I didn't answer.
"Relax," he continued. "Our boss wants to meet you."
"I don't know your boss," I said, my voice wavering, but I pushed through. "You've got the wrong person."
"We don't," the other guy said, colder. "Olivia Adrian, twenty-two. Father's Joseph Adrian. Owes one-fifty in debt. Sister Sophie Adrian, seventeen, attends—"
"Enough," I cut him off. "What do you want?"
"Our boss wants to see you," the first guy repeated. "Now."
"What if I say no?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at Sophie.
That look turned my blood to ice.
"I'll go with you," I said. "But let my sister go home first."
"Not happening."
"Why not?"
"Our boss wants insurance you'll cooperate," he said, then nodded toward the car. "Get in, Miss Adrian. Don't make us do this the hard way."
Sophie's nails dug into my skin so hard they broke through.
"It's okay," I turned to her, keeping my voice low. "It's okay, I'll be back soon."
"Olivia..."
"Trust me."
I pulled my hand free and walked toward the car.
The two guys followed. One pulled the back door open.
I got in. The door shut behind me.
We drove almost forty minutes. The window shades were drawn—I couldn't see anything outside. The two guys didn't talk. I didn't either. I kept my hands on my knees, brain going into overdrive. Debt collector? Mob? Which operation? I'd lived in Brooklyn my whole life, didn't know many people, had pissed off even fewer. The worst Icould think of were small-time street guys, not the kind who'd send out cars and teams like this.
Couldn't figure it out, so I'd have to fish.
"Look," I said, forcing steady, clearing my throat with a fake smile. "What exactly do you guys do? I mean, profession-wise, what's your... area?"
The guy on the left turned and looked at me. Didn't say anything.
"I'm just thinking, if this is a misunderstanding, we could clear it up now and save everyone time—"
The guy's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his mouth twitched up. "You're pretty lucky, you know that?" he said, coming out of nowhere.
I watched him.
"You know the Visconti family?" he said, like he was making casual conversation from on high. "Most people can't even get close to him. Everything under New York, he controls it. A nobody like you, and he personally—" he paused, changed his word, "—has us bring you in? That's some serious luck."
Visconti.
That name hit my brain like an explosion.
