I peer at the muscular balding man, panting on the wooden chair he's tied to. A dark black beard graces his chin and the sides of his face, the color almost as stark on the brown of his angry eyes.
Footsteps to my left catch my attention, causing it to divert to my brother standing next to me.
"Any information on this one?" I ask, leaning into him in order for him to hear me over my hushed tone.
We both stare at the man, arms crossed. His gaze remains unwavering on the man as he answers, "Absolutely nothing." He states, an understandable frustration lacing his tone.
What?
I turn to him in disbelief. "No tattoos? No markings? No face match? DNA match?" I propose all the different methods, praying there's one they forgot. However, every offer is answered with another shake of the head. "Have you tortured him yet?" I inquire.
"Besides starvation and thirst, he's endured no physical damage from our end." He informs, he seems he's amount to say something, but I don't allow him to continue further.
Fed up, I angrily unlock the torture room door and barge in. The balding man raises his gaze to meet my face, fear in his eyes as he locks eyes with me, recognition flashing in them. I don't register Luca's approaching presence until I sense it right next to me. I monitor the man's eyes for emotion, watching as they show me the same look of recognition.
Walking into a corner of the room, out of ear's reach of the balding man, I motion for Luca to come join me.
When Luca finally reaches me, I begin. "He knows who I am, he has to be in the higher-ups. Not to mention the fact that there is absolutely no trace of him on our databases." I whisper, making sure my face conveys none of the emotions brewing in the pit of my stomach nor the thoughts swirling in my mind.
Luca is quiet for a moment, I can only assume he's deliberating, his face revealing nothing as well. "I agree that these people were professionals. I'm not exactly sure why there were only thirty of them, nor why they attacked a gala full of the best in the mafia." He admits, but something seems to be at the tip of his tongue. Sure enough, "Ivy, you have to understand that you're identity could have been revealed to smaller gangs." He says, a certain edge to his voice I can't quite put a label on.
My jaw sets but I choose to disregard his statement beyond that. Walking closer to baldie, I smirk at the tray of torture tools near him, yet out of reach for obvious reasons.
Guns are no fun.
Picking up a corkscrew, I ready the twisty sharp metal at the bottom between my middle and ring finger. His tan face visibly pales at the sight of it.
I sigh dramatically. "It would be such a shame for me to get this dirty." I say, my eyes sparkling sinisterly as I gaze at him, a smirk playing on my lips. "Maybe you could cooperate and spare me the extra chore." I propose playfully.
"I'm not telling you shit." His spits, and I notice the slight strain in his voice to cover his accent and appear American.
I nod as I slowly reach him, abruptly shoving the painful tool into his knee, his screams echoing the paved walls. I glare at him, but his face still shows defiance, although somewhat less stubborn.
"It's truly a shame." I shake my head, feigning sympathy as I drive the metal into his other knee. The shrieks of agony might have blasted my ear drums, the blood bleeding down his calves and tinting his grey pants a deep set maroon.
I cross my arms and glare down at him. "Still not speaking?" I push, yet continue to be met with silence.
I watch as he starts swaying slightly, his body falling limp after a few moments, passing out from pain. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I yank the screw from his knee and shove it into the wall on my way out of the room.
