by Sasha Leone
... But Enzo made him desire control, as well as a different kind of power. I’m sure of it. My brother may have grown up to be cruel, but he was never one to ever use that cruelty for any purpose other than his own sick enjoyment...
“Hey, did you hear that?”
The unexpected voice makes me lunge behind an overflowing dumpster. Heavy footsteps quicken around the corner; they’re accompanied by the familiar rattle of heavy artillery.
“Probably just a cat,” someone says in a deep gruff voice. I peak through an opening in the trash and spot two younger guys strapped from head to toe in firepower. It looks like they’ve been patrolling these streets all night, but they’re not dressed up in military or police gear—that means they’re Dante’s men.
I clench my fists and reach for the pistol tucked under my belt. These two don’t look like the most vigilant of enforcers—I could probably sit still and they’d pass right by me—but I’m not looking to hide anymore. There are questions I need answers to, and there’s no better time than now to go searching for them.
“We should check it out,” one of the muscle-bound goons suggests.
The other waves him off. “No, it’s nothing. Let’s get back to the whore house already. I’ve got blue balls like nobody’s business from those stupid school girls. Who the fuck raised them to be such prudes? I swear, if Yerry wasn’t around, I would have—”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. My bullet rips through his kneecap and I jump out from behind my cover before his buddy can even register what’s happening. It hardly takes me more than a few short seconds to run up on the confused men. The roar from my gun drowns out the screams from my victims. I silence him with another shot, placed right between his eyes. Blood spurts onto the cratered cement and I train my barrel onto the dead man’s partner.
The idiot doesn’t freeze, though. Instead, he reaches for his own gun. If I didn’t need him to answer my questions, he’d be dead already, but I do, so I just jump forward and strike him across the temple with the butt of my gun. A loud crack splits through the night and the big lug topples over.
For a second, I worry I might have hit him too hard, but then his chest starts heaving and a labored breath sputters out of his bloody lips. I grab him by the collar and drag him into the nearest alleyway, hoping that I’ve left him with enough brainpower to give me the answers that I’m after.
“Who do you work for?”
It’s the first thing I ask my bloody hostage as he slips back into consciousness. He doesn’t answer right away, but that’s to be expected. Just a few minutes ago, he was living a carefree life, now, he’s tied to a metal chair in the back of a dark, dirty kitchen with a pounding headache and no idea what’s happening.
His eyebrows furrow in pain and confusion. I repeat my question. “Who do you work for?”
Slowly, realization comes over the young man’s face. Young. He could be the same age as me, but he hasn’t been through half of what I have, seen half of what I’ve seen, done half of what I’ve done. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a child, a bully who carries a big gun around the slums and threatens the weak and the innocent for his own pleasure.
But I’m willing to cut him some slack if it turns out he’s just doing his job.
“Who are you?” the man spits, a look of determination coming over his beaten face.
“Your worst nightmare,” I growl, stepping in closer to my prey.
Fear flickers in the young man’s eyes as he notices the switchblade in my hand, but that fear quickly glazes over. “You’re no Dante Montoya,” he sneers; the act sends a shot of pain across his face. My hostage recoils and I click open my sharp blade.
“So, that’s who you work for?”
The young man shrugs and twists his lips. “Maybe.”
“And you don’t know who I am?”
The goon’s dark eyes wander up from the floor long enough to give me a quick look over. “No.”
That answer makes my heart sing. The more anonymous I am, the better. If Dante’s low-level goons don’t know who I am, then that means I might actually be able to navigate through this city without the constant fear of being spotted. It’s also a surprising revelation. As far as I know, Dante has made it clear that I’m never allowed back in Colombia again. So, why don’t his own men know what I look like?
“How long have you worked for Dante Montoya?”
When my hostage doesn’t answer right away, I plunge the sharp end of my switch blade right through the back of his hand.
He howls in pain and desperately tries to shake loose of his restraints, but it’s no use, he’s trapped. I rip my blade back out and his head sinks down to his chest.
“How long have you worked for Dante Montoya?” I repeat.
“... Almost a year.”
I grunt, cleaning the blood from my blade on the inside of my shirt. I knew this kid had to be a new hire. If he had ever worked for me, I’d at least have recognized him in some way, but both him and his buddy were completely unfamiliar.
What is Dante doing, hiring all these new bodies, if it’s not to keep me out? He must be having trouble, but with who? The only people who live in this area are commoners, working poor who don’t have the time or resources to raise hell. Sure, some drug dealers live here, too, but they all work for someone who would work for Dante.
“And what do you do for Mr. Montoya?” I ask, keeping my voice low and calm. It was just a stroke of luck that the door to this kitchen was fragile enough to bust open with my bare hands. If it wasn’t, I would have had to interrogate my hostage out in the open, and who knows how many more goons like him are out patrolling these streets.
“I enforce curfew,” the young man grumbles.
“Curfew?” That’s not what I was expecting to hear. Sure, the streets are quiet, but in areas like these, people tend not to stray too far from their homes at night. “How long has there been a curfew?”
“I don’t know... a year, maybe...”
“Why is there a curfew?”
“The boss wants to keep things quiet...”
“What things?”
“I don’t know, man,” my hostage sighs, exasperated. His voice fractures from pain, but I’m not letting him off the hook just yet.
“Why did Dante Montoya give you such high-powered weapons, if you were just going to patrol the slums and enforce curfew?”
The goon coughs up blood and I place the barrel of my gun against his forehead; his heavy eyes lift back up to me.
“The people have been getting restless lately,” he mumbles.
“Why?”
The hostage hesitates to answer. I urge him on by clicking off the safety on my gun.
“Mr. Montoya hasn’t exactly endeared himself to the public.”
“What has he done?”
“Horrible things...”
Suddenly, a cacophony of yells erupts from somewhere outside. It sounds like my hostage’s friends have come across the body I left lying in the streets. I have so many more questions to ask, but I can’t risk being found out.
I pull my gun away from the hostage’s forehead and stuff it back under my belt, then I step around behind him, pull out my switchblade, and slice him right across the throat.
His dying gurgles echo through the dark empty kitchen as I exit through the front. He’s not the last man I’m going to have to kill to get what I want, and his death hardly weights on my conscience at all. What does loom large, however, is the revelation that Dante is still just as cruel and as savage as ever. Even with all the responsibility he’s taken on, he hasn’t changed. In one sense, that’s good for me. It provides an opening. People aren’t happy with the current management of this country’s seedy underbelly; that’s something that I can take advantage of.
But it’s also something that nearly brings me to my knees as I step out into the stale night of the hillside slum.
Dante is still just as cruel as ever...
I don’t even want to
think about what that means for Catalina.
3
Catalina
It seems a bit excessive.
Three giant armed guards surround me in a triangle formation as I’m led from my room, out to the cobblestone encased backyard of the colonial-style mansion I’ve been confined to.
They each carry guns that are nearly as big as I am and march with the determination of well-trained foot soldiers.
It’s kind of flattering, in an awful way. All of this attention for little old me. I guess Dante knows that the only thing keeping me from ripping his throat out with my finely sharpened fingernails is the fact that I’d be shredded to swiss cheese immediately after. What he doesn’t know is that if I didn’t have a child that I was hiding from him, then I’d take that risk any day. I’m keeping myself alive and meek for Oscar’s sake, and no one else.
“Fucking finally,” Dante hisses as I’m pushed towards him by an AK-47 wielding tough guy. “You really are the slowest bitch alive...”
I bite my tongue. There’s no point in talking back; I’ve learned that Dante doesn’t have any misgivings about hurting women. The last time I said something that offended him, I couldn’t walk for the next week, and that meant missing out on a visit to my precious Ozzy. That is more devastating than any physical pain; so, I keep my mouth shut.
“Sit,” Dante jerks a thin finger to the chair on the other side of the small white patio table.
I do as he says.
“Put this on,” he continues, throwing a small black box in my direction. I’m just quick enough to catch it, but I wish I hadn’t. I immediately know what’s inside, and it makes my heart shrivel up like a raisin.
“I... I...”
“I didn’t ask you to talk,” Dante snaps. “I told you to put the ring on.” He looks over to his guards like he’s considering ordering them to do something unspeakable to me. Luckily, that thought doesn’t seem to last long. He turns back to me with cold dead eyes. “Don’t ever let me see you without that ring on, understand?”
His twiggy finger points at me like a twisted wand. I just want to bite it off and watch him squirm as blood spurts from his new stump...
But then I’d never be able to see my baby boy again. So, without hardly a glance at the diamond, I slip it on my finger. My dried-up heart immediately sinks into my gut when I recognize the feel of it.
Dante seems to hone in on my pain. “What? You didn’t think I was going to get you a new one, did you? You’re hardly worth the effort...”
I caress the familiar engagement ring between my fingers; it’s the same one Angel got for me. That seems like a lifetime ago, but a comet trail of warmth falls from my chest at the memory of the good times I shared with my missing partner...
“We’re getting married,” Dante lashes, snapping me out of my sentimental daze. If he’s an expert at anything, it’s poking you when it hurts the most. The bastard. The only luck I’ve had with him over the past two years is that he’s been so busy that he barely has the time to torment me. But that also means he has to pick up the slack when he gets the chance.
“Why?” I ask, finally staring down at the glittering jewel on my finger. It shines so sadly in the afternoon sun. I haven’t seen it since Dante ripped it from my finger after Angel was exiled. Of course, the monster would regift it—a cruel reminder of what he’s taken from me; what he continues to take.
“What did I tell you about asking questions?” Dante spits, slamming a fist against the tabletop. I hardly flinch, I’m too lost in my memories to react.
Back when all of this started, Angel made it clear that he wasn’t proposing to me out of love, but out of convenience. He wanted to win the hearts of the people; he could have cared less about mine. But then everything changed... and then quickly changed again.
I never got my money, but I did get something even better, until it was cruelly ripped away from me.
I wonder if Dante is trying to do the same thing?
The thought nearly makes me laugh. If Dante wants to win over the public, he’s going to have a hell of a time. Angel may have been vicious, but he could also be charming beyond belief. There’s no charm in Dante’s cold dead eyes, there’s only cruelty, selfish cruelty.
And right now, those cruel eyes are plastered on me.
“So?” he teases, as if my opinion matters.
“What are you asking me?” I mumble, trying to play dumb. The longer I’m not engaged to Dante, the better, even if I can only buy myself a few more seconds.
“Idiot,” Dante snaps. He reaches across the table and rips the black box from in front of me. “As if I’d give you the choice. We will be wed, and soon—and you will walk down the aisle with a big fucking smile on your face, do you understand?”
My reflection is hidden by the brightness of the diamond on my finger. It’s probably for the best, I don’t want to see myself give into Dante like this, but he’s right, I don’t have any say in the matter. I’m his captive and one wrong move, one wrong word, even one wrong look, could mean my child growing up without a mother. He’s already missing a father...
I nod as subtly as I can manage and Dante jumps onto his feet. His thin shadow stretches out over the table, covering me in a cold chill. “Is that all?” I ask, trying to hide the derision from my voice. There’s no way I did a good job, but Dante already seems distracted by other matters. He hardly cares about me—to him, I’m just flesh to torture, a mind to tease, a weighty pawn to protect him from an exiled king. I’m the expendable shield that’s keeping away the older brother who always lurks just off in the shadows; the same older brother who no one has heard from in almost two years.
I’m sure Dante was expecting Angel to have made his play by now—hell, I know I was—but the longer he has to wait, the angrier he gets, and that anger is taken out on me.
Where the hell are you, Angel!?
It hurts to hope, and it feels shameful to beg, especially after all this time, but a primal part of me won’t stop wading out into the ether, hoping that I’ll be saved from drowning by the dark brooding prince that once plucked me from obscurity and gave me my son...
Dante limps off without answering my question. I don’t mind. I’d rather be rid of him. Plus, the sunshine feels nice on my skin.
Of course, that just means another thing to take away from me. My personal team of oversized guards are quick to ferry me back to my room after Dante has exited. The walk back feels so much heavier. The engagement ring on my finger might as well weigh a thousand pounds. Every time I look down at it, I keep expecting to see a lump of coal. Instead, I’m blinded by the brilliance. I hate that it reminds me of Angel. I know that’s what Dante wants; he may be too busy to properly torture me, but he’s an expert at psychological cruelty. It’s the one reason why he kept Angel alive in the first place, to torment him—even with all the risk involved, it’s abundantly clear that Dante gets off on the knowledge that people are suffering because of him.
The monster.
I’m shoved back inside my room and the door is slammed shut behind me. I wait until I hear the lock turn and the heavy footsteps march away, and then I race for the far corner of the large chamber.
My heart races as I take one last cautious look around to make sure there are no peeping eyes, then I dig my nails under the loose floorboard and gently unlatch it.
A new note waits for me there.
I snatch it up, shove it in my pocket, then fit the floorboard back into place. The secret message stays balled up in my fist until I close the bathroom door behind me. At a moment’s notice, I’m ready to flush the dangerous little piece of paper down the toilet, and if that fails, I won’t hesitate to swallow it myself. The knowledge hidden within is too precious to risk falling into the wrong hands.
You see, every time I’m allowed to leave my room—or, more commonly ‘forced’—an opportunity arises. This gilded prison is an unforgivable hellhole... but one of the devil’s henchmen seems to be more forgiving than
the others.
Juan Arias has a man on the inside, and that man is my only connection to the outside world. He leaves notes hidden in my loose floorboard to keep me updated on my son.
Sometimes, they’re just little bits of news to uplift my soul.
The chick played with the hatchlings. That means Oscar had a fun day with some friends.
Quiet are the little ears. That means that Oscar has been moved somewhere safe and quiet.
I take a deep breath and read the message that awaits me this time...
The snake slithers from his nest on the new moon. What does the bird do?
My heart flutters. This message means I get to go see Ozzy. Dante will be leaving on business soon, and that gives me an opening to escape for a few hours to go see my little boy.
I hold the note to my chest and it feels warm and light. Dante has been coming and going a lot more than usual lately, and it’s the best gift I’ve been afforded since Ozzy was born.
As much as I hate always having to come back to this death trap, I’ve been made all too aware of how impossible it would be to make a real run for freedom. Dante has flooded the city with his men ten times over, but there are still small enclaves of safety in the nearby area. Juan knows the safehouses of this city like the back of his hand, and he makes sure Ozzy is safely ferried from one to the next as much as is needed to keep him protected. He also almost always makes sure to get word to me whenever there’s a chance to see my baby.
I still don’t know who his inside source is, but if I ever meet the mystery man who’s been risking his life to pass me these little notes, I’ll thank him to the ends of the earth. These tiny slices of bliss are the only moments of hope I get these days, and every last second of them is cherished to their fullest extent—they have to be, because any journey could be my last.
