“Fight training and lessons on the business side of being an Underboss took up too much time.”
I nodded. Of course, Nestore had been prepared for his future tasks. I had ballet and piano lessons, so I’d be graceful and entertaining for future social gatherings.
The steel door slammed shut, and footsteps hurried down the staircase.
I froze.
“Hurry. You need to hide,” Nestore hissed as he hid the plate and the chicken bones under his cot. I scrambled to my feet and dashed into one of the open cells, then hid between the cot and the toilet. The spot was entirely dark and would keep me hidden.
“They could be bringing a new prisoner,” Nestore growled, but it was too late for me to hide somewhere else. I could only pray it wasn’t the case. Nestore had been the only prisoner down here for almost six months.
My father stepped into view, followed by two of his men. He wore a tracksuit, a rare sight. They didn’t have a new prisoner with them, which meant they had come for Nestore. Fear gripped me. It wasn’t the first time I was down here while Nestore got tortured. I pressed even closer against the wall, hoping the darkness would hide my presence.
The stench so close to the toilet twisted my stomach. Old urine, poo, and vomit created a potent odor that made my eyes water. I breathed through my mouth, terrified anyone would hear me.
Nestore rose to his feet. His face was proud and stubborn, but his hands were shaking. He was scared.
I wished I could help him.
“Grab him. I don’t have much time today, so we have to make it worthwhile. I have been too busy to visit you in the past few days, so we have some catching up to do.”
Nestore stiffened. The taller guard unlocked the door and gripped Nestore by the upper arm, dragging him outside, while the other pointed a gun at Nestore.
My pulse raced in my veins. I wanted to help. Nestore’s eyes flitted to me, and he gave a slight shake of his head as he was dragged away toward another door that led to the torture rooms I had never seen.
I didn’t move. I’d wait here until Nestore was back, no matter how long it took.
An agonized scream rang out, making me whimper in response. I tried to shut down my mind so it wouldn’t imagine what Nestore went through. Maybe it was cowardly, but I couldn’t even bear the thought of it.
The moment Nestore’s screams subsided always scared me the most because I never knew if it meant the torture was finally over or if Nestore had perished.
I remained hiding in the shadows of the open cell with bated breath, waiting for my father and the other men to emerge from the torture cell. The heavy door creaked open, and two men walked into the cellblock, dragging something by the arms. Nestore was motionless. Cold fear spiked. But they wouldn’t bring him back here if he were dead, right? They’d take him to a place where they could dispose of his body. Tears stung my eyes.
I had to figure out a way to save Nestore. I simply didn’t know how. My father kept the key on his body at all times, and so did the guards.
The two men locked Nestore’s cell, then went to the steel door, which fell shut with a resounding bang as they left. My father had probably gone upstairs after he was done torturing Nestore. I shoved to my feet, my heart beating in my throat, and left the cell. Trembling, my pulse galloping in my veins, I crept down the long corridor toward Nestore’s cell. It had been his prison for too long. I held my breath when I faced his cell, searching the dark for a sign of Nestore. My eyes caught on the blood trail leading from the steel door to the cell entrance, then beyond it into the dark. A single hand reached the area illuminated by the wall lamps. It didn’t stir.
“Nestore?” I whispered. Nothing. What if Nestore didn’t wake? What if today was the day he succumbed to the torture? I had lost count of the times I’d thought Nestore was dead. Moreoften than not, he was closer to death than life when Father or his men were done with him.
“Nestore?” I said louder, despair tightening my airways. His fingers twitched, then curled. I sucked in the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Nestore flattened his hand on the stone, then his second hand appeared in the beam of light. That one was a bloody mess. His knuckles were swollen and burned, his fingers covered in blisters. Burns were always the worst to treat. It was a miracle that Nestore hadn’t died of sepsis yet.
I shuddered, a wave of nausea taking hold of me. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled toward the bars, where he collapsed. He rolled over onto his back, revealing a swollen face and a busted lip. His chest was littered with burn marks from what looked like cigarettes. I reached through the bars and lightly touched a spot on his shoulder that looked fine. “It’s over.” I bit my tongue. It wasn’t. Far from it. Not if I didn’t find a way to free Nestore from this hell. In the time since his capture, my father had beaten me up a couple of times for inquiring about Nestore. If he found out I had done more than that, he’d probably ship me off to a boarding school, and nobody would be here to help Nestore. Flavia had made it clear she wouldn’t risk her life for him, even if she kept my secret.
I took a small bottle of water and painkillers from the purse slung over my shoulder. I always bring it down here with me these days. My father got increasingly annoyed by my constant headaches, but if this lie meant I could alleviate a tiny part of Nestore’s pain, then I’d keep doing it. Flavia often gave me her painkillers, too.
I popped two pills into Nestore’s mouth, then touched the bottle to his lips. He parted them and gulped down some of the liquid, including the painkillers. I leaned my cheek against the cool bars, keeping my eyes trained on Nestore, who didn’t open his eyes. He remained motionless except for the shivers thatwracked his body. His skin felt hot. My father hardly ever let a doctor treat Nestore’s wounds, only when it was necessary to prolong Nestore’s suffering. Father didn’t want him dead—yet.
I couldn’t reachThe Tale of Peter Rabbit, which was hidden under Nestore’s cot, but I didn’t need the book. I had read the book so often to Nestore that I knew it by heart, so I began to recite the first page word for word, hoping it would soothe Nestore.
Nestore finally stopped shaking. The fever had subsided. I feared nothing more than losing Nestore. What if he died without ever seeing the sky again?
“Don’t die. I want you to experience beauty again,” I whispered thickly, despair clogging my throat.
Nestore opened his eyes. Those green-amber irises made my heart jump as they always did. “If I die today, it’ll be in the presence of true beauty.”
I swallowed, my vision swimming with tears. This was probably still the fever talking. “Don’t die.”
“I won’t,” he croaked. “I won’t ever leave you, Amelia. Together forever.”
