I study Torres carefully—the way he holds himself, the calluses on his hands, the small scar above his left eyebrow.
Military bearing, defensive posture, eyes that track every movement. He’s been trained to resist interrogation.
“Captain Torres,” I say, settling into the chair across from him. The metal is cold even through my clothes. “I’m Bianca. I’ll be conducting your interview today.”
“Interview?” He laughs again, a sound that echoes off the concrete walls. “Kid, I’ve been through interrogations by people who make your worst nightmares look like bedtime stories. What exactly do you think you’re going to accomplish that three days of professionals couldn’t?”
The dismissal is complete, absolute.
He’s not just unafraid—he’s entertained.
Fuck this is already going so badly.
If Alessandro were here, he would know what to do. I press my toes into my shoes, steadying myself.Think Bianca. Think. What would Alessandro do?
I try to read him for vulnerabilities. “You were married once,” I observe, noting the pale band of skin where a ring used to be.
“Divorced five years ago,” he says cheerfully, his blue eyes amused. “No kids, no family, no pressure points for you to exploit. Nice try though, sweetheart.”
You’re embarrassing yourself,Giuseppe roars in my head.He’s laughing at you!
Pathetic,Sophia hisses.You’re losing control already.
The voices are getting louder, more insistent.
My hands start to tremble slightly—just barely, but Torres catches it. His smile widens.
“Getting a little overwhelmed?” He leans forward as much as his restraints allow. “What’s wrong? Not going according to your little plan? You look like you’re having some kind of internal debate.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
He can see my uncertainty, my indecision about which approach to take.
“Let me guess—you’ve got different ideas about how to handle me, and you can’t decide which one to use?” Torres continues with obvious amusement. “The tough approach? Maybe some psychological manipulation? Something daddy taught you?”
Stop letting him control the conversation,Giuseppe demands, his voice so loud it makes my skull ache.
Fight back,Sophia insists.Do something unexpected.
The competing advice crashes together in my head like cymbals.
I can barely think through the noise of their conflicting demands.
Torres watches my internal struggle with interest.
“Poor little girl,” he says with mock sympathy. “They sent someone who can’t even make up her own mind to break a professional. This is actually pathetic.”
He’s right,Giuseppe roars in my head.Youarepathetic! Weak like your mother!
You’re failing,Sophia hisses.Everyone can see you’re breaking down. Look at you—shaking like a child.
The voices are so loud now that I actually wince, my hands flying to my temples.
The room feels like it’s spinning, and I can hear my own breathing getting ragged and shallow.
“Oh, this is even better than I thought,” Torres says with genuine delight. “You’re having some kind of breakdown, aren’t you? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Daddy didn’t prepare you for this part?”
I stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against concrete.
