His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never been there. Just… heard things.”
“Where is this island?” Keene pressed.
“Don’t know. Other than it’s off the coast of Costa Rica.” Tex’s voice cracked. “Private. Locked down tight. Access is byboat or chopper. No phones allowed. No paper trails. Folks who talk too much… disappear.”
“Who owns it?” Price asked.
Tex lifted his chin an inch, both defiant and desperate. “Not without immunity.”
“Agreed,” his attorney stated. “You want him to give up his Fifth Amendment rights without guarantees. That’s hardly a deal.”
Keene leaned back, unimpressed. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
Tex bristled. “I’m not stupid. Y’all already took out Enzo Denali. He was the big fish.I’m small potatoes. Hell, most of the men at them auctions make me look middle-class.” His breath shook. “You want the real money? The real customers Enzo supplied. Then you need what I know.”
“We need everything you know,” Keene corrected, voice like ice. “Give us the network. Then we’ll talk about protection.”
Tex’s eyes went wide. “What do you think I have, a master ledger?”
“No,” Price said calmly. “But you have a memory. Start using it.”
Tex licked his lips, caught between fear and whatever scrap of leverage he believed he still held.
“And just so we’re clear,” Keene added, lowering his voice, “right now, we have you on a host of trafficking charges. That’s fifteen years minimum. Add aggravators like conspiracy, the interstate component, and pattern of conduct since you were at Coral Gables...” He paused as though doing the math then shook his head. “You’re not a young man, Tex. How’s your health these days?”
Tex flinched hard.
Price delivered the final push. “You want a deal? Give us names, or we don’t owe you a damn thing.”
Tex sagged, defeated, but not broken. Not yet. He still thought he could bargain.
“Fine,” he muttered, breath shaking. “But when I start talkin’, y’all better keep me alive long enough to finish.”
Beside her, Gaby felt Rhys go still, every muscle tightening as if bracing for impact.
Finally, Tex whispered, “Sebastián Álvarez. It’s his island.”
The air in the observation room grew heavy. Dev stilled, Leland muttered a curse, and Rhys didn’t breathe.
The name meant nothing to Gaby. “Who is Sebastián Álvarez?”
“He’s been on our radar,” Dev admitted. “But he’s not exactly a small fish—”
“He’s a fucking whale,” Leland finished for him.
On the other side of the glass, Keene didn’t let up. “Tell us about Álvarez.”
Tex sagged deeper into his seat. “He ain’t like the others,” he whispered. “Most of them are buyers. They use the girls for a while then sell ’em off like horses.” He swallowed hard. “Álvarez collects. Calls ’em his muses.”
Gaby tasted bile.
“And the girl in the photo?” Keene pressed.
Tex didn’t hesitate this time. “Enzo didn’t call the girls by name. He gave ’em labels based on traits or unique marks. Ran through the English ones, so he started using Italian. That one…” He pointed a shaking finger at Natalie’s picture. “Farfalla Rossa. The red butterfly. She was procured special for Álvarez, his richest customer.”
Gaby’s vision tunneled, and her breath left her entirely. She thought she contained it, but Rhys’s hand curled around her shoulder and squeezed.
Keene’s final question was barely a whisper. “Is she alive?”
