Omerta

Bonus (Nico's POV)

        I could hear the shackles clinking together from the other room while Ignazio Morello, of the Morello crime family, and I were checking our weapons to make sure we each had a full clip. I always carry a full clip. Ignazio is my best friend and I use his nickname more commonly than his actual name. Snake. "How is this gonna end, Nico?" Ignazio asked me. I tucked my gun into the waistband of my slacks and began to roll up the black sleeves of my button down. 

Glancing up at Snake I just smirked. 

He released a heavy breath knowing he was in for a show today. I was done wasting time. I walked into the room with the shackles and paused in front of the man hanging from them. I own this building for the simple fact that there's this hidden underground which served as a vault in the 20's when the land above it was an old bank. It's not on any updated blueprints which means it's the perfect place to keep prisoners that I don't want to be found. 

These shackles are hanging down from the ceiling and are made to bind the wrists of the prisoner and keep them stretched for me with raw wrists and tired legs. I've had this man here for about two days now. 

The wait is more torturous than anything else...well, that's not exactly true. I know torture and I've distributed plenty.

        The man's head was lulling downwards as his body tipped slightly forward against the hold of the chains. His clothes were dirty and bloodied from two days ago when I beat him to a pulp before chaining him here. "Ay, wake up" I slapped the asshole upside the head. At the recollection of my voice he quickly tried scurrying backwards, but his arms wouldn't let him move very far. His eyes were wild inside his head trying to read me and the situation unfolding.

 "Please" was all he managed and the voice was hoarse from having him scream for so long. Another perk to this hidden portion of the building below ground, you can't hear shit upstairs at the restaurant business front. 

I stood in front of him in a wide stance, hands in my pockets, as I observed the frightened man. "Now the last time I asked you if you knew why you were here you told me no. Has your answer changed?" I asked him. "Y-yes, I know why," his voice was weak. Defeated. Pathetic.

        "Remind me," my own voice remained calm for now. Sometimes patience is scarier than an outburst of anger...not that I'm great at containing my temper. "I d-disrespected you. At the sit down, I disrespected you. I'm sorry," he was going to try bargaining. Men handle torture and near death in many different ways. I've experienced them all and most are pathetic. The fear they show in their eyes when they realize death is standing over them, or the tears, the snot noses and spitting mouths out of sheer panic. 

Others try to remain strong and proud and those are my favorite type of men to break down. There are those who bargain and beg, and those who break and almost become lifeless before I even deliver death to them. 

Angry men who try to scream and piss me off enough to kill them quickly. All sorts of reactions when a person is facing suffering and ultimately their ending. People are so afraid to die. 

Is it pride or is it the unknown of what waits for them on the other side? If hell is real I know where I'm going. I find no use in fearing it. I've been called Satan himself, more than once. Maybe I'm a sadist.

        "I don't like being disrespected, especially in front of my own men and yours. Now your people requested that sitdown and I gave it to you. Too bad you wasted both of our time because not only is your family not going to get my cooperation in gaining access to the right channels for the export, but I demanded your head...and your crew gave you to me. How does that feel? That they care more about pleasing me than saving you?" I smirked at his newfound resolve to glare at me.