Marvelous Meditations

The gates of Ryker's Island loomed ahead, their imposing structure casting long shadows under the midday sun. Maria Hill, clad in the dark, tailored suit of a Homeland Security agent, walked briskly toward the entrance. Her steps were purposeful, her expression stoic, but beneath the calm exterior, her mind churned with the details of a decades-old mystery.

It had taken painstaking research, many dead ends, and a persistent trail of half-truths, but Hill was not one to relent. The unsolved murder from the same period when Nathan Cross had disappeared from the orphanage had resurfaced on her radar.

Every lead had pointed her back to a detective who had once been the linchpin of the investigation. Unfortunately, the detective had passed away several years prior, but Hill had followed the threads, relentless in her pursuit of the truth.

Her investigation led her to Captain George Stacy, a name synonymous with integrity in the NYPD. As the former partner of the late detective, Stacy had been forthcoming, though his information was sparse. His memory had lingered on one detail—the name of a prisoner believed to know more than he had ever admitted.

That name had brought Hill here today: Antonio "Tony" Bellucci, a known player in New York's criminal underbelly, currently serving time for a botched drug deal. It was a stretch, but if there was a sliver of truth in the detective's hunch, Hill needed to hear it.

Inside the facility, the sterile corridors buzzed with subdued activity. Guards exchanged curt nods as they led her to the visitation room. The room was small, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant and old coffee. A metal table sat in the center, flanked by two chairs on either side.

Hill took her seat, placing a slim, leather-bound file on the table, the edges worn from repeated handling.

Moments later, the door opened, and Tony Bellucci was escorted in. His once slicked-back hair was now streaked with gray, his face worn but still sharp. He was accompanied by a lawyer, a wiry man in a cheap suit who carried a briefcase like it was filled with gold.

Bellucci's eyes narrowed as he took in Hill, her authoritative presence unmistakable. He sat down, leaning back with a casual air that belied the tension in his shoulders. "Homeland Security," he drawled, his voice thick with a Bronx accent. "Didn't think my little mishap with the Feds would warrant your attention. What, the DEA too busy to handle a drug deal gone south?"

Hill didn't flinch. Her gaze, cool and unwavering, met his. "I'm not here about drugs."

Bellucci's smirk faltered. His eyes flicked to the file on the table, curiosity piquing beneath his wary exterior. "Then what's this about?"

Without a word, Hill opened the file, sliding a photograph across the table. It was a faded image of a boy, no older than twelve, his expression guarded, yet there was a spark of defiance in his eyes.

"This," she said, her voice calm but firm, "is Nathan Cross. He disappeared from a local orphanage around the same time as the murder of a man you were known to associate with. I'm here to ask what you know about him."

Bellucci's gaze lingered on the photograph, the cockiness slipping from his face. His lawyer cleared his throat, a nervous gesture. "Agent Hill, my client—"

Before the lawyer could finish his sentence, Bellucci's demeanor shifted. The nervous flicker in his eyes vanished, replaced by a hardened stare. He leaned forward, locking eyes with Hill. "I ain't saying shit."

Hill's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing as she leaned back in her chair. The tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with unspoken threats and unyielding silence. Still, she wasn't deterred. "You were a person of interest back then. Your associate—"

"I. Ain't. Saying. Shit." Bellucci's voice was low but deliberate, each word a sharp cut through the room. His gaze remained fixed on Hill, a silent challenge.

Hill's jaw tightened, but she didn't break eye contact. Before she could press further, Bellucci stood, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "This meeting is over." He turned toward the door, his steps purposeful.

Maria barely held back a sigh, keeping her composure intact. "Mr. Bellucci, please wait." Her voice was calm but carried an edge of authority that stopped him in his tracks. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I don't know what kind of relationship you have with Mr. Cross," Hill continued, her tone measured, "but I assure you, nothing you say can or will be used against you or him." She let her words hang in the air for a moment before adding, "I only need you to answer a few questions, and I'll have you released within the week."

Bellucci's frown deepened, suspicion flickering across his face. He turned to his lawyer, who shrugged, a silent signal of shared confusion. Bellucci's eyes narrowed as he considered the offer, clearly weighing the potential risks against the reward.

Seeing the hesitation, Hill reached into her bag and retrieved a neatly folded piece of paper. She slid it across the table toward the lawyer, her movements deliberate. "This," she said, her voice steady, "is a letter with the signature of Warden Angela Thompson, among others. All it requires is my signature, and it grants your client release within the week."

The lawyer picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the document. His expression shifted from skepticism to surprise, though he quickly masked it. Hill continued, her voice unwavering, "It also states that this interview is off the record. Nothing said here can be used against Mr. Bellucci or Nathan Cross in a court of law."

Bellucci's eyes flicked between Hill and his lawyer, suspicion still clouding his features. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice low but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

Hill's expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp. "Because I need answers, Mr. Bellucci. And I believe you have them. Help me, and you walk out of here. It's as simple as that."

Bellucci didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, pulling the file toward him with a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers traced the edge of the folder before flipping it open, eyes scanning the pages with a casual interest that belied the tension in the room. After a moment, he looked up, meeting Hill's gaze with a steady, calculating stare.

"Tell me honestly," Bellucci said, his voice low and measured. "What did the kid do to get a spook like you on his case?"

Mariah's first instinct was to brush off the question, to remind Bellucci that it was none of his business. But the look on his face—a blend of genuine curiosity and wary skepticism—made it clear that his cooperation hinged on how she answered. She sighed softly, cleared her throat, and met his gaze with a calm, composed expression.

"Mr. Cross hasn't done anything to land him in a jail cell, if that's what you're asking," she said carefully. "But he's done enough to be noticed."

She wasn't lying. Nathan Cross's actions had raised eyebrows, but not enough to warrant immediate arrest. He had attacked a group of thugs, yes, but his motives could be made to appear as vigilantism by any self-respecting lawyer.

He'd taken off with highly regulated Chitauri tech—a serious offense on paper. However, a package had appeared at a New York police station days later, containing a significant amount of Chitauri weapons and devices with a note explaining it was retireved from gangsters. As far as the law was concerned, Nathan had performed a public service, using non-lethal force to neutralize criminals and keep dangerous technology out of the wrong hands all while putting them in the hands of the goverment.

In other words; citizen arrest.

Mariah knew the truth was more complicated. Nathan hadn't returned the entire shipment of Chitauri tech; she was certain of that. But without knowing exactly what he'd kept, there was little the authorities could do. He remained a free man, his actions walking the fine line between a good samaritan and a criminal.

Belluci turned to the Lawer and gestured toward the door. "You can leave," he declared calmly.

"But--" the lawyer tried to object, but his sentence was cut short as Belluci gave him a dismissive wave. He sighed, nodding as he headed toward the door, exiting and closing it behind him.

Bellucci leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers laced together as a slow, calculating grin spread across his face. "So… what did you want to ask?"

Mariah Hill drew in a steadying breath, her gaze unwavering. "You were associated with the man who was found dead near St. Agnes. What was the exact nature of your relationship with him?"

Bellucci's grin widened, a glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. "Oh, you mean Salvatore 'Sal' Marino? Me and Sal, we used to be gun thugs for the Rossi Syndicate—back when they were still running things. Until, well… Sal wound up dead."

Mariah nodded, her expression neutral, but her mind raced with the new information. "The detective who investigated Marino's murder at the time was convinced that you knew more about the incident than you told the police. Do you?"

Bellucci chuckled, the sound low and raspy. "Pretty much, yeah. The kid shanked him to death with a butterfly knife."

Mariah's eyes widened in shock, the unexpected revelation hitting her like a punch to the gut. Bellucci's amusement grew at her reaction, his grin turning almost gleeful.

"Why so surprised, lady?" he asked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "Isn't that what you came here to hear?"

Mariah quickly composed herself, her mind racing to process the implications of Bellucci's words. "And why would a twelve-year-old child attack and murder Sal Marino? Most importantly how?"

Bellucci's grin faded, his demeanor shifting to something more somber. "As to the how... I honestly have no idea, even now…" His voice trailed off, his gaze distant as if sifting through a long-buried memory. After a pause, he continued, his tone lower. "I walked into Marino's apartment that day, and found him dead on the ground... the kid was there, holding a butterfly knife, just staring at me with this panicked expression…"

He sighed heavily, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. "I drew my gun—or tried to, anyway. But before I knew it, the kid didn't look so panicked anymore, and his knife was lodged in my shoulder." He lifted a hand, touching the spot as if the phantom pain still lingered. "One moment, it seemed like he was going to kill me right then and there... but for some reason, he didn't. He offered me a deal instead, and I took it."

Mariah's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. "So, this child kills your associate, offers you a deal... and you just take it? Just like that?"

Bellucci let out a genuine chuckle, a bitter edge to his amusement. "It all sounds so simple, doesn't it? In truth, it was anything but that." He shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. "See, Marino and I were never really friends. He could get the job done, sure, but the guy was batshit crazy."

His expression darkened, a shadow passing over his features. "I kept hearing he was the touchy-feely kind, but I didn't believe it at first. Then the boss put us on extortion duty, told us to dip our fingers into St. Agnes' collection basket... and that's when Marino started getting touchy-feely." Bellucci's jaw tightened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. "With one of the kids in the orphanage."

Mariah's breath caught, the implications sinking in like lead. "With Nathan Cross?"

Bellucci shook his head slowly, his eyes distant as if reliving a memory he'd rather forget. "I'm not sure if that's exactly what happened with Nathan… but I do know for a fact that Marino did it to another kid." His voice was grim, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as though trying to ward off a headache. "Supposedly, a nun found out about it and tried to report it to the police."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "They didn't do shit. Marino got wind of it… beat the poor woman within an inch of her life... and wouldn't you know, I walk in on Marino's dead body a couple of days later..."

Mariah's expression hardened at the revelation, her mind racing. "I've combed through every single report from that time, every incident in the area." She leaned forward, her voice tight with frustration. "But I never saw any report about a nun being assaulted."

Bellucci shrugged with a nonchalance that only added to her agitation. "The Rossi Syndicate used to run those streets. Making a simple assault and battery disappear? Child's play for them."

Mariah took a slow, calming breath, forcing herself to stay composed. She couldn't let her emotions derail the conversation. "And what was the deal you were offered, exactly?" Her tone was measured, though her curiosity was keen.

Bellucci's smile returned, sly and a bit self-satisfied. "Either I help him take down the Rossi Syndicate and take the reins… or I die then and there." He spread his hands as if the choice had been obvious. "I took the first option, obviously."

Mariah raised an eyebrow, giving him a bemused look. "A child offered you that deal? And you accepted?"

Bellucci laughed, a genuine chuckle that echoed through the room. "Sounds crazy, doesn't it? But it wasn't." He shook his head in amusement, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting with a mix of admiration and incredulity. "Apparently, the kid had been watching us since the first time we showed up at St. Agnes. Spent an entire month looking into us and the Rossi Syndicate—our numbers, our distribution routes, our bosses."

He tapped the table for emphasis, his voice carrying a note of reluctant respect. "When Marino reared his ugly face, the kid acted. And by the time I realized what was happening, my life was in his hands..."

Mariah sat back, processing the astonishing tale. A twelve-year-old orchestrating the downfall of a criminal syndicate? It sounded like something out of a novel, yet here she was, listening to a firsthand account.

Mariah tapped her finger against the table rhythmically, her mind churning through the revelations Bellucci had just laid out. After a moment, she leaned forward slightly and asked, "And? What did you do afterward?"

Bellucci scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I did whatever the kid told me to do. He was real bossy in those early days," he admitted with a chuckle, one that seemed more nostalgic than bitter. "It took almost two years—two whole years—but we actually got it done. The Rossi Syndicate was gone. We had a new crew, and our boss was a fourteen-year-old teenager."

Mariah's frown deepened at the notion, her skepticism evident. "And that was alright with you? With everyone else?"

Bellucci shook his head, the smirk fading into something more contemplative. "Of course not. No one else knew about the kid except me. They thought they were taking orders from me, but he was the one pulling the strings." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, the smile returning as he relived those memories. "Those were the days, lady, I tell you."

He opened his eyes and fixed Mariah with a candid look. "I never was under the delusion that I was a good man—not then, not now. But working for that kid? It sure made me feel like it sometimes." His chuckle was soft, almost wistful. "We still peddled drugs, sure, but we kept the really bad shit off the streets. We ran a protection racket and prostitution rings, but we kept a tight ship. We protected our girls, treated them right."

Bellucci's gaze drifted to a distant point in the room as he continued, his tone imbued with a strange mix of pride and regret. "We never took too much from anyone, and we made sure to protect the people paying us. And we even helped people if you can believe it."

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands. "Some woman getting beat by her husband? We'd give him a taste of his own medicine. Some shady guy loitering around kiddy parks and schools? He'd wind up in a river somewhere along the coast."

Mariah's eyes narrowed, her expression a blend of intrigue and discomfort. "So, you're saying Nathan turned your operation into some kind of... morally gray vigilante crew?"

Bellucci chuckled again, the sound carrying a rougher edge this time. "Call it what you want, but vigilantes don't get paid, and we still did plenty of bad things." His expression sobered, his eyes meeting Mariah's with a weighty intensity. "The point is, he was a good kid. He saved lives in ways you can't even begin to imagine. Working for him... it made it feel like I had a purpose in life, like things had meaning... and I wasn't the only one who felt that way..."

He reached for the paper on the table—the one that promised his release—and held it up between two fingers. "This?" he said, his voice low and steady. "I don't give a rat's ass about this." Without hesitation, he tore the document in half, the sound of shredding paper punctuating his resolve.

Mariah watched in stunned silence as the torn pieces fluttered to the table. Bellucci grinned, a knowing, almost defiant grin, as he leaned back in his chair. "I just need you to understand what kind of kid Nathan was. I don't know what kind of man he turned out to be since he took his cut and disappeared when he was sixteen, but back then? He was a good kid doing the best he could..."

Mariah's eyes flicked from the shredded paper back to Bellucci, her mind racing through the implications of his story. Despite the unexpected turn, she managed to keep her composure. "Why tell me all this now?"

Bellucci shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Because you came all this way asking questions about a ghost. I figured someone needed to know he was more than that..."

...

I'm motivated by praise and interaction, so be sure to leave a like, power stone, or whatever kind of shendig this site uses, and more importantly do share you thoughts on the chapter in the comment section!

Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my pat rēon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps me a lot!

-> (pat rēon..com / wicked132)

You can also always come and say hi on my discord server

-> (disc ord..gg / sEtqmRs5y7)- or hit me up at - Wicked132#5511 - and I'll add you myself)