HAND IN HAND
HAND IN HAND
Silvio's POV
The room was damp, cold, and dark. My wrists ached from the ropes cutting into my skin, my body hung forward like a puppet with its strings cut. I could feel the dried blood caked around my temple from the previous time they had smashed me into the concrete wall. My head ached, but that was nothing compared to the scream that resonated through my ribs with every breath I drew.
Nicholas had started early. He had not wasted any time.
The first hour was silence. No threats, no talking, just actions. Calculating, cold ones. He did not yell, did not scream. No promises. Just that smirk, that cold glint in his eyes, and his hands pulling instruments from a metal tray like a surgeon. As if he was going to perform an operation. And in a way, he did.
The worst of it? He didn't even touch me first. No, he started with a war of the mind—pictures on a screen in front of me. The cliff where Sophia fell to her death. Repeatedly. Her scream. Her fall. Then Rosetta, pale and dead-looking in a hospital bed, tubes being held down her throat. A nurse's whisper: "There was no chance of her surviving."
I clenched my teeth so hard I could taste blood. I needed to scream, to rip him apart. But I did not give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
And then there were the wires. Electrical shocks crawling up my legs. Initially subtle, tingling. Then pain. Then fire. Then blackness. Whenever I came back to consciousness, there was Nicholas, seated, at ease, sipping wine as though we were in some twisted opera. "You were always too soft, Silvio," he said, sipping like a gentleman. "Too trusting. Too good."
My wrists were screaming in agony. My shoulders were numb. My mouth was dry, lips cracked. I couldn't tell if the moisture down my neck was blood, sweat, or a mixture of the two.
"You're a coward," I was able to spit. My voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper. "I'm tied up, and you hide behind your tools like a scared little boy. Let me go. Let's go hand to hand. See how long you last."
Nicholas wavered.
He laughed. Low and quiet and it twisted my stomach.
"Is that a challenge, Silvio?" he asked.
"It's a promise."
He tilted his head, amused. "Fine."
And with that, he waved his hand. Two guards stepped forward. One untied my hands, the other put a gun to my back as I steadied myself.
My legs shook beneath me, but fury sustained me. Nicholas stood before me, no arms in his hands, just that detested smirk. We skirted around each other like wolves.
I struck first.
A punch to his jaw, firm. The way his teeth clicked together created a satisfying shot through me. He staggered, regained himself, but I didn't hesitate. I came through with a knee to his ribs, and then I drove my elbow into the side of his face. He grunted, but I didn't let up. I took him down to the ground and reared up to punch him again—
Until reinforcements came.
Coward.
Two guards rushed in. One grabbed my arm in mid-punch, the other struck from behind. I fought, gods, I fought, but my body was depleted. Nicholas stood, blood flowing from his lip, and wiped it on the back of his hand.
"Told you," he said, a bit out of breath. "You're too emotional."
Then the pain began in earnest.
A boot connected with my stomach, and bile rose up my esophagus. Another one kicked my knee. I felt it twist in an unnatural manner, heard the pop. My scream echoed off the walls. I tried to crawl away, but something blunt struck my back, and I dropped.
"Enough!" Nicholas snarled.
I couldn't move.
My ribs—some of them had to be broken. Breathing was like knives to my lungs. My head spun. Blood poured from a cut in my temple.
He knelt in front of me. Eye to eye.
"Now we're done pretending," he said quietly. "You think somebody's gonna come and save you? Nobody is."
I didn't respond. I couldn't,just gave a slow deliberate smile.
He stood and waved again. The guards dragged me back to the chair and tied me up. This time tighter. My wrists bled openly now. My head rolled forward, chin on my chest.
“You can kill me Nicholas I don't fucking care what cowards do".
“Killing you would be too easy, too predictable you would expect that
but what about Antonio? your back up Mafia he would surely be a bother to me when I take river .No?"
"Antonio?" I managed to say through battered lips.
Nicholas chuckled menacingly. "Captured. Him and his forbidden love. What was her name again? Serafina?"
He tutted his tongue. "Romantic. But predictable. He gave his life for her. Just like you would for Martina."
My eyes snapped open.
"No one is coming, Silvio," he said again, his voice gentle now, like he was placating a child. "This is your grave. And I get to be the one to give your eulogy."
My body trembled, not with fear—with rage. With helplessness. I wanted to kill him with my own two hands. Tear him apart. Tear that smirk from his face and have him choke on his own arrogance.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
"Do you think this is over?" I whispered
.
Nicholas leaned forward. "It is for you."
And then everything went black again.