The Assassins Weakness

Week One

Day 1

I found out the Esponito mansion had a secret underground bunker. The bunker was filled with prison cells. The floors were made of concrete. I knew why. Blood is hard to clean out of hard wood and carpet.

I didn't experience any torture. I knew it was coming. I knew it from the moment Enzo had stepped away from me and called out to his guard. I could have fought, I could have resisted. It would have been easy to take down the one guard. I allowed him to drag me away anyway.

Whatever Enzo had in mind couldn't possibly be worse than what Dimitri will do. If Enzo's really as devious as he said, he'll hand me over. Dimitri will slowly dismantle John before my eyes. Then I'll be passed off to the men he originally threatened me with.

I fucked up. I knew better. Trust gets you killed or betrayed. I knew that. Still, I made a choice. Now it's time to face the consequences.

Day 2

Still no torture. Perhaps the plan is to make me wait, keep me guessing. Make me drive myself crazy with my own thoughts. It might just work. My skin is already itching with the lack of movement. The concrete box and metal bars don't allow for much physical activity. I've kept myself exercising, but running is what always clears my head.

Meals come at random intervals. It's a common torture technique. Keep your victim guessing about the time when they can't see daylight. Humans like schedule. Take it, and their feeling of safety away, and they'll start acting like a caged animal.

I look like an animal. Constantly prowling behind my bars. Glaring at any guard who looks my way. I even bared my teeth at a particularly timid looking one. He almost pissed his pants.

I have to keep myself entertained somehow.

Day 3

I tried meditating. It's as boring as I remember. And as terrifying. Being alone with my thoughts is the worst. Especially because they keep circling back to Enzo. Perhaps I mistook obsession with love. All those paintings were merely his obsession. You don't put people you love in prison.

Right?

What even is love? The only experience I have is with John. I was willing to hurt, kill, and betray for his safety. That says something doesn't it? Or is that just obsession? Or a trauma bond, maybe? How do you decide? What's the criteria?

Killing people is much more simple.

Day 4

The torture began. Nothing physical, yet. It was my next door neighbor. I listened to his screams for what I guessed was three hours. He was tough. I was tempted to yell out encouraging words, but who knows why he's in here. I didn't want to accidentally cheer on a child molester.

I wonder if Enzo is still planning to buy John. Will he make me listen to John's screams? I wonder if it would work. I wonder what he wants to know? Why lock me up? The act he had was much more affective. Obviously. I admitted to being a rat after all.

Enzo could have kept it up, told me John was on the way, and I would have squealed like a fucking pig. He has to know this kind of torture won't work on me. I've had all of it done already. Hell, I've done it all to others. I guess his intentions will come to light eventually.

Day 5

I had a visitor today. Of course it was Lorenzo. The scrawny bitch. He had my phone in his hand. He demanded I send a specific text to Dimitri. I asked what I'd get in return. He told me I'd get to keep all my fingers.

I reminded him it only takes one to pull a trigger.

Day 6

Zahra came today. I told her it was nothing personal, but I wouldn't be talking. She sat her ass down right outside my bars and said she could use a couple hours of silence anyway. It was somewhat enjoyable. At one point I moved so we were back to back. The only thing separating us was metal.

I asked her how she defined love. She said respect, caring, and partnership. I said that sounded unrealistic. We laughed together. The rest of the time was spent in a comfortable quiet.

Day 7

I miss ice cream. I can't believe how much my mouth waters at the thought of the cold, creamy, sugar. I'm almost tempted to bust myself out for entertainment and to fulfill the sugar cravings. It wouldn't be all that difficult.

Even though the meals come at random times, the guards have a pattern. The shift change is staggered so it's not obvious, but now that I've been here a week it's easy to see. The guard I scared stays clear of my bars, but the others aren't as cautious.

I think it would be quite easy to grab a guards arm as they strutted by. I could snap their neck, grab the key, and open the door before their walking buddy had time to react. Even if they did manage to send out a warning call, there's not enough guards in this basement to keep me put.

I've heard a loud clanking at the end of one of the halls fairly often. After that, guards file back in smelling like smoke. That means it's a door to a designated smoking area, or more likely, to outside. Every good bunker should have an emergency exit. I could run and escape before the people in the house watching the cameras have time to call in reinforcements.

The escaping is the easy part. The problem is where I would go after. I never thought I could escape the Russian reach. If I had Russians and Italians looking for me I'd be double fucked. I could change my name and my looks but it wouldn't make much difference. My fingerprints have already been burned off but they'd still come up with a way to get to me.

For now, I just have to accept the consequences of my decisions and hope I get to see the sun at least one more time.