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[Lorenzo Castelli]
Lorenzo had always thought that every problem had a solution, as long as you could stay calm enough to figure it out.
But as the metal door slammed behind him and the men pulled him deeper into the building, he started to see that some situations just don’t seem to give a shit about how smart you are.
The room they brought him into was cold and dim, with damp concrete walls, a rusty table, and a flickering bulb that buzzed whenever someone got too close to the exposed wires.
The air was thick with dust, metal, and something sharp that churned his stomach. The rough floor scraped against his shoes as the man holding his arm shoved him toward a chair.
Lorenzo braced himself against the table, determined not to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him fall, even though his knees had been shaking ever since they separated him from his mother and Matteo.
"Sit the fuck down," the man barked.
Lorenzo eased himself into the chair, trying to take in the room as casually as he could while pushing aside the frantic beating of his heart.
There were five men in the room, including the one who had brought him in. He could hear at least two more voices beyond the door. The oldest guy seemed to be in charge; the others waited for him to speak.
Then there was a younger man with fidgety hands, looking way too eager to prove himself.
Lorenzo took note of their faces, their weapons, how they held themselves, all in hopes that some small detail might come in handy later.
He’d always had a talent for noticing things.
Unfortunately, just knowing someone had a gun didn’t make it any less dangerous.
"Your father has made a lot of enemies," the older man started, sitting down across from him. "I’m sure you’ve heard some of it."
"I’ve heard people complain about my father," Lorenzo said carefully. "They usually do it when they think he can’t hear them."
The younger man scoffed, but the older one just watched him closely.
"We want to know about the Castelli warehouses, your father’s security measures, and who’s responsible for protecting his properties. Share what you know, and maybe you and your family will walk out of here alive."
Lorenzo’s fingers curled into his knees. "Maybe?"
"That kind of depends on how helpful you are."
He thought of his mother, who had been scared but still tried to comfort his little brother as they were dragged from the car, and Matteo, who had looked at him with wide, terrified eyes before they were pulled apart.
He could still hear his little brother’s voice somewhere outside the walls, although he couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Just knowing they were nearby gave him a sliver of strength.
His father would be searching for them.
Frederick Castelli never left his family unprotected, and even if these men had caught them off guard, someone would find out what had happened.
Their driver was dead, the car was left behind, and it wouldn’t take long for people to learn that three Castelli family members had gone missing.
All Lorenzo had to do was hold on until help arrived.
"I don’t know where the warehouses are," he replied. "My dad doesn’t share his business with me."
"Bullshit! You’re his son, you said you knew!"
"I’m just fourteen."
The younger man stepped closer, his expression twisted with contempt. "You really expect us to believe that you know nothing about your own family?"
"I expect you to realize that being born into a family doesn’t mean I’m responsible for every decision they make."
The man slapped him across the face.
Lorenzo’s head snapped to the side, a sharp pain lancing through his cheek as he fought to steady himself.
He tasted blood where his teeth had bitten his lip, but he forced himself to look up again, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.
He had learned long ago that showing pain or any other reaction only encouraged people to keep hurting you.
The adults at the mansion often mistook his silence for apathy, thinking a boy who rarely cried must have a heart as cold as his father’s reputation.
His mother always knew better, and the thought of her understanding him now, somewhere beyond those walls, made his throat tighten.
"You think you’re clever, aren’t you?" the older man said.
"No," Lorenzo responded, although he considered himself fairly intelligent. "I think you’re asking questions I can’t answer."
The older man stood up from the chair.
"Then maybe we should help you remember."
The beating started before Lorenzo could say a word.
The first punch landed in his stomach with brutal force, driving the air from his lungs in a wet, choking gasp.
Before he could double over, another fist crashed into his jaw, the impact splitting the skin and sending a spray of blood across the table.
A heavy boot slammed into his ribs, the crack of bone loud in the small room as pain exploded through his side.
He fell to one knee, clutching the edge of the table, vision swimming as another kick drove into his lower back, forcing a raw, involuntary cry from his throat.
They yanked him upright and shackled his wrists to a metal ring on the wall. The iron bit into his skin as his hands shook so violently that he couldn’t pretend anymore.
He hated that they could see it.
Even worse was that he couldn’t make it stop.
"Tell us about the safe houses!" the older man demanded.
"I don’t know where they are."
Another blow slammed into his already broken ribs, and Lorenzo gasped, struggling to catch his breath as blood dripped steadily from his split lip onto the concrete floor.
"Then the security schedules!"
"I don’t know."
The restless man pulled a knife from his belt, and despite his best effort to look away, Lorenzo fixated on the blade.
His mouth dried up, and the room felt colder as the man approached, twirling the knife as though deciding how to best use it.
"Your father has spent years making powerful people miserable," he said. "It’s only fair that his family should experience that."
Lorenzo swallowed hard. "If you have an issue with my dad, then take it up with him. He’s the one you want, not us."
"We’ve tried dealing with your father," the man shot back. "He doesn’t listen, but maybe you will."
The first cut across Lorenzo’s chest was deep. The blade sank into flesh with a wet sound, slicing through skin and muscle in a clean, burning line. Hot blood instantly poured down his torso, soaking his shirt.
His entire body jerked against the restraints as a scream tore from his throat...high, broken, and nothing like the controlled voice he had always tried to maintain.
The pain was white-hot, spreading through him like wildfire.
He struggled to pull away, but the metal ring held him steady while the man struck again, carving a second, deeper gash across his abdomen.
The knife dragged slowly this time, deliberately, opening flesh and exposing glistening tissue beneath. Blood poured in thick streams, pooling on the floor beneath his feet.
Lorenzo screamed again, the sound raw and animal, biting down so hard on his lip that more blood filled his mouth.
He had never grasped how people could lose control of their bodies when they were scared or hurt, but now he found himself trembling violently, muscles locking against the restraints, tears streaming freely down his face and mixing with the blood on his chin.
That realization was humiliating enough to make him bury it under anger, convincing himself he was old enough to handle this, old enough to protect his family, old enough to be of use instead of hanging helpless against a wall.
But his body didn’t care how mature he thought he was, and his bravery couldn’t stop the pain.
Father will come, he told himself, clinging to that thought as another blow landed.
Father will find us.
He pictured his dad bursting through the door with his men, his expression fierce enough to make the kidnappers regret every choice they’d made that night.
He imagined Dante beside him, angry and ready to fight, and Matteo rushing to them as soon as the doors opened.
Then he thought of his mother, and the memory of her at the amusement park earlier that day hit him with painful clarity.
She had laughed when Matteo accused Lorenzo of purposely winning the stuffed rabbit to annoy him, holding the little prize against her stomach, telling Lorenzo Calypso would love it when she arrived.
He could still feel the warmth of her smile, how she had rested a hand on her unborn daughter’s head, as if to let the baby know she was loved.
It felt absurd to remember that while bleeding against a concrete wall, but his mind kept looping back to that ordinary day because he couldn’t bear the thought that it could be the last happy moment they ever shared.
"Enough," the older man finally said, watching Lorenzo who was covered in blood fight to stay awake. "Maybe we should just ask his mother what she knows."
Lorenzo’s head shot up so fast, it sent pain through his neck. "N...no."
The man shot him a glance. "Then cooperate."
"I will." The response came out too quickly, and Lorenzo hated the desperation in his voice, but he couldn’t care less about appearing calm anymore. "I’ll tell you everything I know. I’ll give you names, places, anything I can remember. Just please leave my mother and brother alone."
The older man studied him for a moment before turning to the door. "Bring her here."
Lorenzo started to struggle against the restraints.
"No, please! You don’t need her! I’m the one you want! She doesn’t know anything about Father’s business! Take whatever you want from me, but don’t hurt her!"
The door swung open, and his mother was dragged into the room.
For one awful moment, Lorenzo forgot about his own pain.