coming from
below.
“After you.” Vincente gestured toward the
darkness down the step stone stairs and Seth could swear his
brother’s smile was like a wolf’s to a lamb. Now that the door was
open, it was clear where everyone had gone. There were noises
coming from the narrow staircase, which already filled Seth’s
nostrils with the damp smell of a cellar.
His stomach clenched. Going down these
stairs never amounted to anything good. This place was no wine
cellar. The memory of his uncle’s murder crept out from a dark part
of his mind, as if Massimo’s cold hands were down there, ready to
grab him and drag him into the dirt.
But when he got down to the stone blocks of
the corridor and faced the darkness, his heart stopped at the words
‘faggot’ echoing in a cacophony of thuds and groans. He could feel
the warmth of Vincente’s body behind him, but as he listened to
even more obscenities, his feet refused to move, stiff as if
someone had screwed them to the floor. Was Domenico here as
well?
What if someone saw them together, found out
about them, and he was now walking to his own execution? The cellar
was so cold, steam formed when he breathed, but it was another
scream that had him move. What if it was Dom tortured down there?
This was exactly the reason Seth stuck to jerking off and never
looked for partners in Italy. A slight nudge between his ribs
almost had him yell out his surprise, but it was only Vincente.
“You’re blocking the way.”
“I’m going.” Seth’s voice was hoarse, and
when he started walking, prodded by Vincente like a calf, his
strides became longer and his heart beat faster with every sound of
a breaking bone and every grunt of pain at the end of the never
ending underground corridor too uncomfortable for a man his size to
walk through with haste. A glint of light coming from a partially
open room made him quicken his stride and push at the heavy door.
He needed to stoop down to get through, but even holding his breath
wouldn’t keep him from tasting the aroma in the air.
There was blood on the raw stone floor, but
all Seth could think about was that the victim’s legs were encased
in blue jeans while Dom’s pants were black. A sense of relief
washed over him, though it came back up in the form of bile in his
throat just moments after. The man on the floor was battered into a
pulp of breathing, bloodied flesh. A single lightbulb hung from the
ceiling, casting an eerie yellow light on all the men in the room.
Seth swallowed when Vincente entered behind him and closed the
door. He looked around, desperate to know what was going on. There
was Father, Santo, the consigliere, a few men he didn’t recognize,
and, most surprising of all, a pale teenage boy, who looked
everywhere but not at the victim.
And Domenico, resting against the wall in a
way that was clearly meant to appear casual, but to Seth it looked
like he was a column about to crumble under the weight of the house
above them. With his hands in his pockets, Dom kept his eyes on the
beaten man, raising them to Seth after several seconds of
hesitation. His face told Seth nothing. Domenico was shutting him
out for the benefit of all the big men cramped under a low,
barrel-shaped ceiling of old brick.
It was Father who broke the silence,
welcoming Seth with a broad gesture. “We have the traitor.”
Seth swallowed and slowly walked up to his
father, numb. Could this be Angelo? Why did he hear so much
homophobic slurs then? Seth tried not to look at Domenico, he
couldn’t get any help from him here. The smell of blood was making
it hard to focus, but he refused to look into the smashed face.
Chances were, he wouldn’t be able to stomach what was going to
happen.
“Oh,” was all he managed and regretted it the
moment he saw Vincente snigger. Father frowned, crooking his head
at him.
“Is that all you have to say? This faggot
sold you to the Triad!”
Before Seth could open his mouth, one
overeager soldier stepped
below.
“After you.” Vincente gestured toward the
darkness down the step stone stairs and Seth could swear his
brother’s smile was like a wolf’s to a lamb. Now that the door was
open, it was clear where everyone had gone. There were noises
coming from the narrow staircase, which already filled Seth’s
nostrils with the damp smell of a cellar.
His stomach clenched. Going down these
stairs never amounted to anything good. This place was no wine
cellar. The memory of his uncle’s murder crept out from a dark part
of his mind, as if Massimo’s cold hands were down there, ready to
grab him and drag him into the dirt.
But when he got down to the stone blocks of
the corridor and faced the darkness, his heart stopped at the words
‘faggot’ echoing in a cacophony of thuds and groans. He could feel
the warmth of Vincente’s body behind him, but as he listened to
even more obscenities, his feet refused to move, stiff as if
someone had screwed them to the floor. Was Domenico here as
well?
What if someone saw them together, found out
about them, and he was now walking to his own execution? The cellar
was so cold, steam formed when he breathed, but it was another
scream that had him move. What if it was Dom tortured down there?
This was exactly the reason Seth stuck to jerking off and never
looked for partners in Italy. A slight nudge between his ribs
almost had him yell out his surprise, but it was only Vincente.
“You’re blocking the way.”
“I’m going.” Seth’s voice was hoarse, and
when he started walking, prodded by Vincente like a calf, his
strides became longer and his heart beat faster with every sound of
a breaking bone and every grunt of pain at the end of the never
ending underground corridor too uncomfortable for a man his size to
walk through with haste. A glint of light coming from a partially
open room made him quicken his stride and push at the heavy door.
He needed to stoop down to get through, but even holding his breath
wouldn’t keep him from tasting the aroma in the air.
There was blood on the raw stone floor, but
all Seth could think about was that the victim’s legs were encased
in blue jeans while Dom’s pants were black. A sense of relief
washed over him, though it came back up in the form of bile in his
throat just moments after. The man on the floor was battered into a
pulp of breathing, bloodied flesh. A single lightbulb hung from the
ceiling, casting an eerie yellow light on all the men in the room.
Seth swallowed when Vincente entered behind him and closed the
door. He looked around, desperate to know what was going on. There
was Father, Santo, the consigliere, a few men he didn’t recognize,
and, most surprising of all, a pale teenage boy, who looked
everywhere but not at the victim.
And Domenico, resting against the wall in a
way that was clearly meant to appear casual, but to Seth it looked
like he was a column about to crumble under the weight of the house
above them. With his hands in his pockets, Dom kept his eyes on the
beaten man, raising them to Seth after several seconds of
hesitation. His face told Seth nothing. Domenico was shutting him
out for the benefit of all the big men cramped under a low,
barrel-shaped ceiling of old brick.
It was Father who broke the silence,
welcoming Seth with a broad gesture. “We have the traitor.”
Seth swallowed and slowly walked up to his
father, numb. Could this be Angelo? Why did he hear so much
homophobic slurs then? Seth tried not to look at Domenico, he
couldn’t get any help from him here. The smell of blood was making
it hard to focus, but he refused to look into the smashed face.
Chances were, he wouldn’t be able to stomach what was going to
happen.
“Oh,” was all he managed and regretted it the
moment he saw Vincente snigger. Father frowned, crooking his head
at him.
“Is that all you have to say? This faggot
sold you to the Triad!”
Before Seth could open his mouth, one
overeager soldier stepped
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