I lean back against the rusted workbench, checking the time on my Rolex. The ticking of the second hand is the only sound in the cavernous space besides Marcus’s pathetic whimpering.
"You sold her, Marcus," I say, my voice devoid of emotion. "You didn't just sell her once. You’ve been trying to sell her since she was eighteen. The Albanians. The bookie in Queens. And now the Sokolovs."
"I was desperate!" he cries. "They were going to kill me!"
"And now I’m going to kill you," I state calmly. "So tell me, was it worth it? Did the extra three months of life you bought with your daughter’s safety taste sweet?"
I pick up a pair of pliers from the table. Marcus shrinks back, his eyes bulging.
I’m not enjoying this. There was a time when torture gave me a grim sense of satisfaction, a balancing of the scales. But today, all I feel is impatience. I want to be back at the Estate. I want to be back in the conservatory, watching Ivy paint her angry, beautiful monsters.
My phone vibrates against my thigh.
I ignore it. Luca knows not to interrupt an interrogation unless the building is on fire.
It vibrates again. And again. A frantic, continuous buzzing that drills into my bone.
I frown. I pull the phone from my pocket.
The screen is flashing red.
ALERT: BIOMETRIC SPIKE.SUBJECT: WIFE.HEART RATE: 165 BPM.
My blood freezes. 165. That’s not anxiety. That’s not the heart rate of someone painting or sleeping. That is the heart rate of someone running for their life.
I tap the screen to open the GPS feed.
SIGNAL LOST.LAST KNOWN LOCATION: THE ESTATE - MAIN OFFICE.SYSTEM STATUS: OFFLINE.PERIMETER: BREACHED.
The world stops. The warehouse, the smell of the ocean, the pathetic man in the chair—it all vanishes.
"Luca!" I roar.
Luca steps out of the shadows, his face pale. He’s looking at his own tablet. "Boss, the grid is down. We lost the cameras at the Estate. The backup generator didn't kick in. Someone cut the hardline."
"Nikolai," I whisper.
I look at Marcus. He is staring at me, confused by the sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere.
"Is... is she okay?" Marcus asks tentatively.
I walk over to him. I don't speak. I don't hesitate. I draw my Glock 19 from its holster.
"Silas, wait—"
BANG.
I put a bullet between his eyes.
Marcus slumps back in the chair, silenced forever. I don't feel a thing. He was a loose end. A distraction. And right now, I have no time for distractions.
"Clean this up," I order Luca, holstering the weapon. "Send the cleanup crew. You come with me."
"We taking the SUV?" Luca asks, already running toward the exit.
"We’re taking the chopper," I snarl. "And pray to whatever god you believe in that we get there in time. Because if she is gone... I will burn this entire island to the waterline."
The flight takes twelve minutes.
