Chapter 8: Broken Silence

The sixth morning arrived in a haze of gray drizzle and the low, constant hum of the city far below. Alexei woke up on his side again, the chain now looped around both wrists, pulling his arms tight against his ribs. The cuffs had left deeper purple rings that burned when he shifted. His green eyes felt swollen, the skin around them tight and hot. Every breath pulled at the fresh lines Luca had carved across his chest and stomach crusted, angry, weeping a little when he moved wrong. The graze on his thigh had gone septic; it throbbed in time with his heartbeat, red and slick under the ruined bandage. The tattoo on his forearm had smeared completely, the ink now a dark, bruised smear that itched like fire every time the skin stretched.

He’d spent most of yesterday on his knees, then on his side, then curled into a tight ball because standing hurt worse than lying down. No food. No water. Just the rain drumming the window and the slow, relentless drip of blood from the cuts. The safe word still echoed in his skull *red* but it tasted like ash. He hadn’t used it again. Not yet.

The door opened at 6:07 a.m. Luca stepped in wearing the same black slacks and white shirt, sleeves rolled high again. The bruise on his temple had settled into something almost black. His storm-grey eyes took in the room once cataloging the new smears of blood on the marble, the way Alexei’s chest rose and fell too fast, the faint red lines still visible on the window where Luca had traced them with the knife.

“Up,” Luca said. No warmth. Just the flat command.

Alexei pushed himself upright. The chain rattled, sharp and small. His legs shook, but he stayed upright. He looked at Luca with those flat green eyes, jaw locked so tight it ached.

Luca crossed the room, unlocked the cuffs, then re-cuffed one wrist to the chain again. He tossed the second cuff aside. “You’re done running today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. Depends on what you give me.”

Alexei didn’t answer. He just stood there, breathing shallow, watching Luca set the black toolkit on the nightstand. This time Luca added the longer hunting knife again, the matte handle catching the weak light. He unzipped a fresh pouch bandages, ointment, a fresh syringe of clear liquid and set them out with deliberate slowness.

“Names first,” Luca said quietly. He didn’t wait for Alexei to speak. He stepped close, one hand on Alexei’s hip, the other lifting his chin. The touch was almost gentle, but the pressure was there enough to remind him who held the knife.

Alexei’s breath hitched. “I already told you what you wanted to hear.”

Luca’s thumb brushed the split lip, smearing dried blood. “You gave me rivals. Good. Means you’re still trying to keep something back.” His grey eyes flicked over Alexei’s body, cataloging every new cut, every tremor. “That’s not enough. Not for three days. Not when the window’s watching.”

He started with the knife. Shallow first tracing the edges of the fresh cuts across Alexei’s chest, reopening them just enough to make Alexei hiss through his teeth. The pain flared bright, then deepened into a sick burn that made his vision tunnel at the edges. Luca worked methodically, wiping blood away with his thumb every time it ran, asking the same questions about the Voss code. Names. Faces. Places. Rivals. Alexei gave him the names he could spare vague, slippery, the kind that would lead nowhere useful. Nothing about the real players. Nothing about the code.

Luca pressed the flat of the blade harder against a new cut under Alexei’s ribs. “Talk,” he said, voice low.

Alexei’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like it would crack. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Luca switched knives. The hunting knife was sharper. He used the edge this time, short, deliberate strokes along the lines of Alexei’s stomach over the old scars his father had left, new ones layered on top. Each cut pulled at the skin like fire. The pain was everywhere now: chest, stomach, back, thigh, the graze that had started seeping again. His skin felt too tight. His vision blurred. But he kept his mouth shut.

Luca stepped back. “You’re going to stay like this for the rest of the day. No food. No water. No talking. The window’s your witness tonight. You’ll see exactly how much of you is left when I come back.”

He locked the cuffs again both wrists now, chains looped through the bedpost and stretched between them, pulling Alexei’s arms wide like a crucifix. Then he walked to the window and stood there a long time, staring out at the rain.

Alexei sagged against the chain, chest heaving, blood trickling down his stomach in thin lines. He stared at the faint red streaks on the glass the map Luca had carved there and felt something inside him crack. Not the safe word. Not yet. Something smaller. Sharper.

At some point in the endless gray morning, the words slipped out. Not all of them. Just enough.

“The Voss men…” Alexei rasped, voice hoarse from disuse and pain. “They work out of the old warehouse on the river. The one with the blue tarp. They move products through the docks at night. There are three of them running the crew. Names I don’t know off the top of my head. Faces… blurred. They hate the Voss crew because of the last raid. They want payback.”

He stopped. The names weren’t real. The faces weren’t real. He’d given Luca enough to make him think he was getting close, but not enough to break the code. Not enough to feed the beast inside Luca that wanted the full truth.

Luca didn’t answer right away. He just watched him from the window, storm-grey eyes unreadable. Then he turned, walked back, and picked up the knife again.

This time he didn’t ask questions. He didn’t speak at all.

The cuts came faster deeper, more precise, layered over the ones already there. The pain became a constant, grinding thing that filled every inch of Alexei’s body. His knees buckled. He hung in the chains, wrists raw, blood dripping onto the floor. The rain outside picked up, hammering the glass like it wanted to wash everything away.

When the sun finally dipped low enough to paint the room in dull orange, Luca set the knife down. He walked to the closet and pulled out the black toolkit one last time. This time he took out a small packet of ice packs and a roll of heavy chain thicker than the one attached to the bedpost. He locked the second wrist to the heavy chain, then looped the heavy chain through the bedpost so Alexei’s arms were stretched wide, every breath pulling the cuts open again.

“No talking,” Luca said. Flat. Final. He stepped back, the door already opening.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Alexei hung there for hours, body aching in every place Luca had opened, blood drying on his skin, the rain still drumming the window. His green eyes stayed open, fixed on the faint red lines on the glass. The map. The witness.

Inside his head, the cracking had turned into a storm. Vague names. Blurred faces. He’d given Luca enough to keep the interrogation alive. Enough to keep him from using the safe word. But not enough to make the Voss code break.

The safe word was still there, waiting, untested.

He closed his eyes at some point in the endless afternoon, tears cutting clean tracks through the dried blood on his face.

For the first time in days, the only sound in the room was the rain and the soft, broken clink of the chain every time his body twitched in its own agony.

Luca didn’t come back that night.

The window was his witness now.

And Alexei was alone with it.