Chapter 93
93
Aweek after my arrival, I accidentally bumped into a prisoner.
It was in a narrow corridor between the cellblock and the laundry. I was walking to my job when I heard a man muttering angrily in Italian behind me.
I was concerned he might jump me, so I turned to glare at him –
When my shoulder bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction.
Normally, this was an opportunity for two assholes to get into a shoving match to establish who was the alpha.
You could not afford to show weakness in prison – and tolerating even a hint of disrespect was interpreted as weakness. Which is why an innocent bump in the hallway could quickly spiral into a fistfight.
I spun around, ready to throw a punch –
And I saw the most extraordinary man.
Unlike the other prisoners I’d encountered, he was incredibly handsome. His mustache and short beard were perfectly trimmed, his hair immaculately in place. Though he wore the same beige uniform I did, he looked more like a model in a photo shoot than an inmate in one of the most dangerous prisons in Italy.
But though he was handsome, there was something cruel and dangerous about his face. His dark eyes were piercing and intelligent, and his gaze carried the implied threat of violence. Not hot violence, born of rage – but the kind of cold cunning where a man would slit your throat when you least expected it.
There were tattoos visible at the open neck of his shirt, but unlike the shitty prison tats I’d seen on 90% of the inmates – crude pictures and words made with sewing needles and homemade ink – his tattoos were amazing, like they’d been done by a skilled artist.
There was also a quiet confidence to him. Something like nobility, as crazy as that sounds. Most inmates projected outsized swagger to intimidate everyone, but it was based on the fear of appearing weak. A few of the older silver-haired inmates had the quiet confidence of the man in front of me, but it was obvious they were bosses in control of gangs. This guy was my age, and yet he carried himself with the gravitas of someone 30 years older.
He was like a prince amongst savages.
He looked at me with cold, appraising eyes but didn’t say anything. Almost as though he was waiting for me to make my intentions clear.
I didn’t know exactly why, but something told me it would be foolish to pick a fight with him – so I simply said, “Scusi p>
He looked deep into my eyes –
And after half a second, he nodded slightly and answered in a deep, resonant voice. “Di niente p>
I had no idea what the words meant, but his tone sounded like No worries.
Then he simply kept walking.
I turned and watched him pass – and that’s when I noticed something:
The angry guy who’d been muttering behind me looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
His face was pale, and his eyes were wide as he watched the handsome stranger walk past.
I figured I had brushed up against someone dark and dangerous and lived to tell the tale. Like encountering the Grim Reaper on a midnight stroll past the graveyard.
Little did I know how accurate that assessment was…
Or how quickly we would meet again.