His companion looked far worse. He was passed out, head back, mouth wide open. Oozing cuts decorated his arms and legs. A few teeth were missing, and one of his legs was pointing the wrong way.
“This one’s Nikos.”
I waited a few seconds, but Massimo added nothing else.
“That’s it?”
Massimo shook his head, his thick, short hair sweeping around with the motion. His lip curled in disdain. He spat at the prisoners. “They’ll crack soon.”
I grunted, notimpressed.
“Seems you overestimated your interrogation skills. Natale, time for you to take over and give me results.”
“I can handle it,” Massimo stated.
“Not this time.”
Massimo clenched his jaw, his eyes firming. He snapped off his apron with one rough tug and tossed it into the cleaning bin.
“I need the latest reports on all the loans we’ve given out and protection rents we have going,” I told him. Sour-faced, Massimo banged the doors on his way out. I watched dispassionately. He’d gotten his chance and failed, and now what I needed was results. Natale’s oxford heels clacked in an echo against the tile. I pointed at him. “Get me something from these two I can work with by the end of the day.”
“You got it, boss.”
Natale slipped out of his suit jacket and hung it neatly behind the door.
I pushed earplugs into my ears, leaned against the wall, and checked my phone for the hundredth time since leaving Ainsley’s hotel room. No new messages. No reply to mine either. True to her word, there’d been no communication from her at all. I refreshed the screen—no change. I turned the phone off, then back on, and still nothing. The muted grunts and cries from our Greek captives as Natale worked them didn’t even serve as a proper distraction. This growing unease at her lack of reply was like a fist pounding against my sternum. I roughly rubbed my lower lip.
During my years in prison, Tore visited two times a month at most, Vinny the same, and Persetta maybe twice a year. Only Ainsley’s letters were immutable. What started as an occasional correspondence turned into a constant back-and-forth. Over the last two years, her replies came at least weekly, if not every three days. It had been routine. I’d known her letters would come. I relied on them for some news, any news, whether it wasabout her, about the world outside, or just a question she had. Sad as it was, I often counted down the days.
Since I’d been released, we exchanged messages by phone constantly throughout the day. Small things. Insignificant details. Sometimes only one word, but it hadn’t mattered because the connection remained. No more counting the days. I’d counted the seconds. It’d been my drug of choice—to see a response light up the screen gave me an indescribable rush. I stopped whatever I was doing to read what she sent. Then each night, I read it all again. Just like in prison, I hung on her every word.
Now the connection was cut. My messages were received and read, but no replies were given. I swiped up and down through the messages. Not a single answer. I wasn’t sure how long I could take her prolonged silence.
The disconnection was what I’d initially hoped for. Back then, I’d told myself it was for the best. She didn’t need to be tainted by my life more than she already was. She could find happiness elsewhere, but that was before I realized there was no longer a me without her.
“Natale.” I pulled out my earplugs as he cut another short gash over Julius’ forearm. That made twenty-two small bleeding cuts on each man, and both the Greeks were already sweating bullets and shaking. At this rate, they wouldn’t reach a hundred cuts before they broke.
“Natale!”
He lowered his knife and twisted my way, his one eye on me, dark and foreboding. “Yes, boss?”
“What do you know about winning a woman’s forgiveness?”
He glared at me deadpan. Right. Wrong man to ask. Natale didn’t do personal connections, not since he and his wife were captured by Triad Black Dragons ten years ago. They tortured them both for two months before Elio Iannelli organized a raidand managed to get him out. His wife didn’t survive, and by then, he’d lost an eye and had scars over all his body.
“Forget I said anything. Let me know when you’ve got something.”
I shut the soundproof basement door behind me just as one of the two captives cried out in pain. My finger hovered over Tore’s name on my phone. After me, he knew her best, but he also saw her as his kid sister. Knowing him, he’d stand in the way. I scrolled back up and tapped the video call icon next to my sister’s name.
A few rings in, half of Persetta’s face appeared. She held the phone the right way, but it was far too close and uncentered. Her left eye shifted, probably unable to find a focal point on the screen, while her right remained motionless and unfocused. The chemical burn scars around them were now a pinkish white, the skin no longer puckered.
“Imagine my surprise when the caller ID saidFratellonein a horrible French accent.” Big brother. “I thought I was hearing things. I’m still not quite sure I didn’t, so speak up.”
“This the way you greet me. Not even aciaoorcome stai?” Hello, or how are you?
A squeal went across the line. “So it’s true. You’re really out.”
“I am.” I scratched my eyebrows.
