Page 117 of Mafia Don's Secret Twins

“Don’t talk much, do you, Drakos?”

I tilt my head. “Only when it matters.”

“You sound American.”

I don’t say anything to him.

Benicio sighs, leaning back in his chair. We’re somewhere in the barracks, in a basement that’s somehow buried underneath them. The walls around me are cement, the ceiling is cement, and the floor is a wreck of disjointed cement and cinder blocks. It looks like a drunk mole came down here to lay the whole thing, and it doesn’t make me feel super confident about the whole fucking structure.

Likely, Benicio had his men build it, and not one of them seems to have a lick of fuckin’ sense, or even two goddamn brain cells to rub together between them.

Let alone any knowledge of building or code.

The glimpses of bare walls that I see, though, make me think that they somehow drilled into bedrock to be down here, but it looks like limestone, which is about as sturdy as a fucking house of cards.

This whole thing is probably as sturdy, and it makes me nervous. If I get trapped down here, how will Marisol…

Shut the fuck up. Do what you need to do. And get her the hell out of here.

I did made a note of the labyrinth of stairs and fucking curves that took us down here, but even I would have a hard time finding my way out of here.

It’s a fucking mess, but if I need to get myself the fuck out of here, I will.

The fucking rain isn’t helping. It’s been coming down for another day, still at the same strength as last night. At this point, it’s seepinginto the rocks around us, and the whole basement of this fucking place has all the ambiance of a medieval dungeon. I can hear dripping sounds, and there are small puddles of water beneath

So much for a fuckin’ rainforest.

“Well. If you won’t talk, I doubt you’ll do well with this,” Benicio sneers.

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who fuckin’ needs to talk, right?”

His eyes narrow, glaring at me. “I don’t like you.”

“Good,” I say.

The word seems to piss him off, but then he laughs. “You’re a hell of a contender, though. When you punched the Russian in his face? I haven’t seen a move like that since the eighties.”

I nod.

Benicio sighs and waves at one of his fucking henchmen. I hear a door clang, and the sound of shuffling feet throws me off.

A man, dragged by the goon that Benicio indicated, appears in the room.

The goon tugs his head back, and my heart kicks up a beat.

I know this man.

How the fuck do I know this guy?

“This man isn’t one of mine. However, I did find him sniffing around the building a while back. He’s been here for a while, he’s eating my food like a rat, and I need to figure out who he is and why he’s here,” Benicio says softly.

The man’s eyes widen when they look at me.

He knows me too. How…

“I will give you thirty minutes. Figure out who he is. Kill him if he’s a threat,” Benicio sneers.

With all the grace of a bloated corpse, Benicio rises from his chair and leaves the room. The henchmen do too, with the exception of one who positions himself at the door, presumably to report back that I’m not a soft fucking baby.

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