure the rest of the organization understands the transition."

I walk back to the car and look up at the dark sky. The throne was never empty, and tonight, Gianni is about to be made an example, since these bloody idiots never seem to get the memo.

The men drag Gianni toward the basement of the estate. His screams echo against the marble walls of the hallway. He kicks his legs and catches the edge of a gold-framed painting, knocking it to the floor. The glass shatters.

I follow behind them at a slow and steady pace. Matteo walks beside me with his hands clasped behind his back. My Soldati have already cleared the building. Gianni’s men are lined up against the walls in the foyer with their hands zip-tied behind their backs. They keep their eyes on the floor as I pass.

We reach the heavy steel door that leads to the wine cellar. Gianni is sobbing now. The sound is wet and pathetic. It is a sharp contrast to the booming voice I heard through the earpiece only minutes ago. The men throw him onto a wooden chair in the center of the room. One of my Soldati produces a roll of duct tape and secures his ankles to the chair legs. Another pulls his arms back and ties his wrists. Gianni is gasping for air. His face is a mask of sweat and smeared tears.

I walk to a small table in the corner and begin to lay out my tools. I don't rush. I want him to watch every movement. I place a set of surgical scalpels, a pair of heavy pliers, and a small blowtorch on the velvet cloth. The light from the single overhead bulb glints off the steel. I pick up the smallest scalpel and test the edge with my thumb. It is sharp enough to slice through silk without a sound.

I turn back to Gianni and step into the circle of light. He flinches as if I have already struck him.

"You had a lot of energy in the office, Gianni," I say. The voice enhancer makes my words sound like they are coming from a machine. "You were very vocal about my father. You were very vocal about my balls. I am curious to know where all that confidence went."

Gianni shakes his head. His double chin trembles. "Ren, please. It was just talk. You know how it is. I was trying to impress the men. I didn't mean it."

I lean in close until the dark lenses of my glasses are inches from his eyes. "You meant it when you burned my men. You meant it when you sent them back to me like garbage. Was that also just to impress people?"

"I was told to do it!" he shrieks. "I was pressured! Please, I can give you names. I can give you everything."

I straighten up and look at Matteo. "He wants to give us names now. Only after his chair is bolted to the floor. It is funny how that works."

Matteo does not smile. "He was much more certain of himself ten minutes ago. He called you a rat, if I recall correctly. A coward hiding in a hole."

I look back at Gianni and hold up the scalpel. "A rat. That is a very specific choice of words. Do you know what happens to rats when they get caught in a trap, Gianni?"

He starts to wail. "No! Please! I'll pay you. Double what I took. Triple! Just let me walk out of here."

"I do not want your money," I say. I reach out and grab his chin with my gloved hand. I force him to look at me. "I want to see if you are as bold as you claimed to be. You said the throne was empty. You said you were already sitting on it. Well, here is your kingdom."

I press the tip of the scalpel against the meat of his shoulder. I do not push hard. I just let the weight of the blade do the work. A thin line of red appears on his white silk shirt. He screams so loud that the veins in his neck bulge. I pull the blade down, slowly, making a long and precise incision.

"Stop! Please stop!" he begs. He is hyperventilating now.

"You told Matteo that I did not have the stomach for blood," I remind him. I move the blade to his other shoulder and mirror the cut. "I am just trying to prove you wrong. I would hate for you to die thinking I was a coward."

I put the scalpel down and pick up the small blowtorch. I click the igniter and a blue flame hisses into life. The smell of butane fills the small room. Gianni’s eyes go wide. He tries to pull his arms free, but the zip-ties only bite deeper into his skin.

"You liked using cigarettes on my men," I say. I step toward him with the flame. "But cigarettes are so small. They are for amateurs. I prefer something that leaves a more permanent impression."

I bring the flame close to his thigh. I can smell the fabric of his trousers starting to singe. Gianni is shaking so hard that the chair rattles against the stone floor.

"Wait! Wait!" he yells. "I'll tell you about the shipment in Sicily! I'll tell you who gave me the codes!"

I ignore him. I press the tip of the blue flame against his skin. The scream that leaves his throat is raw and primal. It fills the cellar and bounces off the stone walls. I hold it there for five seconds. Just long enough for the pain to register. Just long enough for the reality of his situation to sink in.

I pull the flame away and turn it off. The room is suddenly quiet, except for Gianni’s ragged sobbing.

"Where is the leader of the Brutali?" I ask. I walk behind him and lean down so my mouth is near his ear. "Where is the man who was going to run the north? I am looking for him, but all I see is a fat man crying in a basement."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. His head hangs low. "Please. Just kill me. Just get it over with."

"Killing you is easy," I say. I walk back around to face him. I pick up the pliers from the table. "But you insulted my family. You insulted the Shadow. And most importantly, you interrupted my time with someone very special to me. That requires a much more detailed conversation."

I reach for his hand. He tries to ball it into a fist, but I am stronger. I pry his index finger straight and lock the pliers onto the fingernail.

"Did you call me a rich kid with too many toys?" I ask.

"No," he gasps. "I didn't mean it. Please, Ren. Don't do this."

"I think you did mean it," I say. I give the pliers a slow, deliberate twist. "And you were right about one thing. I do have a lot of toys."

I pull. The sound of the nail tearing away from the bed is sharp. Gianni’s scream hits a new octave. He thrashes in the chair, but my men step forward and hold his shoulders down. I drop the bloody nail onto the floor. It makes a tiny clicking sound against the stone.

"One," I count quietly. "We have nine more of those. Then we can move on to the teeth. I hear you were very proud of your smile."

Gianni is blubbering now. He is losing his grip on reality. "I'll do anything. I'll be your dog. I'll work for you for free. Just stop the pain. Please, God, stop the pain."

I look at Matteo. "He is calling for God now. Do you think God is listening in a basement in Verona?"

Matteo crosses his arms. "I doubt it. God usually stops listening when the cigarette burns start."

I turn back to Gianni. I pick up the scalpel again. I begin to work on his chest, carving the word 'Rat' into his skin with slow and shallow strokes. I want him to bleed, but I do not want him to faint. I want him to feel every millimeter of the blade.

"You said I was a ghost," I say as I work. "You said I ran away because things got hot. Does this feel like a ghost to you, Gianni? Does this feel like a man who is hiding?"

He can't even answer anymore. He just moans and shakes his head. The white shirt is now completely soaked in red. It clings to his skin.

"I am going to leave you here for a while," I say. I step back and wipe the blade on his sleeve. "I want you to think about the throne. I want you to think about how it felt to sit on it for those five minutes. Because when I come back, we are going to talk about your tongue. Since you enjoy using it so much, I think it is time we saw how it looks when it is detached from your head."

I turn to my men. "Keep him awake. If he closes his eyes, use the water."

I walk out of the cellar and the heavy steel door shuts behind me, cutting off the sound of Gianni’s whimpering. I pull off my gloves and hand them to Matteo. My hands are steady. My heart rate hasn't increased.

"What now, Boss?" Matteo asks.

"Now we wait," I say. I walk toward the exit of the estate. "The message is already being sent. By tomorrow morning, every captain in this city will know that the Shadow has returned. And they will know what happens to anyone who forgets their place."

I step out into the night air and pull off the mask. I take a deep breath of the cold Verona wind. It tastes like copper and old stone.

"Get the car ready," I say. "I want to be back at the villa before Amelia wakes up. I have spent enough time with garbage for one night."