I nod. “That’s my assessment.”
Aurelio is quiet again. The clock ticks. Somewhere in the compound, a door slams, and I hear the distant murmur of soldiers changing shifts. The machinery of war, grinding on through the night.
“What do you recommend?” The Don asks.
The question surprises me. He rarely asks for my opinion on matters of strategy—he gives orders, and I execute them. But tonight, there’s a difference. There’s an odd curiosity he’s never had before.
“Hold her,” I say. “Comfortably. She’s not a threat, but she may have information she doesn’t know she has. Courier routes, drop locations, contact protocols. If we can map the network she was part of, we might find weaknesses in the Castillo supply chain.”
Aurelio considers this. “And if she has no useful information?”
“Then we reassess.”
“Reassess.” He rolls the word around like he’s tasting it. “That’s a diplomatic way of saying you don’t want to kill her.”
My jaw ticks. “She’s a civilian. Killing civilians without cause creates complications.”
“Since when do you care about complications?”
The question cuts deeper than it should. I keep my face blank, my breathing steady. “I care about efficiency. Dead civilians attract attention. Police. Media. Federal interest. We’re already stretched thin with the Castillo offensive. Adding unnecessary heat serves no strategic purpose.”
Aurelio watches me. Then he smiles—thin, knowing, the type of smile that makes men confess to things they haven’t done.
“You’re protective of her.”
“I’m protective of the organization’s interests.”
“Of course you are.” He stands, slow and deliberate, and walks to the window overlooking the compound’s inner courtyard. His reflection stares back at me from the dark glass. “Hold her in the guest quarters. Not the cells. I want her comfortable, cooperative, and alive. You’ll oversee her security personally.”
I blink. “Sir—”
“Is there a problem?”
A dozen problems. A hundred. But I swallow them all and say, “No, sir.”
“Good.” He turns back to face me, and I see curiosity. Or amusement. “She’s your responsibility now, Leone. Don’t make me regret the decision.”
I nod once. “Understood.”
He waves a hand, dismissing me, a cough rattling his chest. I turn and walk to the door, my footsteps silent on the thick carpet. My hand is on the brass handle when his voice stops me.
“Leone.”
I look back.
Aurelio is watching me with an interesting expression. “When’s the last time you wanted something for yourself?”
The question hits me hard between the ribs. I don’t answer.
Dahlia. Dahlia was the last thing I wanted for myself.
He nods, as if my silence confirms everything. “That’s what I thought. Go.”
I leave.
My quarters are spartan by design.
A bed, a desk, a chair. Weapons locked in a case bolted to the wall. A single lamp that throws more shadows than light. No photographs. No personal effects. Nothing that says a human being lives here, because for the past twenty years, I haven’t been sure that’s what I am.
