“I can give you proof that my father killed Lira Dervishi.”
The laughter dies. Dashamir goes very still.
“What did you say?”
“Your cousin, Lira.” I keep my voice steady, even though my heart is pounding. “You think my father killed her because she refused to marry him. If that’s true, I can get you proof.”
Dashamir stares at me for a long moment. His expression is stubbornly unreadable. I’ve caught him off guard, and he hates it, but the carrot I’m dangling in front of his eyes is too enticing to ignore.
“You can get me proof, or you have proof?”
“I can get you proof.”
“How?”
“A confession. Recorded, in his own words. My father likes to drink, and he likes to boast.” I leave out the part that he neither drinks with me nor boasts to me, but I can figure out the details later. The most important thing right now is securing Vincenzo’s freedom before this asshole kills him for fun.
“Why would you betray your own father?”
“Because I believe he killed my mother.” The words come out flat and hard. “He beat her for years, and when she became too much of a problem, he had her murdered. I was thirteen. He beats me as well. Two months ago, he told me I was marrying Vincenzo Vici, and he slaughtered his whole family in front of me.” I lean forward slightly. “I have no love for my father, Mr. Dervishi. He’s a monster. I want him gone as much as you do.”
Dashamir says nothing for a long time.
“If I get my confession,” he says slowly, “I will kill your father. Idemandto kill your father. Do you understand that?”
I think about my mother. About the bruises I’ve hidden for years. About the poison he gave me to kill Vincenzo.
“Yes.”
The word hangs in the air between us. Dashamir studies me with unblinking eyes.
Then something shifts in his expression. Not quite respect, but something close to it. “I almost believe you.”
“You have to believe me. I can get you what you want, and in return, you’ll release Vincenzo immediately—and give him back the guns you stole.” I may as well go for broke. Dashamir can believe I’m serious, crazy, or deluded, but as long as he gives me Vincenzo, I don’t care.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he stands, walks to the window, and looks out at the darkening courtyard.
“If you try to fool me,” he says without turning around, “if this is some elaborate trap or if you fail to deliver what you promise, I’ll introduce you both to the chainsaws that Vincenzo was so curious about.”
A chill runs down my spine. I don’t let my voice waver as I say, “I won’t try to fool you. I want Vincenzo’s freedom and the guns. You want justice for Lira. We will both get what we want.”
Dashamir turns back to face me. “You can have Vici. The guns when I get my confession and my revenge.”
My heart leaps. “Deal.”
“Don’t make me regret this, Miss Montoni.” He picks up his phone, makes a call in Albanian. Then he looks at me with those cold eyes. “My men will bring him to you. He’s in rather poor condition.”
I stand on shaking legs, and though I hate him for torturing Vincenzo, I keep the bitterness out of my voice and politely say, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Dashamir’s voice follows me as I turn toward the door. “I expect results soon.”
I walk out of his office with my head held high, even though my hands are trembling and my stomach is churning.
I did it. I walked into the compound of one of the most dangerous men in Malus with nothing but words, and I negotiated for Vincenzo’s life. I stared down Dashamir Dervishi, and I didn’t flinch.
My whole life, I’ve been told what I am. Agnello’s daughter. A pawn. A bargaining chip. My father hit me and I took it. He ordered me to kill, and I considered it. But tonight, I assessed what Dashamir wanted and offered him something more valuable than revenge on a single Vici, and I saved Vincenzo.
I’m not the helpless girl who froze at the engagement party while people died around her.
