"Who is he?"
He shakes his head quickly, in a sudden rush now, looking petrified. "There is an order to things in our world. Lines you shouldn't cross. People you should stay away from. Families, cartels, and men who think they own oceans. This business is inescapable. There is no leaving. But the man you name is far worse than any of that. He is the one death takes orders from.Mors obtemperat charonti."
I've heard the phrase before. It's the kind of thing that gets whispered in the field when the impossible happens, when missions go sideways in ways that defy explanation. A term borrowed from Greek mythology, wrapped in warning.
"What does he want with her?"
Matteo answers without looking at me. "You don't want to know. And if you do know, he will want something with you."
"He already does."
The look of pity in his eyes pisses me off more than anything else.
"You are not here about a woman. What is it you really want?"
The question should be simple, but it's not.
Deep down, I'm fucking furious with Keira. The old inventory of grudges rises to the surface like something buried that refuses to stay dead.
I try not to give it space to breathe, focusing on the single thing that will keep me moving: find her, find the child.
Everything else can wait.
"Tell me where she is. Right now, Matteo."
"You don't understand. Everyone pays to cross the Black Door,Signor Barlowe. Some pay with money, some with blood, some with a name. The woman you ask for…she paid with something else."
"What?"
"Her life."
She can't be dead. It doesn't make sense. I would know if she was dead. I would feel it, as crazy as that might sound.
"You processed her through here?" I ask.
"Paperwork says she went out as cargo. Maybe a death certificate too."
"But was she in the box? Did you see her with your own eyes? When?"
"Boss…" Nick warns in my ear.
A muscle jumps in Romano's brow. "I can't talk about?—"
"Where is she?" My patience is growing obnoxiously thin.
"You think I would still be breathing if I knew?" He takes a step back. "You must go now."
I move before I can rationalize it, charging across the room. My shoulder slams into his back and he hits the door hard enough that the wood clicks in its frame. His hands go up uselessly. Up close, his age really shows, and fear looks ugly on him.
"You will tell me what you know before I break every bone in your body."
He tries to speak, scrabbles for a word, an angle…anything that will buy him a few more seconds.
"There," Matteo shouts, pointing toward his desk. "Per favore, there is always a mark on the ledger. A symbol the client uses. I can check the order."
"Show me," I demand, grabbing hold of the gun hidden under my jacket.
I seize his collar, dragging him to the desk as I flip the folder open. "Palms on your head. Feet crossed."
