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After he lets me through, I follow the guard to the holding area for visitors. It’s currently empty, as it always is at this hour. This time block is reserved specifically for me to bring Nino here. It’s an arrangement I made with the Tribunal after many debates.
“Would you care for a drink, sir?” The guard asks.
“No, thank you.” I glance at his uniform, but unlike civilian prisons, he doesn’t have any identification. “What is your name?”
“It’s Thomas,” he answers. “Thomas Thorne.”
“Thomas,” I repeat. “I’ve seen you here often. Is it safe to assume you interact with Enzo regularly?”
He swallows, glancing over my shoulder at the door. His nerves are unsettling, and I’m curious about the cause of them.
“Yes. I interact with him frequently, sir. Mostly on weekends, as you know.”
“Can you tell me how he’s doing here?” I ask. “What sort of prisoner is he, compared to the rest?”
He frowns, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want any trouble, Mr. Scarcello.”
I can see the open door is a problem for him, so I walk over and shut it. “What do you mean you don’t want any trouble?”
“If I did something to upset him…” He trails off, and I’m surprised by the terror in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Why would you think that you had?”
“I don’t know.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Can you tell me what this is about?”
I had only intended to ask him about Nino, but now I’m interested in what else might be taking place.
“You aren’t in trouble,” I assure him. “I didn’t come here to harass you about Enzo’s care. I suspect there’s more going on that I’m not aware of, and I’d like to be informed on the matter. If he’s causing trouble here, you have a duty to The Society to report that behavior.”
“I’ve tried.” He lowers his voice, even though nobody can hear him in here. “It’s not me. It’s the other guards.”
I stare at him, annoyed. “Don’t be vague. Tell me what the problem is, Thomas.”
“He’s your friend,” he says. “You two are practically brothers.”
“We are,” I concede. “But my loyalty is to IVI, first and always. As yours should be too.”
My warning doesn’t sway his uncertainty, so I suppose I’ll have to throw him a breadcrumb.
“Look, Thomas. Nino has given me a rather disturbing account of his visits with Enzo, and I’m concerned. I want to know what’s really happening.”
He grimaces, lowering his gaze to the floor. “He’s a cute kid.”
“He is, and as his guardian, it’s my job to protect him. I need to know if this place is safe.”
He collapses into a chair and sighs, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s still expecting this to be a trap.
“I know it’s his kid,” Thomas says. “And I’m not the sort of man to tell someone how they should raise a kid, especially a Sovereign Son, but Nino always cries during their visits. I don’t like watching it. I’ll tell you that much.”
“Why does he cry?” I demand.
“Because Enzo criticizes him the whole time. He talks down to him. Treats him like he treats everybody else, I guess . . . sometimes, he gets a little rough with the kid too.”
My jaw clenches as I try to maintain my composure. “Rough how?”
“He pinches him. Socks him in the arm. Makes him do pushups. I’ve seen him smack the kid in the face a few times.”
“And you let this happen?” I bark. “Why hasn’t anyone informed me?”
“I tried to put a stop to it, but it’s the other guards. As long as he’s paying them extra, he gets whatever he wants. I reported him to the Tribunal once, and do you know what happened?” He glances up at me, eyes gleaming. “The other guards brought my wife in here when I was gone and made her fuck him. They told her she had to do it, or they were going to make me disappear. Enzo never lets me forget it. He asks about her every time I see him.”
I turn away from him and stare at the window to the hall. I don’t want to believe that any of this is true. I know Enzo. He can be a prick, but not like this. This is not the way I know him to be.
“He fucks women from the Cat House every week,” Thomas goes on. “The guards sneak them in here every Wednesday. He didn’t have to have my wife. He did it because he could.”
I want to tell him to stop, but it seems he’s come uncorked.
“They bring him fucking steak dinners. Lobster. Coke. You name it. Anything he wants, they’ll get it for him. He has a phone, a laptop, internet. An actual bed in his cell—”
“How?” I turn back to him.
