I realize this is moving wicked slowly, but I swear this is the last of the heavy emotional stuff. Things really start to move coming up. Thank you to every kind, encouraging word and for sticking with this story for so long. It is, as always, much appreciated.
Also, to Bondopoulos, who gets this all to make sense, which is a very, very heavy feat. So thank you, for everything :)
"Mommy! Mommy!"
The little boy appeared at her feet, materializing in the wave that currently retreated from the shore. Shielding her eyes from the too bright sun, she saw the small boy, sandy hair and bright blue eyes that twinkled with mischief.
Her mouth moved, said all the right things to the boy, who smiled and laughed and threw himself into her arms. But her words eluded her; they were not hers to say. She held the boy tighter and he allowed it.
"Now, if this isn't my favorite sight in the whole world," her eyes shot up to find Logan, equally ocean-mussed and smiling in a way she hadn't seen in years. Her lips formed familiar words, his mouthed "I love you", and it was almost enough to send her heart soaring. She reached a hand to him, his fingers just beyond hers when he stopped.
His hand wrenched back, before he simply disappeared, body slipping into the waves. Aaron emerged in his place. Another snap of his fingers and the boy is gone from her arms.
"One, Veronica," he pontificated, sweeping an affected hand across his chin. His cold eyes turned on her, reflexively, she closed her own.
And when they opened she was back in that damned bed. It was like waking that first time all over again. The faces mocking smiles, their triumphant happiness emblazoned above her as the reality set it. Gone. This time her arms had never felt so empty, so cold.
Now there was a voice. The mocking smiles above giving way to the cruel tongue of Aaron Echolls.
"Two." The litany of voices chorused. "Are you ready to lose him again?" or "Who's next, Veronica?" Everyone was a target, no one and nothing was off limits. The cherubs morphing into Aaron's face, as they slowly fell from the ceiling, trapping her in the hospital bed she'd fought desperately to be free of.
Veronica woke with a start, sweat matting her hair to her forehead, breathing in broken gasps. She got out of bed, her dress too tight, as she fought back the physical onslaught that always accompanied these dreams. This particular fit took longer to come down from, her return to bed was not unnoticed by Logan, who too, took to changing into less restrictive clothing. As she slid back under the covers he turned to face her, arms pulling her close to his chest while Veronica insisted she was merely changing and getting a drink of water. He grumbled his acknowledgment and pressed his lips to her forehead. It's the last thing she remembered before surrendering herself to sleep again.
They ate a late first meal. Neither wanting to call it breakfast because of the untimely hour, but it was their first meal, both Logan and Veronica having slept in much later than they usually would. As it turned out, subterfuge was quite taxing. Much to Veronica's relief, Logan had kept any lingering concerns about what had happened the previous night to himself. He did comment on her lack of presence in the bed at one point to which she replied quite saucily, causing him to nearly choke. The laughter it brought was real, whole-hearted and full-bellied, and was enough to shift the conversation back toward levity rather than continue as he would have liked. She'd practically been able to feel his eyes trying to read her throughout the meal, but he never pushed.
Apparently, their late start threw off Logan's day entirely. They had barely finished their meal before he'd kissed her on the cheek and twirled out the door. In his wake, he'd left behind a bewildered Veronica and a large garment box. On top sat a note scribed intently on the hotel's letterhead. An airy sigh slipped past her lips picking it up and depositing it on the bed, curling up with the intention of a cat nap. Logan's scent lingered on the pillow, however, lulling her into a false sense of security, and she fell swiftly asleep only to be woken by the sound of his voice echoing in her head.
Angrily shaking off the sensation, Veronica rolled out of bed. Her feet propelled her through the suite to adjust the thermostat. The hotel-provided luxury robe had succeeded in staving off the chill, but the longer she was alone in the room, the colder it seemed to feel. She'd noticed that when she was still, the chill ran up her spine and settled around her heart. It seemed when Logan came home her nightmares subsided, while his intensified—until last night that is.
Maybe it was the marble floor in the foyer or the crown molding that surrounded the wainscoted ceiling, the floral accents carved into every juncture or cherubic faces smiling, descending down in the bright lights. Any of them would probably have been enough to send her into a tailspin, the combination, plus the emotional upheaval of the previous day, were the perfect storm for her subconscious.
She wheeled back toward the bathroom. Slow, deliberate steps cadenced with her breathing. Of course today she would have the mother of all nightmares. The lingering discomfort settling into every facet of her mind made it nearly impossible for her to focus on any one thing for any length of time. Stepping back into the parlor, she switched on the radio in hopes of distracting her growing anxiety with music. She desperately wished Logan was there, if only just to know she wasn't alone—just to reassure herself this was real and not some dream-induced miasma that she would wake up from to find herself all alone again.
She found herself holding his note, practically committing the words to memory. Reassurance that he would still be there.
Leaving you today was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. Don't for one second think that I don't know something happened last night. And while I wish you'd come to me, I know I still have to earn that back.
But tonight, well, I just want to hold you in my arms and show you off to the world. I cannot wait to see you, beautiful. The day is yours—primp, preen, do whatever you need to do to have a fantastic night with me.
I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of calling in a favor. Yes, I am aware you're probably rolling your eyes right now...still not a fan of my material gestures? Sorry, toots, you're just going to have to get used to it—it's going to be happening for the rest of your life. Besides, I think you'll have to agree on this one, it was totally worth it.
I'll see you in the lobby at eight.
L
Veronica had some disappointment knowing he wasn't coming back to the suite, but she tamped it down and spent the time doing exactly what he'd asked her to. If he can do all this for me, the least I can do is look the part. The knock at the door and subsequent delivery of pastries solidified the notion, her heart doing the stutter step she had no counter for.
Seven. Finally. It may as well have taken a lifetime to get to this moment. It did, in fact, take half of hers, though she had been expected to be married at this point, perhaps studying law, or medicine, or something equally untoward for a woman. Her eyes caught her reflection as she started to sigh, but a familiar tune caught her attention and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.
Billie Holiday. Her voice carried through the room, bell-clear despite the grainy recording playing on the shiny, new Philco radio. Veronica, in her bedroom of the suite, smiled as she recognized the tune. Allowing herself a moment's fun, she sang along as she made her way to the bathroom, her hair set and ready to be sculpted for the night ahead. She momentarily lost herself in the song, falsetto carrying high and loud, as she moved over to the bed.
The large garment box lay center, where she'd moved it earlier that evening, it's achingly red bow was just screaming to be pulled. Gingerly at first, then with reckless abandon, she released the ribbon from its trapping, casting it to the side as she removed the lid of the box. Inside, nestled between the sheets of iridescent tissue paper, was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen.
Lifting it from the box, she held the garment between reverent hands, her fingers luxuriating the feel of the rich fabrics, satin and velvet combined in elegance. The fan-top bodice alternated between the two, and while it seemed mostly satin, the velvet swath ran to the top of the slit in the skirt. The lines between the fabrics were accentuated by glistening stones—purples and blues that shown in the light. She stood and held the gown against her body, relishing in the feel of it against her skin. Upon further examination, she noticed the back dipped lower than her undergarments would allow and a sinful smile took root.
"No, I can't help lovin' that man of mine."
He knew it was after eight, albeit not much. The band hadn't started yet, but he was anxious. He really hadn't wanted to leave her alone, at all, ever, but trying to throw together the makings of a romantic weekend away—especially one equipped with alternate destinations at the very last minute—had left him with a series of loose ends he'd needed to tie up.
He rubbed his hands together in an effort to divert from checking his watch again. Not that he needed to, the pendulous clock hanging in the foyer showed that it was now nearly quarter after. He started pacing the hallway, his hand smoothing the sides of his hair with deliberate machination, the act of annoyance switching to concern the more seconds that ticked by.
Finally, with his fingers spread across his brow, he stopped. With a couple of swiping motions and one final check of his hair, he turned back toward the elevators, fingering the cuff of his jacket between his restless fingers. And then the air was promptly sucked from his body.
The doors had opened, swathing the hall in glowing amber light. Her laughter floated around him, accelerating his heart as he tried to remember how to walk. Before his first step she was moving toward him, graceful, elegant, more the vision than he could have imagined.
The dress was dramatic, to say the least. It was cut very deliberately to emphasize her small waist, while the trail of rhinestones brought his eyes to the very high slit that showed her left thigh with each step. He let out a shuddering breath that managed to pink her cheeks; he knew his eyes were devouring her, and she had to be able to feel it too.
His feet finally decided to work again, and before he knew it, he was directly in front of her, her sweet scent invading all his senses, rendering him all but speechless.
"It's nice to see you too, Logan." The words slid from the corner of her mouth as she smirked at him. "Cat got your tongue?"
"It's just—wow, you look amazing, Veronica." He reached for her hand, lifting it to his mouth and lightly pressing his lips to the back of it.
She stepped back a half-step, the hand not tightly held by his sweeping down her form; his eyes couldn't help but follow. "This old rag?" It seemed as if no matter how hard he tried, Logan still couldn't find his tongue. He actually ran a hand across his mouth to ensure it wasn't hanging ajar. "Seriously, Logan." She pulled her hand from his, haughtily rolling her eyes and moving toward the sound of the party.
He watched her walk away, a puff of nervous air pushing past his lips as he tried to ready himself. Angling his body away, he nervously pulled at his tie, the formality of the bow sitting at his neck like a noose.
"Here." Her voice was soft, like her hands, as they deftly loosed the knot. She smoothed the collar of his pristine white shirt and ran her hands down the lapels of the equally white tuxedo jacket he wore over top. The one piece of color on his person stood in stark contrast to the monochromatic scheme he'd dressed them in; the pink rose boutonniere her fingers couldn't help but touch. A smile lifted the corners of her lips as he drank her in.
"I'm sorry I'm an idiot, but Veronica...you in that dress. I really don't have the words. You are—"
"A vision? A dream? Everything you've been waiting your whole life for?" The glint of teasing in her voice only made him smile more.
"All of the above. Please, do this jackass the honor of walking in on his arm?" He offered his elbow with a flourish. When she linked her arm through his, he felt lighter than air—it was as if he was walking into the ballroom on a cloud.
The room seemed to drip crystal; glittering chandeliers hung across the expansive room. The walls practically glowed golden—bathed in the gilded light. Every surface was covered in rich, cream colored satins; vases held an array of white flowers, the likes of which even Logan Echolls had never seen. The vases were deep blue, sapphire-like, reflecting off the ornate crystal gasoliers suspended from the tin-tile ceilings.
He led her through the tables, weaving through the sea of people sat at crowded ten-tops to a less glamorously dressed, much smaller table.
"I see this dress wasn't the only favor you called in," she said over her shoulder as he pulled out the chair and gestured for her to sit.
He kissed the crown of her head, smiling. "Did you really think I abandoned you today for no reason? The loose ends were all tightly tied. Only good things from here on out, Mars." The server was at their table before more could be said, filling the Heisey flutes with champagne.
"To the good things." He watched with heavy eyes she lifted her glass and toasted him. He followed suite, pausing just a second as he watched the glass linger at her lips. The champagne was fizzy and sweet on his tongue as he drank it down; it lingered on his lips as he tried again to find the words that seemed to lose all meaning when he looked at her. Her glass clinked on the table top and breaking his reverie. He replaced his own glass on the table and reached across for her hand. Her hands were warm but not as soft as they once were. Years of meticulous machinations had taken their toll, leaving scars and calluses as compensation.
"You'll have to forgive my lack forming of complete sentences or rational thoughts. And I know it's trite and cliché to say that you take my breath away, but in all seriousness Veronica, I'm simply blown away."
He felt her fingers slip between his, squeezing his hand gently. "Dare I say, speechless?" Her brow raised in question.
When he didn't respond fast enough, she smiled broadly. "Yes, I think we can officially call this. I, Veronica Mars, have rendered Logan Echolls speechless. Mark this day for posterity, who knows if or when we'll ever see it again."
"It's funny you think that."
"Please, you're always waiting for a lull in conversation where you can interject something you deem either witty or pithy. Both, if you're feeling particularly zealous."
Their server chose to interrupt just then, listing off the meal that had been specially prepared, He started my mentioning with a light soup. Logan was certain he watched Veronica's eyes glaze over at the mention of manicotti for the main course, the smile on her face growing as he rounded off the desserts, pointing to a large table across the floor which, he assured them, was covered in only the best sweets they'd ever taste. The bottle of champagne was left as he went to start fetching their first course.
Veronica's fingers drummed her nearly empty glass. He couldn't help but watch as her eyes flitted all around. Despite her calm demeanor, he was worried she was committing to memory all possible escape routes. Self-loathing rose like bile in his throat; it was his fault that she needed to catalogue the information at all. He drained the champagne from the crystal flute and refilled it with a shaky hand. When he motioned toward Veronica's glass, she denied with a head shake.
He smiled sadly as the bottle hit the table. "Something wrong, Logan?" she asked, her voice soft, laced with concern.
He was tempted to lie but thought better of it. She wanted honesty— their ability to be open with one another was back, so instead, he took a deep breath and asked, "Is this too much? I mean, it seemed like you really wanted to come, but if you're uncomfortable we can—"
"Logan," her smile was all warmth and comfort; it radiated and blanketed him. Her eyes glowed with the affection he had missed for so long and seemed to quell whatever doubt had been building inside him. Her hand shot across the table, recapturing his, sending the sparks from her fingertips to his heart. His head fell to the table as he expelled breath after shaky breath. "Lo? What's goi—"
Shooting straight up, he ran the hand that wasn't entwined with hers through his slicked hair. "I can't let you down again, Veronica. I can't let you get hurt. I have failed you so, so, so, many times and I don't know what I would do with myself if something happened to you because of me."
"Logan, that's absurd!"
He pulled his hand from hers, shaking them emphatically as he continued. "Really? If I wanted to get out of here without being seen, which would be the best exit? What niche could I duck into if I wanted a minute away? Are you going to plan your escape every time you walk into a room...for the rest of your life? Or is that reserved for events that include me?"
"Excuse me? You know this isn't easy for me...large social gatherings were never really my forte even before...everything that happened." He noticed her stumble, but her eyes remained fixed on him. "So, yes, it's overwhelming. There're hundreds of people who keep looking at us, and I can't help but wonder if they know who you are, or if they know Aaron. And if he really does have eyes like you say he does, you can't expect me not to remain prepared."
"I will never let anything happen to you."
"You can't always stop it, Logan, sometimes life just happens."
"You think I don't know that? I've seen things, Ronnie, the kind of things that can never be unseen. And at the top of that list is this mental image of you in a hospital bed, followed by you on the cold sand at the bottom of the stairs. You thought the Casey dream was bad but all of my worst nightmares involve losing you," his voice trailed off, the tears brimming in both their eyes as her lower lip worked between her teeth.
"Mine too," she said barely above a whisper. "That's what happened last night. He took you from me, like he took our baby, and even though I woke up and you were right there, I lost you. Again. And I don't think I can do that."
Their eyes locked again, this time his couldn't help but reflect the love he felt swelling.
"Never again. It's you and me, dollface."
She smiled, the one that only turned half her lips before it broke and reached her eyes. "You and me. And our motley little family?"
Logan realized that his smile now matched hers. "Almost," he managed to keep his smile mostly in place as his voice dipped. "That reminds me. I might have a lead on my mom." Veronica's eyes seemed to burn brighter at his revelation, and his confidence grew in tandem "Tomorrow, we'll go check it out if that's okay…"
Her hand shot back across the table, clasping his fingers in hers and squeezed. "Of course, Lo. I really hope we find her."
"Me too, Ronica. Me too." He pulled their enjoined hands toward his mouth and kissed her knuckles before setting them back on the table. When their first course arrived, neither of them reached for it immediately. Logan barely even noticed its arrival, he was so focused on the beautiful woman before him. For once, he felt as if anyone them watching would only see that they only had eyes for one another.
The plates had been cleared away and the dance floor opened. The band was literally in full swing as the couple lindied and jitterbugged, shim-shamed and fox-trotted. After about an hour Veronica needed a break. She kissed his cheek as she sent him to fetch more champagne, wending her way through the tables to their secluded corner in the back.
"Why, miss," a voice interrupted. She stopped and turned toward the voice. He was young—maybe her age—but looked no more than sixteen. She smiled politely, turning back to leave when his hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. "A dame such as yourself shouldn't be alone during 'Stardust.' Let me take you for a twirl." She swallowed thickly, the bile sticking in her throat as the smell of his cologne triggered all her defenses.
Pulling her arm away with some force, she crisply said, "Alone is one thing I'm not. And while your offer is…" Her lips pulled back into a sneer as Logan appeared over the insignificant boy's shoulder, looking more gorgeous than he ever had. The loosened tie slid to one side, the suspenders hung at his waist and he looked deliciously disheveled, his eyes full of jealousy and lust. She shook her head. "Not. Your offer is not at all tempting as a matter of fact. It'd be best if you scurried along."
She made a shooing motion with her hand, and the mop-haired boy moved on to the next blonde in a tight dress down the line.
"You keep looking at me like that, and we're not going to make it 'til midnight, Mars," he said coolly, the proffered champagne at her lips before she could respond, her eyes telling that may exactly be her plan. She knew he wouldn't allow it, not until she could talk freely with him...not until she could commit. Her eyes drifted downward, settling on his hand and how the fingers seemed to flex almost unnaturally against his slacks.
She entwined her fingers in his and walked them back to their table, sitting next to him rather than across. "Do you want to make it to midnight?"
His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. She watched his eyes, searching hers before he leaned forward and captured her lips. His hand cradled her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone, the reverberation she felt to her core. She pulled away, breathless, catching only the '...right back' portion of whatever he'd mumbled as he spun himself up and out of the seat and away from her.
Taken slightly aback, her head shook as she watched him leave the ballroom with a jaunty kick to his step. Her mind began to wander, curious as to what Logan could be doing, yet still being enraptured by all he had already done. Before she could try to name the hundred other things she was feeling, the undesirable mop-headed boy and his cloying cologne were back in her periphery.
His scent burned at her nostrils as if it were smoke that wafted off him. The ghostly tendrils crept through her nose, wound through her veins and wrapped around her heart. For the too-many-eth time that day she tried the slow, deliberate breathing techniques she learned after her accident, but right now they weren't helping. She needed a distraction. And something to get the scent off her skin. Her eyes scanned the room. Seeing Logan nowhere, she felt her heart pound rapidly in her chest when her eyes fixed on what across the table. His jacket haphazardly hung off the back of the chair he'd abandoned when the jives had started.
With a series of deliberate movements, she retrieved the item, fingering the heads of baby's breath and greens that surrounded the rose, trying to focus only on the item in her hands. She could feel her pulse steadying even while her hands still shook. The deep breaths seemed to only bring the cologne closer and before she could think any more on it, she brought the flower, tuxedo jacket and all, to her nose and breathed it in. The effect was immediate. The rose, along with the lingering smell of Logan, smoothed her nerves. The more she took it in, the better she felt.
"Gee, Ronnie, did you miss me already? I was only gone for a minute." Her eyes fell to the floor, 'this time…' running through her mind like a refrain; the last vestige of her anxiety flaring and fizzling out as she looked back up at him.
She smiled. "You caught me. And it was like, five minutes. Which is a whole three years longer than it takes for me to realize how lost I am without you." She punctuated her statement with a wink, hoping her false bravado wrung true enough that he'd not question her.
One look in his eyes and she knew her volley had landed, but he plastered on a smile—or perhaps grimace would be more accurate.
"Veronica—"
"No, Logan, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You have been beyond amazing; tonight, it's more than anything I could have ever have dreamed up. You are everything I have ever wished for."
"Promise?" It was moments like this when he looked at her wide-eyed, sadness brimming and pooling at the corners of his eyes, that her heart soared and sank in the same breath. When his eyes scanned her for truth and it literally felt like he could set her afire with his gaze—how every fiber of her being viscerally reacted to his intensity. He made her raw; he made her feel...everything. And she had missed it so, so much.
Before he could mistake her pause of epiphany for hesitancy, she fisted the front of his shirt pulling him into a crushing kiss.
Their recent kisses had fallen all fallen into one of two categories. Some were tentative—timidly cognizant of all that had transpired, both parties simply testing the waters of starting over. Others were the culmination of heavy, soul-baring conversation, cyclonic; emotional maelstroms, catching everything in their paths and turning it on its side.
This one, however, seemed to finally meet the two extremes. Passionate, yet loving; tender without urgency—it was pure love.
Logan broke the kiss, gently reminding her of decorum, all with a lecherous grin and dark, betraying eyes.
"So, where did you run off to, Echolls?"
"Ah, well, after you commented on my inability to stop my eyes from adoring you and um," Veronica watched his hand reach up to smooth his hair, which had begun to slip from its gelled confines and noticed it settle on the back of his neck. She reached forward, allowing her hand to rest on his knee, which stilled under her ministrations. Air came from his mouth in a huff as he continued, "well, I know the conversation we started during dinner, you'd probably rather continue in private." His hand fell from his neck and settled on top of hers, his thumb sweeping up her wrist. Her eyes locked with his. The warm, glowing, flecks of burnished gold in their rich, chocolate depths touched something inside of her.
She leaned closer. "Yeah?" Her response breathy and surprising to her own ears.
His head shook as he entwined their hands, pulling her from her seat as he stood and leading her to the dance floor.
She loved dancing with him. Their bodies melded with the music, his arms carrying and catching her as he spun her song the floor. After the third—or maybe fourth—song, he tucked her under his arm and led her back toward the elevators...back to their room.
"This is what you did?" The large hotel door swung open to reveal the kind of over-the-top romantic gesture that he hoped would make even Veronica Mars weak in the knees.
Flowers had been brought up from the ballroom; vases sat on every surface in the suite, while a bottle of chilled champagne and chocolates waited on the bar. A fire crackled in the hearth, the rich scent of cherry filling the air around them, enveloping them in warmth. He heard music coming from somewhere but was too busy watching her take in the room to be aware of much else.
"Nothing but the best for my girl." Logan kissed her temple, spinning toward the couch and throwing his coat over the back before grabbing Veronica by the waist and walking her, in a dizzying trail, deeper into the room. "We've got a little time before midnight, whatever shall we do?"
Veronica raised her eyebrow as he bobbed his at her. "How about we eat some of these desserts, pour another glass of Dom and take our celebrating to the balcony?"
Kissing her forehead, he stepped away with a flourish, grabbing the bottle and chocolate while she grabbed a blanket from the bedroom. They lay on the lounge, more she draped herself over him, wrapping the blanket around her as Logan fed her chocolates and sips of champagne.
As the clock ticked away the seconds until midnight, Logan found himself compelled to address the issue they'd been skirting around.
"Ronnie, I just want you to know that no matter what I've said tonight, or how depravedly I've looked at you..." He could see her blush even in the moonlight, and it made him smile. "I told you I have zero expectations, and I mean that. Don't feel that something physical needs to happen tonight. You're here with me. That's more than I could ask for."
She shifted, propping herself up on her elbows making them eye-level. "Logan, I promise you that whatever happens inside that room I will be one hundred percent a willing participant of. I do just have one question, for clarification purposes."
"Better make it fast, these are the final seconds of 1945." He held up his watch, tapping the face as she rolled her eyes.
"Are you rationed sugar?" Logan felt his eyes grow wide, the ear-splitting grin hurting his face as he pulled Veronica up his body and locked his lips on hers. They kissed the previous year away, passion growing, longing, desire, love physically palpable between them. Veronica pulled away, breathing heavily, and looked up at Logan through lust drenched eyes. "So?" she breathed.
"I thought you'd never ask." And with an exorbitant amount of grace, Logan lifted her from the chaise and carried her back in the hotel room, kicking the doors shut behind them as her laughter rang in 1946.
Meanwhile in Neptune...
"Then, I had to chase him down this alley, which was seedy by even my standards, but it gave him the literal upper hand. He dropped from the fire escape onto my back."
"And? That's what...twenty feet? What'd you get, a bruised ass to go along with your bruised ego?"
The older man scoffed. "Actually, he effectively broke my ass. The bone. Shattered is the word the doctors used, along with my beat and any dream of ever getting my shield."
"What's this got to do with why you're here?"
"That man you dragged in here—the one you found with my intel—is the reason my last date dumped me for being a gimp."
The boy laughed. "C'mon, Vin, you think that's why she dumped you?"
"Fuck off, Frankie, or I'll get your ass shipped back to Philly faster than you can—"
"You are so lucky your mother is my favorite cousin or I'd—"
"Just call Uncle Al and get me in that room!" Vinnie slammed his first on the table.
Frankie threw his hands up in mock surrender before crossing the room to phone. A couple of grunted promises and curses later, the handset was returned forcefully to its cradle. Before Vinnie could ask, a door swung open and another man beckoned him inside.
The dim hallway abruptly ended. There was a large wooden door with a barred window to his left; a sharp knock from his companion and the locks clicked, swinging open on heavy hinges.
"Another friend here to see you," Albano Leone crooned wiping his bloodied knuckles with an embroidered handkerchief. "But don't worry, Mr. Weidman, this one is just here to watch."