Chapter 144: The Basement

The basement

The room smelled of fresh blood. A single bulb hung overhead, swinging faintly whenever the ventilation kicked on, throwing long shadows across the tied figure of a man.

Manuel, his face already swollen and split in three places, had one eye swelling shut.

Salvatore stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, his voice calm in a way that made the whole room feel colder. Many guards stood by around them, ready.

"I gave you a chance," he said, "or you will end up like your friends. I will make sure they die slowly and painfully."

Manuel lifted his head weakly, blood dripping from his split lip onto the front of his shirt. "I’m sorry, boss. I... I really don’t kn—"

Joe’s fist connected with his face again before he could finish, snapping his head sideways, a fresh line of blood spraying across the concrete floor.

Manuel coughed violently, choking on the blood pooling in his mouth. "Please..."

Roderick crouched down and set the barrel of his gun gently against the man’s foot, letting the cold metal press into his skin. "Trust me," he said quietly, "it will be painful."

Manuel’s whole body shook, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "Please, I..."

Salvatore crouched slightly, bringing his face level with Manuel’s. "The man you helped hide now will not care about your life. And here you are, with your foolishness, still trying to hide him."

"But I really don’t know!" Manuel sobbed, his voice cracking completely. "I don’t know where Macron is!"

Joe hit him again, harder this time, and Manuel vomited blood onto his own lap, his body sagging against the ropes holding him upright.

Salvatore straightened, watching him with an expression of mild disappointment, like a man mildly inconvenienced rather than furious. "Well. If it’s what you ask, then."

He pulled his phone from his jacket and turned the screen toward Manuel. On it, an old woman moved around a warm, cluttered kitchen, laughing as she served two men like they were old friends.

Manuel’s one good eye went wide with horror. "Boss, no... please leave my mom alone! Please!"

"She is so happy, right?" Salvatore said, tilting the phone slightly. "But let’s see what happens in five minutes if you still don’t tell me where Macron is."

Manuel began shaking uncontrollably, his whole body trembling against the ropes. "Boss, please just kill me! Leave her alone!"

"Four minutes," Salvatore said simply, tucking the phone back into his palm.

Manuel broke down completely, begging, crying, his words dissolving into incoherent pleading that filled the small room.

At the two-minute mark, Salvatore made a call. Manuel watched, sobbing, as the screen showed a man pressing the phone against his ear, standing just behind the old woman in her kitchen.

"Shoot her in one minute," Salvatore said into the phone, his tone as casual as if he were ordering food.

"No! No! Please no!" Manuel screamed, thrashing against the chair. "I will tell you, I will tell you! Please don’t... please..."

"Okay," Salvatore said, holding up a hand. "Hold on. Let’s see if I can get useful information."

He looked down at Manuel, the phone still steady in his grip, the old woman’s laughter faintly audible through the speaker.

"I really don’t know where Macron was," Manuel gasped out, words tumbling over each other in desperation. "But I know someone who knows his place. He is Macron’s right hand. He is a chief at the South Port. His name is Jonathan Mallika."

Salvatore’s eyes flicked toward Joe, something unreadable passing between them. Joe’s jaw tightened visibly. He knew the name well. Jonathan had once been one of their most trusted men before he ended up on the wrong side now.

Salvatore straightened fully and walked toward the door without another word. At the threshold, he glanced back at Joe. "Throw him in with the others."

Joe motioned to the two guards stationed near the wall. "Bring him with the others."

Manuel began screaming as they dragged him upright, his legs barely holding his weight. "No! You said you would release me! No, please!!"

His voice echoed down the corridor even after Salvatore had already walked away, phone pressed back to his ear. "You can go out from there," he said calmly to whoever remained in the old woman’s kitchen. "Just tell her her son flew to another country."

Roderick fell into step behind him as they climbed the stairs back toward the main house. "I will get him."

"No," Salvatore said without turning. "Stay here. I will ask Alben to do it."

Roderick’s steps faltered. "No. You make me stay home enough."

"No. You stay home."

"Why?" Roderick’s voice rose, sharp with frustration now. "What happened with me? Did I do something wrong?"

"I’m tired of telling you," Salvatore said, not slowing his pace. "You are staying home and will stay home."

Roderick stopped walking entirely, his hands clenching at his sides. "If you don’t need me, I will not come here anymore. Whatever!"

He turned and started walking the opposite direction, and Salvatore stopped, glancing back at him. Something in Roderick’s voice, real hurt buried under the anger, made him pause.

He’d been trying to protect the man by keeping him in the dark, but clearly that approach had only made things worse.

"Rod! Come here!"

Roderick stopped but didn’t turn around right away. "Will you take me with you or not?"

"Come to my office," Salvatore said. "Why are you so stubborn!"

Roderick exhaled hard, then followed him down the hall and into the office, closing the door behind them both.

Once inside, Salvatore turned to face him fully. "You will not believe me and will think I’m crazy. But I will tell you why I want to keep you here."

Roderick crossed his arms, waiting, his expression still guarded.

"I know it’s crazy," Salvatore said slowly. "But Milo can sense if people are going to die within thirty days. He proved it many times. And he just told me that your time is close."

Roderick went still, studying Salvatore’s face carefully, searching for any sign this was some kind of joke. He found none.

"It’s why you’re trying to keep me away from everything?" he asked finally, his voice calmer now than Salvatore expected.

"You are my friend," Salvatore said, his voice dropping. "I just... I don’t want to lose you."

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "Please, Rod. I know you will not trust me. But I really care about you."

Roderick’s arms uncrossed slowly. "You care about me but didn’t tell me?"

"Because I knew you would only think I’m crazy."

Roderick shook his head, something almost fond crossing his tired face. "I used to see that kind of thing. I believe that boy. You should have just told me."

Salvatore blinked, caught off guard. "You believe it?"

"Of course," Roderick said. "My great-great-grandparents were witches. I’m used to this kind of thing."

Salvatore stared at him for a moment, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Damn. Anyway, now you know the reason. And I want you to stay home."

Roderick’s expression sobered again. "It will not change anything. You know. People will die now or later."

"Rod..."

"I will go get that bastard."

Salvatore’s jaw tightened, frustration and fear warring visibly behind his eyes. He wanted to argue, wanted to lock Roderick in the house himself if he had to, but he also knew, deep down, that Roderick had never once listened to him when his mind was made up, not in all the years they’d known each other. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

And some small, tired part of him understood that trying to cage a man against his will rarely ended in anything but resentment, the very thing Roderick was already circling toward.

"You’re impossible," Salvatore muttered finally, dragging a hand down his face.

Roderick allowed himself a small, tired smile. "You knew that when you hired me."

Salvatore said nothing for a long moment, just studying his old friend’s face, memorizing it in a way he hadn’t let himself do before, some quiet dread settling low in his chest that he refused to name out loud. Then he turned toward his desk, already reaching for his jacket.

"Fine," he said. "But you stay close to me. Not one step away."

Roderick’s smile widened slightly, relief flickering behind the exhaustion in his eyes.

"Now that," he said, "I can agree to."

Salvatore grabbed the car keys off his desk before Roderick could even reach for them. "I’m driving," he said flatly.

"You never drive when I’m with you," Roderick pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Today I do."

Outside, Salvatore waved over two guards and pointed them toward Roderick. "Stay close to him. Don’t let him out of your sight. Not even to the bathroom."

Roderick sighed, sliding into the passenger seat. "You know we can’t hold back death."

"Not in my sight," Salvatore said, starting the engine, his knuckles tightening slightly around the wheel. "I don’t want to lose you."

Roderick glanced at him, something softening in his tired face. "I didn’t know you were so romantic in this way."

"It’s not what you think," Salvatore said quickly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, jaw set. "I just hate the thought of seeing you under the soil." He paused, then added, quieter, almost to himself, "I want to die first."

Roderick fell silent at that, watching him for a long moment before turning to look out the window, the guards’ car falling into place behind them as they pulled out through the gates.