I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that punching him right now would undermine his message of unity.
51
EMBERLINE
Bruno didn’t rush.
He worked with a deliberate precision that told me he enjoyed his work—the cadence of pain, the rise and fall of screaming, and he did it all with the quiet, practiced ease of someone who had done this too many times to count.
Strange. I’d never have pegged the brawny bodyguard to be so delicate with a knife, but here we were.
I hung from iron chains bolted into the ceiling, my wrists bound above my head, the weight of my body pulling at my shoulders until the tendons and joints burned. My toes barely brushed the drain beneath me, just enough to keep me from dislocating something.
This wasn’t mercy.
Just a way to prolong the game.
My blood—and piss—pooled around the drain, splattered one wall, stained the shackles and many of Bruno’s tools, and so far, he hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted.
Because I didn’t know.
I was half tempted to make something up—send them to Cleveland, for instance—but that would only prolong my pain.No, thanks.
Desperation was apparent in the sheen of sweat on Bruno’s swarthy, burned face, the way his eyebrows formed a single hairy line, the way he tossed his filletknife onto the metal tray with a curse, sending everything flying.
Sucks when you don’t get what you want.
The damp concrete had a familiar smell now. Or it could be all this rock, stretching out in all directions, as if this place had been carved into the mountain.
The longer Burno worked, the deeper recognition settled.
I knew exactly where I was—Rocco’s basement.
A flicker of grim satisfaction cut through the haze of pain. There was an entire room of incriminating proof somewhere close by, and if I could get out of this room—if I could survive Bruno—then I had evidence of Rocco’s treachery. Of his shadowy deals with Lord Blackwood.
Of Giovanni’s monstrous plans.
The crack of leather snapped my focus back to the present.
Pain flashed sharply across my ribs, driving the air from my lungs as the whip bit into already broken skin. I jerked against the chains, a pitiful sound tearing loose from my throat before I could stop myself.
I wasn’t trying to be brave, but I had to conserve my strength, and every scream cost me, especially hanging like a piece of meat from a hook.
Bruno stepped in front of me, examining his work with a critical eye, like an artist deciding where to place the next brush stroke. “You should just give him what he wants,” he said conversationally. “Make it easier on yourself. No sense suffering when the truth will come out, eventually.”
I forced my head up, vision swimming as I found him through the blur. “Are you still here? I was about to take a nap,” I rasped.
His mouthtwitched.
Behind him, Giovanni stood in the cleanest part of the room, monk’s robe as immaculate as ever, hands clasped loosely behind his back as though I was nothing but a minor inconvenience interrupting his busy day.
I didn’t even know when he’d arrived.Maybe he’d never left.
“I always know when you’re lying, Emberline,” my uncle said calmly. “You can’t keep any secrets from me.”
A weak laugh scraped my poor, raw throat. “Is that so? Then you obviously know it was me who put that frog in your bed when I was five. I hope it shit on your pillow.”
“You know where the Basin is.” There was a tightness in his voice when he continued. “You were there when it was taken. You were part of the plan.”
