The Naz & Roz Blog Series - Chapter 16
Hey, loves!
We’re back to the blog series for Naz & Roz (and Penny!). I am still trying to find the natural end of this series, but it hasn’t shown itself to me yet, haha.
Want to catch up?
Naz and Roz Blog Series
Okay, do enjoy.
*
What Goes Around
Naz POV
“I do hope you understand the trouble I could face for allowing something like this inside my prison,” the Warden droned on.
Naz wasn’t really listening. He was more interested in reading the plaques on the man’s walls. Not because they held any real importance or even, told a story he was interested in, but because it was more fascinating than this conversation.
Welcome to his life in a nutshell.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Not particularly,” Naz returned.
“Then, maybe it would be better if you left. I have better things to do than discuss something illegal with a man like you.”
Ah.
There it was.
It didn’t matter what kind of official someone was. A cop, detective, or a fucking prison warden. They all stunk like the same kind of shit at the end of the day, and Naz never forgot it. Simple as that.
Straightening to his full height, Naz turned on his heels slowly to face the man sitting behind the desk. A good sixty pounds overweight, with his hair beginning to thin at the hairline and around the crown of his head, with a line of perspiration dotting his forehead, Naz thought he fit his job description well.
A false king with a Napoleon complex.
Shocking.
“Or,” Naz said, wagging a finger at the man with a smirk curving his lips, “we can go back to discussing how your bookie will recoup your debt to him. See, because I am more than willing to pay that off, if you only indulge me here. Otherwise, we’re going to see how well you can do your job—if they even let you keep it—when you’re missing three fingers.”
The warden’s face whitened.
Naz smiled.
“Should we keep talking, then?”
The man spluttered, his cheeks reddening in his anger before all the fight left from him all at once. It was almost biblical, really. These people liked to act as though they were better than Naz because they considered themselves firmly on the right side of the law.
Facts were facts, though.
Everybody had shit to clean.
Including the warden.
“I don’t know how we’re going to make this work,” the man muttered. “What you’re asking for is—”
“A meeting with a prisoner. Private, nothing more.” Naz shrugged. “Anything else that happens won’t be on my time while I’m here. I’ve paid a lot of money to make sure of that, no worries. I simply want the man to know what’s going to happen before it happens.”
“And if he acts out and puts himself in isolation?”
“You’ll make sure he stays in general pop.”
The man cleared his throat, leaning back on an old office chair that creaked with the movements of his heavy body. He stared at the wall, avoiding Naz’s stare at all costs. He wasn’t even offended. It was hard to handle being blackmailed.
Not that Naz would know anything about that.
He was always on this side of the arrangement.
His father made sure he knew that.
“If I have a mess to clean because of your … meeting,” the warden warned.
Naz chuckled. “You’ll what?”
“Well—”
“Nothing, I imagine. You’ll do nothing. He’s a child rapist. He’s lucky to have made it this long in general pop. I suspect that’s because guards are watching his back, but that’s about to change, isn’t it? As for this meeting, whenever you get the time set up, you have my phone number to give me a call. I can be here in a couple of hours.”
The warden sighed, clearly giving up his fight.
Blackmail was a fun game.
Naz should play it more often.
“I will give you a call,” the man muttered.
“Thank you.”
***
A week passed before Naz was back at the prison, only this time, he didn’t see the warden at all. In fact, a guard was the one to greet him at the entrance before guiding him through the walls of the prison. He wasn’t even taken through security—a sure no-no, he was positive.
Not that he minded.
“The wait shouldn’t be too long,” the guard said outside the doorway of what looked to be a forgotten office space. “He believes he’s coming in for a chat with his lawyer. There is no video or recording devices in the room, and you will have fifteen minutes with him before someone will come to the door.”
Naz grinned. “I only need five.”
“So be it.”
Naz entered the office space, closing the door behind him before he took the chance to look around. There wasn’t much to see. Gray walls with lines of cracking paint. A few old prison policy papers taped to the cement. Behind the desk, a row of encyclopedias stood with spines out, forgotten. Overhead, bare bulbs provided the light for the room. A floor with a rug that could be replaced, and looked older than his twenty-five years. He brushed a hand along the top of the standard-sized desk to remove the thin layer of dust, not bothering to move behind it to sit in the chair.
He didn’t need the chair.
Naz perched himself on the left corner of the edge of the desk, stared at the door on the other side of the room, and waited. Thankfully, the guard hadn’t lied, and he didn’t have to wait very long before the doorknob jiggled, and a shackled man was shoved through the door before it was closed just as quickly behind him.
Preston Dunsworth.
Penny’s father.
Naz smiled coolly when the man’s gaze swung around and landed on him. He let the guy run through his gamut of emotions, the shock of realizing, no, his lawyer wasn’t actually here like he thought he was.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Bold, you know, for a man wearing a prison uniform.
Naz shrugged. “No one important.”
Preston’s thick brows knotted together. “Important enough to have be here. Who are you?”
“Do you often find when you make demands, that other people just … blindly follow along?”
The man didn’t reply.
Naz didn’t need him to.
He did take a moment to absorb Preston. He was a good six-foot tall, handsome by society’s standards, and looked fit, even under the loose, drab uniform. Money, status, and privilege could buy a lot of things, and in this man’s case, it had bought people’s silence, and his own disgusting network of children to abuse. One wouldn’t look at Preston and think child rapist. Everyone had a picture in their mind of what those kinds of people were, and this man didn’t look like it at all. Naz was sure if they put him on a suit, splashed his face on the front page of a newspaper with a headline about charity, women would swoon.
They’d have no idea what he did.
What he would do.
What he had already done.
“Who are—”
“I am Nazio Donati,” Naz interjected. “My grandfathers are Calisto Donati, and Dante Marcello. My father, Cross Donati.”
The man’s eyes narrowed briefly before they widened slightly with recognition. Yeah, in New York, or even New Jersey where this piece of shit hailed from, it was hard to miss a name like Donati or Marcello.
Naz nodded. “Yeah, I come from some of the most infamous Cosa Nostra bosses to have ever controlled the state of New York. And me? Oh, I’m just some genius with too much time on his hands, a massive bank account, and a goal, Preston.”
The man swallowed hard. “What does the mafia want with me?”
“It’s not the mafia you have to worry about.”
“I—”
“One other thing about me,” Naz said, pushing off the edge of the desk to stand. He fixed his jacket, and brushed off any remaining dust from his pants. “I am the man who fosters Penny—the child you raped for years.”
Preston took a huge step back.
Naz chuckled.
“That’s pointless,” Naz said, “and I promised I wouldn’t make a mess here today.”
“What do you wa—”
“Just to let you know some things, that’s all. See, up until now, your life in prison has been pretty easy. Usually, general pop is hard on bastards like you, as it should be, but someone must be paying the guards on your behalf to keep an eye on you, right? Shit, you don’t even have a bunkmate in your cell.”
Preston turned to beat his hands against the window of the door. The idiot didn’t even check the knob because if he had, he would have realized it was unlocked. Naz only laughed.
“They’re not coming,” he said, “I have fifteen minutes one way or the other.”
Preston glared over his shoulder. “I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get anything from me.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t need anything from you. I just wanted you to see us coming—me, really. If you make it to the end of the week alive, you’ll be lucky, but I bet you won’t make it further than that. While you’re in here, information is being distributed to the prisoners. Every single one of them will know what you did, and who you are. I’m sure you’ve seen how other rapists get treated once the rest of general pop knows. You’ve got shower time tonight, right? Don’t fight too hard when they rape you—I hear you’ll bleed less.”
Preston’s face whitened.
Naz smiled as he strolled across the room, and grabbed the door before pulling it open. Giving the man a look from the side, he shrugged. “And just to make sure you don’t make it to the end of the week here, there’s a bounty on you now. And believe it not, I didn’t have to pay very much for that because you’re not worth shit.”
“Go to hell, you piece of—”
He had promised this would be clean.
Instead, he left a bloodstain on the floor under Preston’s bruised face when he reared back and broke the man’s nose with a punch.
“That’s from Penny,” Naz said. “Everything else? That’s for her.”
And the man deserved everything that was coming for him.
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