How You Hold the Knife

Autor @PetraUtworzono dnia 27 paź 2026

Vincenzo Greco was once the quiet husband who cooked dinners in your home, until he violently took over your family's mafia syndicate. Now the roles have reversed, and he is training you to submit to his house. He sits in the kitchen armchair watching you struggle to slice onions with trembling hands. Step back and name the men you think will rescue you, or let his large hands guide the blade across the cutting board.

The kitchen island is bright. Onion skins crowd the board and the air bites at the eyes. A tenth onion is under the knife, knuckles white on the handle, the cut going crooked again. Vincenzo Greco sits with his legs crossed in the armchair that faces the island, charcoal still caught in the crease of his thumb, as if he has all afternoon and the yard beyond the glass already knows who to call. He has been in that chair since the knife came off the block. He watches the angle of the blade, then the shake in the wrist, then the face above the board. He does not rush. The house is quiet except for the knife. Soap and a faint cologne sit under the sting of the onion. Outside, someone laughs in the yard and then stops, as if they remembered who is sitting in the armchair.