CHAPTER 89: [89] MY GREATEST MASTERPIECE

Morning light slanted through the windows of Valerio’s workshop, casting long golden rectangles across the polished marble floor. Pierre stood just inside the entrance, taking in the vast space with careful eyes. The workshop occupied an entire wing of Valerio’s mansion, a cathedral dedicated to the craftsman’s obsession with perfection.

"Welcome to my sanctuary," Valerio said, gesturing broadly. His voice carried the same musical quality Pierre had noted at dinner, a performer’s practiced cadence. "Few guests are granted such an honor."

"I’m flattered," Pierre replied, his tone neutral. He moved deeper into the space, examining the various workstations that lined the walls.

The workshop resembled a bizarre hybrid of shipyard, laboratory, and art studio. Dozens of tables held ships in bottles at various stages of completion, their tiny masts and rigging executed with impossible detail. Another section contained wooden figureheads in the process of restoration, their faces caught in expressions ranging from serene to terrifying. In one corner, a half-finished marble statue of a woman reached toward the ceiling, her features not yet fully carved from the stone.

"You create all of this yourself?" Pierre asked, pausing before a table covered in navigational instruments—sextants, compasses, and astrolabes, each gleaming as if newly minted.

"With these hands," Valerio confirmed, holding them up. Pierre noticed the calluses and small scars that marked the man’s fingers, at odds with his otherwise immaculate appearance. "Every artifact you see has been broken, abandoned, or flawed in some way. I rescue them, restore them, perfect them."

Pierre moved to another station where blueprints were spread across a drafting table. They appeared to be designs for the Crimson Sparrow, though vastly modified from its current state.

"Ah, your vessel," Valerio said, stepping closer. "A beautiful ship, but built with several inherent flaws in her design. When I finish with her, she’ll be twice as fast and far more stable in rough seas."

"And unrecognizable as our ship," Pierre noted quietly.

Valerio smiled. "Is that a bad thing? The essence remains the same, only improved."

Pierre didn’t answer. Instead, he wandered toward the back of the workshop where several doors led to adjacent rooms. Through one open doorway, he glimpsed what looked like medical equipment.

"What’s in there?" he asked, nodding toward the room.

"My more... specialized work," Valerio replied, stepping between Pierre and the doorway. "Perhaps another time. Today I thought we might discuss your own unique situation."

"My situation?"

"Please." Valerio gestured to two chairs positioned near a large window overlooking the harbor. "Sit with me."

Pierre hesitated, then took the offered seat. From this vantage point, he could see the Crimson Sparrow in the distance, swarmed with workers who were systematically dismantling large sections of its hull.

"You’re not like others who wash up on my shores," Valerio began, settling into the opposite chair. "Most arrive broken in obvious ways—debt, addiction, criminal histories. Their flaws are simple to identify and address. But you..." He leaned forward, studying Pierre’s face. "Your flaw is inside you, isn’t it? Something you’ve absorbed that doesn’t belong."

Pierre felt Hardy’s darkness stir at the man’s words, as if responding to being named. He allowed a small shiver to run through him, visible enough for Valerio to notice.

"You felt it just now," Valerio observed, eyes alight with interest. "Tell me, what is it? This darkness I glimpsed at dinner?"

Pierre feigned reluctance, turning to look out the window. "Something I took from someone who didn’t deserve to keep it."

"Took?" Valerio’s eyebrows rose. "How fascinating. And now it troubles you?"

"It changes me," Pierre admitted, allowing a note of genuine concern to enter his voice. This part required little acting. "Sometimes I worry I’ll become like him—the man I took it from."

"And who was he?"

"A tyrant. A man who believed cruelty was strength." Pierre turned back to face Valerio directly. "A collector of people."

Valerio didn’t miss the implication, but neither did he seem offended. Instead, he smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "There are many ways to collect people, Pierre. Some through fear, others through debt. The wisest collectors understand that genuine devotion yields the greatest returns."

"Is that what you have here? Devotion?"

"Look around you," Valerio said, gesturing toward the harbor below. "Porto Veloce functions perfectly. Everyone has a purpose, a place. No one goes hungry. No one lacks shelter. Is that not better than the chaos outside my walls?"

"Better for whom?" Pierre asked softly.

"For everyone," Valerio insisted. "Structure brings out the best in people. Left to their own devices, they waste their potential, make poor choices, destroy themselves with freedom they don’t know how to use."

Pierre felt the familiar rage building inside him, Hardy’s darkness responding to the words that echoed the former captain’s philosophy. He let a hint of it show—his hands clenched on the armrests, his breathing shortened.

"You disagree," Valerio noted, watching him closely.

"I’ve met men who think like you before," Pierre said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Men who believe they know what’s best for everyone else."

"And what happened to them?"

Pierre looked Valerio directly in the eyes and allowed Hardy’s darkness to surface momentarily. The room temperature dropped several degrees, and Pierre knew his eyes had taken on that crimson hue, a brief flash before he suppressed it again.

"They’re part of me now," he said.

Valerio didn’t recoil. Instead, he leaned closer, transfixed. "Extraordinary," he breathed. "You’ve found a way to... absorb them? Their essence?"

Pierre didn’t confirm or deny. He simply held Valerio’s gaze, allowing the craftsman to draw his own conclusions.

"This power of yours," Valerio continued, unable to disguise his excitement. "Can you control it?"

"Not always," Pierre admitted. This too was honest. "It wants things I don’t want. It whispers..."

"What does it whisper?"

Pierre stood abruptly, moving back toward the workstations. "It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to discuss my problems."

"But that’s precisely why you should be here," Valerio said, following him. "You’re fighting a battle inside yourself—a battle between what you are and what you could be. I understand such conflicts intimately."

"Do you?" Pierre asked, turning to face him.

Valerio rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a network of scars that ran from his wrist to his elbow. They weren’t the random marks of injury but deliberate patterns, almost like circuitry etched into his skin.

"We all make sacrifices for perfection," Valerio said. "Some more visible than others. Your power—the one you’re so afraid of—it’s not a flaw to be suppressed, Pierre. It’s a gift waiting to be properly channeled."

"And you think you can help with that?" Pierre asked, injecting just the right amount of desperate hope into his voice.

"I know I can," Valerio said, his confidence absolute. "You’ve seen my work. I take broken things and make them whole. I find hidden potential and bring it to the surface. You are potentially my greatest challenge—and my greatest masterpiece."

Pierre turned away, as if considering the offer. He allowed his shoulders to slump slightly, a carefully calculated display of vulnerability.

"I don’t want to hurt anyone else," he said quietly.

Valerio placed a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. "Under my guidance, you won’t have to. You’ll learn control, purpose. You’ll understand that true power isn’t about destruction but transformation."

Pierre nodded slowly, not meeting Valerio’s eyes. "I need time to think."

"Of course," Valerio said, squeezing Pierre’s shoulder once before releasing it. "Take all the time you need. But remember, Pierre—your condition won’t improve on its own. The darkness inside you will only grow stronger. Eventually, it will consume you... unless you learn to master it."

Pierre made his way toward the door, his posture that of a man carrying a heavy burden. At the threshold, he paused and looked back.

"Thank you," he said simply. "For understanding."

Valerio nodded, his expression that of a benevolent savior. "We’ll speak again soon."

Pierre walked through the halls of Valerio’s mansion, his pace measured, his expression troubled for the benefit of any watching eyes. Inside, however, he felt a cold satisfaction. The hook was baited, and Valerio had taken it completely.

Once safely in the guest wing, Pierre allowed himself a small smile. Now it was time for the others to play their parts.