The nearest guard answers by driving a fist into my ribs. The breath rips out of me, but I bite down on any sound. Aurelio’s face comes back into view, closer now. "I asked you a question. And in my house, we answer questions."
He nods, and two men step forward. They move with the casual rhythm of men who’ve done this a hundred times before. One of them disappears into a corner and comes back with a car battery, the kind you could start a tank with, setting it down on the slick floor between us.
The other unspools a set of cables, the clamps opening and closing with metallic snaps that echo off the stone walls. Aurelio watches me the whole time, his hands folded neatly behind his back, like a man admiring art.
"You know the thing about pain, amigo?" he says. "It’s a language. And eventually… everyone becomes fluent."
They fasten the first clamp to my ankle. The cold metal bites into my skin. The second one snaps against my other ankle. My heartbeat is suddenly in my ears, loud, steady, waiting for the strike.
Aurelio nods once.
The jolt rips through me like fire and lightning fused into one. My back arches, the chains scream as they take my weight. Every muscle seizes. My teeth slam together hard enough to taste blood. When it stops, I’m left hanging,chest heaving, sweat already mixing with the water dripping down my face.
Aurelio tilts his head. "Still nothing?"
I breathe through my nose, slow and deliberate, and say nothing.
He sighs, almost disappointed. "Then we try again."
Another jolt. This one is longer, riding the edge of what my body can handle. My vision flickers at the edges, and the room swims in and out of focus. I keep my head up. If I go down now, he wins.
When it ends, Aurelio steps forward, so close I can see the little lines around his eyes that don’t come from laughter. "You’ll talk," he says quietly, "because I will make sure youneedto."
He turns his back, giving the order to keep going, and the men go to work, each strike blurring the line between pain and white noise.
I don’t know how long it lasts—minutes, hours? Time’s gone. But one thought stays clear through the haze: If Aurelio doesn’t know why I’m here… then Sophia’s still safe from him.
That’s the only reason I’m still breathing.
The next day…
Aurelio’s office smells of cigars and polished wood, the kind of rich, oppressive scent that clings to your clothes and skin long after you leave. Roberto keeps his arm around me like he’s showing off a prize he won at a carnival. His thumb strokes lazy circles against my hand, and when I shift, he catches my fingers and kisses them. To anyone else, we must look like the picture of marital devotion. To me, it feels like a warning.
Donna Margarita is perched in one of Aurelio’s leather chairs, her legs crossed, every inch the queen she believes herself to be. Across from her, Silvestre lounges with the relaxed confidence of a man who’s never been told no in his life. His gaze clings to her in a way that makes my stomach twist. It’s fond, yes, but with an edge that says he’s remembering things no one else in this room should know. His eyes are those of a predator who wants todevour his prey, but who is being held back by an invisible force. It’s made even more sickening because of his age, which shows in the harsh morning light.
Aurelio stands behind his desk, hands braced against the surface, his eyes hard as flint. "I want answers," he says, keeping his voice deep and measured, but carrying enough weight to crush stone. "The shipment Edoardo sent—what was it? And why am I hearing about it fromotherpeople before I hear it from him?"
Donna Margarita’s smile is sincere, but her eyes betray her. "Aurelio, caro, this was an unfortunate oversight. You know I still have Edoardo under my thumb. This won’t happen again. I promise."
Her tone is honey, but the tension in the room could strangle a man.
"And how," Aurelio leans back, folding his arms, "do you propose to make it up to me?"
She tips her head, considering. "We’ll find a way. We always do." Then her smile sharpens. "Though perhaps before we discuss reparations, we should discuss… Matías."
The name lands like a bomb.
Aurelio’s jaw tightens.
"Yes," Margarita purrs, "the little stunt with the accountant. What was that about? It looks to me as though Edoardo went not only behindmyback, but yours as well.Or… was Matías’s abduction of the accountant sanctioned by you?"
The silence that follows is heavy enough to bow the walls.
"No," Aurelio says finally, not happy that he's admitting a weakness. "It wasn’t."
Roberto clears his throat, leaning forward. "Then I’ll go to Los Angeles and deal with Matías personally." His tone is smooth, full of easy confidence. He glances at me with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. "Do you want to go shopping in LA, love?"
My mouth is dry. My pulse feels too loud. Every word in this room feels like a blade being slid across a throat: sometimes Aurelio’s, sometimes Roberto’s, sometimes mine. And I can’t tell whose blood will spill first.
