Page 12 of Veil of the Past
We move through the casino, past the flashy lights and the oblivious gamblers, until we reach a heavy door guarded by two of our men. They nod to me, stepping aside as I push the door open and head down a narrow staircase. Bricks cover the walls, and cobwebs hang around the corners of the low ceiling. The sounds from above fade, replaced by the muffled thud of footsteps and the faint drip of water. The dungeons aren’t much to look at—bare concrete walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and the smell of rancid mildew in the air. Rats scatter around, looking for anything to feed the hunger, the greed. But it’s where we handle our business when words alone aren’t enough.
At the bottom of the stairs, I see him—the cheater. He’s slumped in a chair, his face already bloodied and bruised, his hands tied behind his back. Silvio and a couple of the guys stand around him, their arms crossed, faces expressionless. They know better than to interfere.
I walk up slowly, my shoes echoing on the concrete floor. The guy lifts his head, blinking through swollen eyes to look at me. There’s a mix of fear and defiance behind those eyes of his. He’s young, maybe mid-thirties, with a shock of dark hair matted with sweat and blood. I don’t ask his name; I don’t care.
“Why am I here?” he spits, trying to sound tough, but the tremor in his voice gives him away. “I didn’t do nothing.”
I laugh. It’s a low, cold sound that makes the room feel even smaller. “Oh, you did plenty, pal. You’ve been cheating us, and worse, you’ve been getting away with it. Until now.”
He shifts in his chair, trying to straighten up, to look brave. “You got no proof,” he mutters. “Just a bunch of muscleheads thinking they’re?—”
Before he can finish, I step forward and land a quick, hard punch to his gut. He doubles over, gasping for air, his words dying in his throat. I lean in close, my voice calm but laced with steel. “We have all the proof we need. You’ve been seen, you’ve been caught, and now… you’ve got to pay the price.”
He coughs and spits blood on the floor. “Screw you,” he snarls, but his bravado is fading fast.
I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. “No, screw you, pal. You think you can come into our house, steal from us, and walk away? You think you’re some kind of genius, pulling one over on us?”
I let go, and he slumps back, breathing heavily. I straighten up, looking down at him, feeling the anger rising inside me like a fire. “You’ve cost us a lot of money,” I say slowly, letting the words sink in. “Money that belongs to the Camorra. Money that you can’t pay back.”
He flinches at the word “Camorra.” Now he knows who he’s dealing with, and I see the realization dawning in his eyes. The fear is stronger now, almost palpable. I can almost taste it. And, God, do I love the taste of fear.
“Look,” he says, his voice breaking. “I—I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know this was your place. I just… I was desperate, okay? I needed the money. My kid. My kid has cancer. Just… let me go, I won’t come back, I swear.”
I chuckle again, but there’s no humor in it. “You won’t come back? Oh, you’re right about that. You’re never setting foot in any of our casinos again, you hear me? You’re done. Finished.”
I take a step closer, and he tries to shrink back, but there’s nowhere to go. “But first,” I continue, “I’m gonna make sure you remember why.”
I nod to Silvio, who steps forward and hands me a pair of brass knuckles. I slip them on, feeling the weight of them in my hand, the cool metal against my skin. The cheater’s eyes widen, and he starts to shake his head, mumbling, “No, no, please, don’t?—”
I don’t wait for him to finish. I bring the brass knuckles down hard on his face, once, twice, feeling the crunch of bone beneath my fist. He cries out while blood sprays from his mouth, and his head snaps backward. I don’t stop. I keep hitting him, methodically, deliberately, until his face is a mess of blood and swollen flesh.
Finally, I step back, breathing heavily, my knuckles aching. He’s slumped in the chair, barely conscious, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I crouch down, grabbing his hair and forcing him to look at me.
“This is your one warning,” I say softly, but my voice is full of menace. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you right here. But I want you to spread the word. I want everyone to know what happens when you mess with us. You stay out of our casinos, or next time, I won’t be so merciful. You and your entire family won’t see the light of day if you try us again.”
I let go, and he slumps forward, sobbing and trembling. I nod to Silvio, who steps forward and unties him, dragging him toward the exit. “Get him out of here,” I say. “And make sure he knows the way out.”
Silvio nods, and they haul him up the stairs, his feet dragging on the concrete. I watch them go, my heart still pounding, my blood still boiling. I’ve done my job. I’ve sent the message loud and clear.
I turn and head back up the stairs, back to the noise, the lights, and the smoke. The casino’s still buzzing, oblivious to what just happened below. I like it that way. We do our business in the shadows, where it belongs. I flick the thick blood off of my knuckles before wiping my hand down my black suit. Black hides everything.
I step back onto the floor, and Mario gives me a nod, a slight smile on his face. “Handled?” he asks.
“Handled,” I reply, wiping the remaining blood from my knuckles with a handkerchief. “No one cheats us and gets away with it.”
And with that, I blend back into the crowd, just another face among the gamblers. Tonight, I’ve reminded everyone who really holds the cards in this city.
* * *
The parking garageis quiet at this hour, just the way I like it. The only sound is the occasional hum of a distant car engine and the soft flickering of the fluorescent lights above. I check my watch—2:30 a.m. on the dot. I lean against the hood of my car, a black sedan that blends into the dark, and wait. It’s been a long night, but I don’t mind. Not when I’m waiting for her.
I glance over at the passenger seat, eggs and avocado on toast in a bag, just the way she likes its with a cup of coffee beside it. . An iced mocha, too because I know she’s got a weakness for them. I pull them out and hold them in my hand as I wait for her. I’ve memorized these little details, the things that make her smile. Alessia’s had a long shift, and I want to be the first thing she sees when she walks out of those hospital doors.
Finally, I hear footsteps echoing down the concrete walls. I look up and see her coming, her white coat hanging loosely over her scrubs, her fiery red hair pulled back in a messy bun. Even exhausted, she’s beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget everything else. Her steps are heavy, but when she sees me, a smile breaks across her face, and it’s like the sun rising in the middle of the night.
"Hey, stranger," she calls out, her voice light and teasing, but there’s a tiredness to it. She’s been running on empty, I can tell.
"Morning, Doc," I reply, holding up the bag and cup. "I brought your favorites. Figured you could use a little pick-me-up."
