"Renato Vitiello. He's been with her. Intimately." Alessandro's voice steadies as he finds his footing. "Her father found out—she told him during that phone call Renato arranged. He called me, absolutely furious. Said Renato had defiled his daughter, taken her virginity. He was lying about her purity."
A long, dangerous silence. "Are you certain?"
"Her father was explicit about what happened. Very explicit. She's no longer what you promised your client, Franco."
"This is a significant problem."
"It gets worse. Camilla's father has discovered what's happening with the auction. He's threatening to file formal complaints with the Carabinieri. Multiple agencies. He's prepared to bring down everyone involved if I don’t promise to bring her home."
Another pause, longer this time. I can practically hear Torretti calculating the risks.
"Her father," Torretti says slowly. "He has evidence?"
"He has a missing daughter who told him she was raped by her captor, and enough family reputation to make the authorities care. He's talking about human trafficking charges, sexual assault, international crimes, full investigations." Alessandro's getting better at this, his businessman instincts kicking in even through the pain. "Franco, think about what happens if you deliver compromised merchandise to your client. They'll blame you. And if the authorities start investigating..."
"The entire operation becomes toxic."
"Exactly. You deliver damaged goods to a client who expects perfection, while law enforcement is breathing down everyone's neck? That's catastrophic for your reputation."
I can hear Torretti's breathing, the sound of him weighing his options.
"Where do you want delivery?" he asks finally.
Alessandro looks at me. I write an address on paper and show it to him.
"The old Ostia warehouse district. Building 47. One hour."
"This better not be a setup, Alessandro. If Renato is there, if this is some kind of ambush—"
"No ambush. Just retrieve your reputation before this gets worse. Drop her and walk away. We all forget this happened."
A long pause. "One hour. Building 47. And Alessandro? This ends our business relationship. The Rossi family is no longer a client I'm willing to work with."
"Understood."
The line goes dead.
I look at Alessandro slumped in his chair, pale and bleeding. "It's done."
"We're finished then? The debt is paid?"
I study his face—the split lip, the swollen cheek, the bandaged hand where his finger used to be. Blood has dried on his expensive shirt.
"Yes, Alessandro. We're finished."
"Thank God." Relief floods his voice. "I can arrange medical attention, and we never have to speak—"
I put two bullets in his chest before he can finish the sentence.
Alessandro's eyes go wide with shock and betrayal as he topples backward in the chair. Blood spreads across his shirt in dark blooms.
"You wanted her sold into slavery," I tell his dying form. "Did you really believe there wouldn't be consequences?"
His mouth moves but no sound comes out. The light fades from his eyes as Matteo and I watch dispassionately.
"Boss?" Matteo asks after Alessandro goes still.
"Have someone clean this up. Make it look like a business dispute gone wrong. There's plenty of those in his circles." I holster my weapon. "I want his body found, but not connected to us."
