Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I froze. “You don’t have to thank me.” I slanted him a look over my shoulder. He was looking down at his legs. “I need you to survive.”
Two years later
I sat cross-legged across from Nestore. We often sat right at the bars so we could be close while talking. I could count the days I hadn’t visited Nestore in the past two years on two hands. I talked to him more than anyone else, mostly about mundane things like my private teachers, the news, and gossip I overheard. I was his link to the outside world, and he’d become the center of mine. I felt safe talking to him.
It was the weekend, so I didn’t have school, but I still got up early to see Nestore before breakfast. His hair was a little tousled from sleep, a sight I always particularly enjoyed. He ate the buttermilk biscuits and chicken drumsticks I’d snuck away from dinner yesterday. “Sorry I couldn’t make it last night. Father insisted I play the piano for him and Flavia in the ballroom.”
“I always hated piano lessons,” Nestore said, then ripped off a chunk of meat from the cold drumstick. He had mentioned it to me before, but I still loved to imagine him sitting at the piano.
“I wish I could hear you play. I love listening to the piano, but I don’t like to play myself.”
Nestore chuckled. “Same.”
“Maybe we would enjoy playing together.”
Nestore’s expression stilled, and shame washed over me. When would Nestore ever get the chance to play the piano again? I had lost hope that my father would ever let him go.
Nestore smiled, but it was a little tight. “You’d outplay me. I haven’t played in almost three years, and the scar tissue on my fingers probably makes them less nimble.”
“Why did you stop playing?” It was a topic we had discussed before. There probably wasn’t a topic we hadn’t spoken about in the hundreds of hours we’d spent talking, except for what happened in the torture chamber.
“Fight training and lessons on the business side of being an Underboss took up too much time.”
I nodded. Of course, Nestore had been prepared for his future tasks. I had ballet and piano lessons, so I’d be graceful and entertaining for future social gatherings.
The steel door slammed shut, and footsteps hurried down the staircase.
I froze.
“Hurry. You need to hide,” Nestore hissed as he hid the plate and the chicken bones under his cot. I scrambled to my feet and dashed into one of the open cells, then hid between the cot and the toilet. The spot was entirely dark and would keep me hidden.
“They could be bringing a new prisoner,” Nestore growled, but it was too late for me to hide somewhere else. I could only pray it wasn’t the case. Nestore had been the only prisoner down here for almost six months.
My father stepped into view, followed by two of his men. He wore a tracksuit, a rare sight. They didn’t have a new prisoner with them, which meant they had come for Nestore. Fear gripped me. It wasn’t the first time I was down here while Nestore got tortured. I pressed even closer against the wall, hoping the darkness would hide my presence.
The stench so close to the toilet twisted my stomach. Old urine, poo, and vomit created a potent odor that made my eyes water. I breathed through my mouth, terrified anyone would hear me.
Nestore rose to his feet. His face was proud and stubborn, but his hands were shaking. He was scared.
I wished I could help him.
“Grab him. I don’t have much time today, so we have to make it worthwhile. I have been too busy to visit you in the past few days, so we have some catching up to do.”
Nestore stiffened. The taller guard unlocked the door and gripped Nestore by the upper arm, dragging him outside, while the other pointed a gun at Nestore.
My pulse raced in my veins. I wanted to help. Nestore’s eyes flitted to me, and he gave a slight shake of his head as he was dragged away toward another door that led to the torture rooms I had never seen.
I didn’t move. I’d wait here until Nestore was back, no matter how long it took.
An agonized scream rang out, making me whimper in response. I tried to shut down my mind so it wouldn’t imagine what Nestore went through. Maybe it was cowardly, but I couldn’t even bear the thought of it.
The moment Nestore’s screams subsided always scared me the most because I never knew if it meant the torture was finally over or if Nestore had perished.
I remained hiding in the shadows of the open cell with bated breath, waiting for my father and the other men to emerge from the torture cell. The heavy door creaked open, and two men walked into the cellblock, dragging something by the arms. Nestore was motionless. Cold fear spiked. But they wouldn’t bring him back here if he were dead, right? They’d take him to a place where they could dispose of his body. Tears stung my eyes.