A beat.
"In the basement," Silvestre answers finally.
That’s when Raf steps forward.
"I know where it is." Lethal certainty hums from his words. "Follow me."
Weapons come up again, sharper this time. Massimo’s men fan out instinctively, Gabe at his shoulder, more guards flanking his left. Stephano’s hand flexes once, like he’s deciding whether tonight is the night diplomacy officially dies. We move as one, a deadly procession through the villa’s stone hallways, lit only by emergency back-up lights sputtering in and out and the sound of slowly dying shots in the distance. Our guys are cleaning up. Ending whoever is left of the Valverde army.
Raf leads us through a grand foyer. To the right is a large staircase, and to the left a corridor he's walking toward, opening a door to a stairwell. We turn off our night vision and turn on our headlights. I know this place. It looks exactly like every other mafia king's lair. The scent in the air is of damp metal, old blood, humiliation. Pain.
This is where Raf was held. Where Aurelio tried to break him. No wonder he walks like a man entering a grave he swore he’d burn.
Silvestre lingers behind us, but he doesn’t run. He knowsbetter.
At the bottom of the staircase, a large room opens before us. The walls are fitted with cabinets, probably filled with the usual torture instruments. The floor slopes slightly toward the middle, where a drain is located, right underneath a hanging rope from the ceiling. Efficient.
Raf points toward one wall with several doors. "Which one, old man?"
Silvestre points. Massimo shoulders past him and kicks the door open.
The stench hits first. Rot. Sweat. Fear.
Two lone figures come into view. One man, barely clinging to life, with sunken cheeks, wrists bruised, lips cracked, and a kid huddled next to him on the ground. Even though the man is barely recognizable, I know who he is. I make a point of memorizing everyone who thinks they're important. "That’s Carter Whitford."
Massimo exhales, barely controlled rage floods through him, and something else I can't put my finger on. I would call it grief, but how can it be grief when he's looking at his son? Only the boy is not looking up at us. Not screaming his father's name in excitement. Instead, he takes us in warily.
Massimo turns to Stephano. "Do you need backup?"
"We’ve got it," Stephano tells him. "Go. Get your people out."
Massimo nods once, something like respect passing between them, two kings recognizing each other in hell.
"Good to see you again, Conti," Massimo says. "Let me know when you’re in Vegas." He nods at me. "It's been an honor, Metelitsa."
Two of his soldiers move to the congressman immediately, working fast and efficiently, terrified of their Don’s wrath. Then Massimo moves deeper into the room, towards the boy, who still doesn't look like he's happy to see his father, and Massimo's words come back to me. When Stephano said,I didn't know you had a son, he responded,Neither did I.
The kid is ten, maybe eleven, wide-eyed, dirty, terrified.
Massimo crouches down to be eye level with him, keeping his voice suddenly gentle. "I’ll take you to your mamma. What do you think?"
The boy stares at him, stunned.
Massimo reaches out a hand. "Come on, little man. Let’s go home."
The kid places his shaking hand in Massimo’s.
Then Massimo exits without looking back, holding his son's hand while his men carry Whitford behind him. Leaving the rest of us in the dark of the torture chamber. Leaving us with Silvestre.
"Where is Aurelio?" Raf demands.
Silvestre shrugs and huffs, not needing to explain that his son is hiding out somewhere on the property.
"I'll find him. You good here?" Raf looks from Stephano to me.
We nod in unison like an old married couple. Then Stephano turns to Silvestre, "Alright, enough dancing." His gaze locks on him. "You’re going to tell me exactly what kind of business you had with my father." He pauses just long enough to let it bite. "And why you kept my brother, Nico, as a hostage for three fucking years."
Realization hits Silvestre. The realization that he's not going to make it out of his dungeon alive. He starts laughing. It's rough, loud, and close to maniacal. "I don't care what you do, but you're not going to get a midnight confession out of me, boy."
