Domenico’s skull was tumble-drying his brain. His eyes popped open, and the blinding pain in the side of his head pushed food up his throat. He threw up on the concrete, disoriented as something yanked him back so he was hanging over the floor like a puppet with badly tangled up strings. He saw his hair sweeping up dust, but he had to quickly close his eyes as light stabbed his pupils.

“You done?” growled a hoarse male voice from above, and upon his nod, he was jerked back into a sitting position. With his head spinning badly, it took him a moment to realize where up and down were. He was sitting in a heavy wooden chair. No, not sitting. He was strapped to the chair with layers of duct tape that left his fingertips slightly numb. He couldn’t move.