Page 201 of Alessio

Well, the one person in there.

The straightjacket attached to a chain and cable keeping Corrado suspended over a square tank of water that was just big enough to drown a man when he was dropped into it—if he didn’t figure out how to save himself the first couple of dunks—was tight to his body. His eyes drifted closed, tiredness from the last few days of being rotated between the tank and the dark room finally getting to him.

It happened to everyone.

That was when this became most dangerous.

Alessio’s gaze darted to the chain as it jerked. At the same time, Corrado’s eyes flew wide open, and for a brief second, he swore the man was looking right at him though the small window he was able to watch through.

He knew it wasn’t possible, though.

It lasted all of a half of a second before Corrado was dropped. Like a sack of dead weight, really. Right into the tank, where freezing cold water awaited him, and a top attached to an automatic arm slammed closed right after.

Alessio dragged in a sharp breath and stared upward, knowing what was happening inside the tank room now. He didn’t have to watch it happen to know. Fuck, he knew it all too well as it was, honestly.

Corrado would struggle.

Under water.

Straight jacket on.

The top wouldn’t budge.

More water pumped in.

His body remained constantly cold, wet, and aching. From the rotational beatings, and the lack of food and water. His mind would be spinning and out of control—fear and panic welling and rushing like the waves of the water inside that tank, making sure he thought at all times, this was it. This was the moment he would die.

Every dunk became longer.

A second here.

Two there.

Until he was under water for up to three and half minutes, or so. Until his vision began to blacken, and he swallowed water because the body’s natural reaction was to try to breathe at that point, even if it meant no air would be waiting for him.

He’d fight against all of it—his own panic, the water, the need to breathe, and even the walls of the tank surrounding him.

And then the top would flip up, the chain would drag him out, and he would hang again … waiting to be dropped into the water for another round of hell.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Until the dark room.

Currently, that’s where Corrado’s twin was being held. He was about due for a beating, too, come to think of it, which meant he probably shouldn’t be down here. The rotational beatings and the occasional bit of food and water were the only markers of time passing down in these fucking rooms.

It seemed cruel.

Pointless, even.

Alessio, and every other person who had gone through this training, would be the first to say they came out better for it—physically, and mentally. They were the last to panic, and the first to face everything without fear.

When you’d been so close to death time and time again … everything that came after was nothing compared to it, really. Everything else was just a bonus, he figured.

“What are you doing down here?”