Chapter 6: The Knife Is New

The fourth morning was worse.

Alexei woke up on his side again, cheek pressed to the cold marble floor, the chain still looped through the bedpost and attached to his left wrist. His left wrist throbbed where the cuff had bitten in overnight. The cuts on his chest and stomach had started to burn like they were on fire new lines crossed with old scars, each one pulling when he breathed. His thigh had gone completely numb under the soaked bandage. The graze from yesterday had reopened, the bullet wound now a raw, angry ring that pulsed with every heartbeat. His face was swollen, the nose crunched flat, the split lip scabbed over but the inside was still raw. The shallow cut on his neck from the first night had healed into a thin pink line, but it itched like fire when he swallowed. And the tattoo on his forearm “Stay” was bleeding again, the ink smudged and dark.

He’d spent the last three days mostly on his side, chain clinking softly with every shallow breath, staring at the bloody streaks on the window like they owed him money. No food. No water. Just the rain and the city lights and the slow, creeping thought that maybe Luca was right he really was nothing but a ghost now.

The door opened at 6:11 a.m. by the clock. Luca stepped in wearing the same black slacks and white shirt, sleeves rolled up. The bruise on his temple had turned a deeper purple overnight. His storm-grey eyes took in the room once, then landed on Alexei still on the floor.

“Up,” he said. Not a question.

Alexei pushed himself onto his knees. The movement sent fresh pain lancing through his back and chest. He stayed on his knees because standing would have made his legs give out. Luca crossed the room, unlocked the cuffs, and tossed the chain onto the bed like it was trash. Alexei’s wrists throbbed where the leather had left red marks. He didn’t rub them. He just flexed his fingers and looked up.

Luca didn’t speak at first. He walked to the closet and pulled out the black toolkit. This time he added the hunting knife again, the longer one with the matte handle. He set it on the nightstand and unzipped a fresh pouch. Inside were more bandages and a small bottle of water. He took out a roll of gauze and a tube of ointment, then a syringe full of clear liquid. The smell was sharp, medical, not like the cheap cologne Luca usually wore.

“Hold still.”

Alexei’s green eyes narrowed. He could smell the faint copper on Luca’s hands already. “You really gonna use that on me again?”

Luca didn’t answer with words. He just walked around the bed and dropped to one knee beside Alexei. The bigger man was warm. Solid. The kind of warmth that made Alexei’s stomach twist in a way he hated. Luca reached out and lifted Alexei’s chin with two fingers, turning his face up so their eyes met.

“Interrogation,” he said quietly. “You’re gonna tell me about the Voss code. Names. Faces. Places. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Alexei laughed once, the sound wet and broken. “You think this is gonna make me talk? I’ve had worse.”

Luca’s thumb brushed the split lip on Alexei’s mouth, smearing the dried blood. “Good. Means you’re still fighting.”

He stood up and grabbed a chair from the corner. The metal legs scraped against the marble. Luca sat down, spread his legs, and rested the hunting knife across his knees. The blade caught the gray morning light and threw it back at Alexei like a warning.

Luca leaned forward. The knife moved. Not deep at first just enough to nick the skin. A thin line of red appeared on Alexei’s chest, right over his left nipple. Pain flared, bright and immediate. Alexei’s breath punched out of him. He tried to twist away, but the chain was still on the bedpost and he couldn’t reach.

“Talk,” Luca said. Calm. Like he was ordering coffee.

Alexei’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. “Fuck you.”

The knife moved again. Parallel to the first cut. Then up. Then down. Short, deliberate strokes. Each one pulled at the old scars on his chest from the Voss days knife lines his father had given him when he was sixteen. New ones layered on top. Alexei’s breathing got shallower. His green eyes stayed open. He didn’t close them.

Luca worked in silence for a long time. The rain outside picked up, hammering the windows like it was trying to wash the blood away. But Luca wiped it clean with his thumb every time it ran. He traced the knife along the lines of Alexei’s stomach next, slow and steady, like he was drawing a map. Every so often he’d stop, press the blade flat against the skin, and ask a question.

“What’s the name of the lieutenant who ran the warehouse raid?”

Alexei spat blood. “Go to hell.”

The knife moved. A new cut opened right under his ribs, shallow but deep enough to sting when he breathed. The pain was everywhere now chest, stomach, back, the graze on his thigh that had started seeping through the bandage again. His skin felt too tight. His vision blurred at the edges. But he kept his mouth shut.

Luca switched knives. The hunting knife was sharper. He used the flat of it to press down, not cutting, just pressing until Alexei’s breath hitched again.

“Names,” Luca said. “I’ve got all day.”

Alexei’s jaw was locked so tight it felt like it would crack. His chest rose and fell too fast. The cuts were burning. The pain was so bad he couldn’t think straight. But he stayed quiet.

Luca stood up. He walked to the closet and pulled out a fresh duffel bag. This one had a note attached handwritten in Luca’s neat scrawl: “Three days. The window’s your witness tonight.”

He locked the cuffs again, chain clicking as it looped through the bedpost. Then he turned to leave.

At the door he stopped. Looked back once. The bruise on his temple was darker now. His lip was split again. He looked almost human.

“Try to run,” he said quietly. “I’ll find you faster next time.”

The door closed.

Alexei stayed on his knees for a long time. The cuts burned. His ribs ached. His face felt puffy. His thigh throbbed under the wet bandage. The tattoo on his forearm was bleeding again. The rain outside was still coming down, washing nothing.