It took ten more minutes of negotiating Rome’s traffic before they pulled into an underground garage. The driver wound down and into an open, empty parking area except for three black vans.
The limousine came to a stop beside the vans. Men approached the vehicle and opened all the doors in the back.
“Get out,” one of the men ordered.
Rosina decided to stay silent and do her best to show zero fear.
She followed the line of six men as they walked her to an elevator. She almost felt like she was in a Quentin Tarantino movie with six mafia men standing around in expensive suits, in Rome, the home of the Italian mafia, escorting a helpless young woman to her final meeting. Then she banished the thought as soon as it entered her head. Quentin’s movies got a little bloody at times and there would be nothing final about her meeting upstairs. Nothing at all.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened. Three men filed in and turned around. Rosina entered and then the other three followed, with the Harvester standing closest to her.
The ride was quick, a relief as the thick air in the confined elevator was beginning to get to her.
The doors opened onto a gorgeous floor. The walls were marble, the carpets plush. Before they got too far, the Harvester stuck a key into the elevator panel and twisted it, locking the elevator out of service.
I guess we aren’t to be interrupted.
The men escorted her through a pair of glass double doors and into an office that would resemble any high- paid lawyer’s domain back in Canada.
They continued down a hallway and walked, one by one, through a smaller door.
The door was small, but the room was large. It would easily seat fifteen men. Couches lined the walls, armchairs and tables sat at random places. It looked like a luncheon room for the rich.
In the far corner sat a large banker’s desk and, behind it, a man who appeared from a distance to be at least seventy-five years old.
“Come, sit,” he said, with a flourish of his hand.
Rosina was directed to a solitary chair positioned in front of the big desk. She walked up and stood in front of it. All the men fell back, some took positions near the door and others sat on the plush couches.
“So good to finally meet you,” the old man said. “Please, have a seat.”
“I’ll stand, thank you. But I think you have it wrong here. I’m the one who is happy to finally meet you.”
He cocked his head a little. Someone behind her laughed under his breath. The old man raised his hand and the laughter ceased instantly.
“Why would that be?” he asked, his voice firm.
“You, or at least I’m assuming it’s you, have been terrorizing my husband and making his life a living hell for too long. It has to stop and that’s why I’m here. To make some kind of deal, some kind of arrangement so this petty bullying will come to an end. Then we can all move on.”
This time it was the old man who chuckled.
“Where do you people come from?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?”
He stood up, reached for a cane beside the desk and limped around it. He stepped closer to her, studying her face. He bent a little to the left, then the right, and gawked at her as if he was attempting to figure something out.
“Do I have something on my face?” Rosina asked.
He stood to his full height, which was still an inch shorter than Rosina’s five-nine, and shook his head.
“Not yet.” He lifted his cane, put it in both hands, like he was about to bunt a ball with a baseball bat, and shoved forward with the strength of a boxer in the ring. The cane smacked into her chest so hard, she had no time to recover. Her balance lost, she fell backwards, into the chair.
“I told you to sit down when you first entered my office. The next time you disobey me, the consequences will prove to be more severe.”
The old man turned away and walked away on both legs, without a limp, and without the use of the cane.
Rosina sat there, breathing rapidly as her heart rate shot up.
Concentrate, breathe, no fear. Concentrate, breathe, no fear.
“You and I have a unique problem,” he said. “You, personally, have done me no harm.” He reached his desk and sat down again. He picked up what looked like a gold-colored letter opener and started tapping it on the desk. “But I have to do you harm.”
“Why?” It was out before she could stop it. Her voice was weak, frightened and limp.
No, be honest with yourself. That’s fear.
“Because Darwin Athios Kostas does not have any children for me to kill.”
What the fuck?
“I can see by the expression on your face you either don’t understand the gravity of the situation, because you don’t understand what’s happening here, or you think I’m a sick and twisted individual.” He stopped talking and ceased movement of his letter opener. He looked down at it and then, after a moment he looked back up at her. “Or maybe you think I am all of the above. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The world is one big machine, living off the foundation of cause and effect. More specifically, I’m talking about consequences.” He started tapping his letter opener again. “You do something, you have to answer for it. There are consequences and there are debts to be paid.”
“What has that got anything to do with my husband and me? We don’t owe you any money.”
“That’s not the kind of currency that’ll pay this debt. The currency I want is blood.”
“What? You’re insane,” Rosina said.
Blood? Get real. This is crazy. Oh Darwin, where are you?
The old man dropped the letter opener and stood up, placing both hands evenly on either side of his desk.
“Get me the water cure.”
Men scurried away behind her. She had no idea what a water cure was. Maybe the guy had some disease and he needed his medicine.
“Look, what has my husband-”
“Silence!” he shouted.
Two men ran up beside her and grabbed both her arms.
“Hey!” she protested.
A man came from behind and wrapped a hand over her mouth. His hand was so large, it completely covered her mouth and nose. Instantly, she couldn’t breathe.
Real panic set in. She tried to struggle but couldn’t move. All three men had vise grip claws.
The one behind her inched closer and whispered in her ear, “The boss said to be quiet. I’d advise you listen to him.”
He eased up on her nose in that second. Air rushed into her starved lungs. She gasped and breathed as fast and hard as she could. Lightheadedness came over her.
They placed her on the floor on her back. The man who had been behind her let go of her face. She breathed through her open mouth, trying not to make any noise. This would all be over soon. They’d let her go. Cops would come. This didn’t happen in her world. This couldn’t happen.
One of the men stood over her with a funnel.
What the hell is that for?
At a squeaking noise behind her, she leaned her head back and saw the Harvester of Sorrow from the limousine wheeling something that looked like a keg into the room.
Is this his water cure?
The rest of the men surrounded her. In that moment, she realized it was for her. She tried to get up, but only made it a few inches before they shoved her back down. Hands grappled all over body, holding her immobile.
“Hold her tight,” Harvester said.
A hand clamped over her mouth again. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do anything but
