The steps down to the dungeon were familiar. The stone, slick with damp, air thick rot and iron. But this time, I wasn't here for myself.
Two of my men flanked me as I descended, their boots echoing against the walls. We were here for a particular guest. A man whose capture, or eventual death, would guarantee my family's safety. Another bargain checked off my list.
I really hate owing people.
The steel doors groaned open. Inside, the stench of blood and piss hit first, then my favorite, fear. My men walked in and straightened him out of his cot, his body limp and shaking, eyes glassy with defiance that was already half-dead.
Truthfully, they didn't even need to restrain him. He was human. Weak. Powerless. Still, I let them. I liked the show of it all. Like theatre. Which reminded me, I should bring Rosie to one, one day.
"Di Castillo," I said, my voice echoing through the small space like a blade sliding from its sheath. "How are we faring today?"
