Belladonna (Tom Holland)

Two

    When I came to, I expected a bright shining light to emphasize the swelling pain I was feeling on the back of my head. Instead, I was engulfed in darkness, my hands and feet bound tightly, and fatigue threatening to take over me once again. I had no hope of untying myself and escaping, but I did try to move my wrists around in order to have the bonds be looser, but that resulted in more rope burn. In the distance there was a pounding noise which told me that Tom and his men were on their way to greet me. What was funny about it now was that I was no longer afraid. My worst fear had already been taken care of: the Holland mafia found me. What more could I be afraid of? Spiders?

    There was a clacking on the metal floor from their footsteps and it grew closer with each anticipated second. By now, I was surrendering to fatigue and just as the door opened, I let my head drop and I closed my eyes. Maybe if I seemed to still be unconscious they wouldn't bother me.

    "Nice try, sweetheart but we have cameras in every crack of this wall," Harrison said, "We knew you were awake before you did." "I thought you weren't going to kill me," my words were slurred, I wanted nothing more than to sleep, "Why do I have the feeling you're going to kill me?" "It all depends on how useful you are, Bella. If you decide to cooperate, you'll live a little longer. If you don't, I'll put a bullet in your head and go grab some lunch, but I think we both prefer the former, don't we?"

    "I think we have differing opinions," I muttered, "I should've let you kill me when I was sixteen." "But then we would never have the pleasure of meeting again!" Harrison exclaimed, "I'm quite a nice fellow. I enjoy long walks on the beach, black and white movies-" "I understand, Humphrey Bogart," I hung my head down, "Just bring Tom in so we can get this over with."

    "Believe it or not, I'm the nicer one," Harrison laughed before he knocked on the door, signalling Tom. The door then opened and with that the lights finally came on. Quickly I closed my eyes to avoid any more of a headache than I already had, but Tom lightly slapped my face twice. "Get used to it," he ordered, "It's not going to get any darker while you're here." Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked at the man who held me captive. He wore a different outfit than before. When he was in my apartment he was in a white dress shirt rolled to his forearms lazily tucked in and black dress pants. He looked more regal here, his jacket and pants matching and a black dress shirt this time, most likely to cover whatever stains that would come from interrogating me.

    I never made eye contact with him, I didn't hold that power within me. Instead I looked past his eyes, and focused on his eyebrow that looked scarred. It was faux power on my part, but at least I was making an attempt. What did I have left to lose? "Your Marshal was named John, right?" he asked. So that's what I had left to lose. I nodded and whispered, "Did he suffer?" There was no point in praying that he survived, not when Tom Holland was involved. Tom shrugged and looked at Harrison, "Did he suffer?" "About as much as strangulation victims usually do," he reciprocated the shrug and I brought my head down once again. I'm so sorry, John.

    Tom grabbed my face and forced me to look at him, much like before. "You have nobody now, Bella," he said, "You might as well cooperate." With the snap of his fingers, he had one of his men pull up a chair for him to sit on. From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out a Bowie knife. He then proceeded to use the knife to cut the cloth that covered my thigh until there was nothing but skin. "You're going to answer some questions, Bella," Tom placed the tip of the blade on my thigh and I winced at the coolness. "Each one you refuse to answer you get a new scar," he then nicked the skin, causing me to gasp. He removed the blade from my skin and I couldn't help but focus on the blood that was trickling from the wound. This one wouldn't scar, but I wondered how many would.

    "Who's in charge of the Biancattis?" Tom asked and I scoffed. Once again, the blade was on my thigh, threatening to bite. It was such a stupid question that I didn't give two shits about this upcoming laceration. "If you don't already know, you're dumber than I thought," I said, biting my lip as he dug the blade into my leg. "Strike one," he said, "I don't appreciate your tone, Miss Dante." "Then do your fucking research," I spat, "You run the underworld, am I right? Know your enemies." With that came another slice on my leg. This time I didn't react.