The flash-bang goes off with a deafening crack, blinding and disorienting him. We're through his position before he can recover, zip-ties securing him before he even understands what happened.
"Clear," Matteo says, checking the hallway.
I kick open Alessandro's bedroom door.
He's sitting up in bed, eyes wide with shock, reaching for something in his nightstand. I cross the room in three strides, my pistol aimed at his face.
"Don't."
His hand freezes.
"Renato? What the hell!"
"Get up. We're going somewhere private. We need to have another conversation about Camilla Colombo."
His face goes pale. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I grab him by his expensive silk pajamas, hauling him out of bed. "Sure you do."
"You're making a mistake."
Matteo appears with zip-ties. "Let's go, old man. You and Renato have a lot to discuss."
"You can't do this!"
I force him toward the door. "Of course I can. You're the man who hired Torretti to make sure Camilla disappeared. And now you're going to tell me exactly where she is."
"Wait! I can fix this!”
"You had weeks to fix this." I push him into the hallway. "Start walking. And Alessandro? How cooperative you are in the next hour will determine whether you ever see daylight again."
His face drains of all color as understanding hits him.
He fucked with the wrong woman.
And now he's going to pay for it in ways his money can't fix.
Time to collect my debt in blood.
And this collection is going to be very, very personal.
Chapter 29: Camilla
They're treating me like a doll.
The thought runs through my mind as Sofia, if that's even her real name, styles my hair. She's been working on me for hours now. Trying to transform me from a woman who killed a man into someone who looks like they belong in a high-end salon.
The adrenaline that carried me through the kidnapping is fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My hands want to tremble when I think about Kozlov's blood, the weight of the pen, the sound Renato's gun made. But I force myself to stay present, to focus on what's happening now.
Survive first. Process later.
The room they're holding me in now isn't a cell. It's closer to a makeup studio, including a bathroom with marble fixtures, walk-in shower, even a vanity area with professional lighting. Everything needed to prepare girls for presentation.
Sofia works in near silence, occasionally giving brief instructions. "Turn your head." "Close your eyes." "Hold still."
When I try to ask questions, she ignores them entirely. Just continues working to transform my hair into something glossy and perfect.
The pedicure makes me tense, though the nail file is hidden under my mattress, not taped to my foot anymore. I moved it before they came for me, some instinct telling me they'd search. They'd find a weapon on my body, but they won't think to check under the mattress of a room they control.
