"What did he have on him?" I asked.
The soldier hesitated. "Photos."
Silence. The room went dead still. My eyes lifted slowly. The soldier swallowed hard.
"Aurora’s photos."
Something ugly moved beneath my ribs. Not jealousy. Not anger. Something worse. Possession. The kind that made violence feel reasonable. The kind that made murder feel practical.
Marco cursed in Italian quietly. "That's not good."
No. It wasn't. I stood. Slowly. The soldier took an unconscious step backward. Smart man. "Where is he?"
"Downstairs."
I nodded once. Then walked past him. Marco followed. Of course he followed. Somebody had to make sure I didn't accidentally start another war before breakfast.
The elevator descended in silence. Nobody spoke. Nobody was stupid enough.
The lower levels of the mansion felt different from the floors above. The upper floors belonged to Santino Moretti. The lower floors belonged to the Devil. Concrete. Steel. Security doors. No sunlight. No warmth. No humanity.
The private holding area sat beneath the west wing. Nobody came here by accident. Nobody left without permission.
The room smelled faintly of blood and bleach. A combination that usually meant somebody had made a very unfortunate decision.
The prisoner sat tied to a chair. Mid-thirties. Bruised. Terrified. Good. He should have been terrified. Six armed men lined the walls. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The second I entered, the prisoner started shaking harder. He already knew.
I walked past him. Ignored him completely. Stopped beside a black cabinet built into the wall. Opened it. Inside sat a single mask. Black leather. Red detailing. The Devil.
The room somehow became quieter. I could feel it. The shift. The soldiers felt it too. Even Marco sighed. Like he'd just watched somebody pull the pin from a grenade. I lifted the mask. Turned it over once. Then slid it over my face.
The prisoner made a strangled sound. "Fuck."
My voice sounded different beneath it. Colder. Sharper. Less human. I turned. Then started talking. Too fast. Too loud. Words tumbling over each other.
"I didn't know…It wasn’t my idea. Please!”
I raised one finger. Silence. Instant. Good. At least somebody here had survival instincts. I crouched in front of him. Slowly. Patiently. The way people approached frightened animals.
"What were the photos for?"
His breathing became uneven. "I don't know."
I smiled. The mask hid it. Unfortunately for him. My eyes didn't. "You should try again."
"I swear…" I grabbed his broken finger. Hard. The scream echoed off concrete walls. Nobody ever expected pain to hurt. People always looked surprised.
I released him. Waited. Patiently. The room settled again. His sobs sounded pathetic. Good. I wanted pathetic. Pathetic was honest. "What were the photos for?"
His head dropped. Defeated already.
"Edoardo wanted updates."
The room went silent. "Updates?"
The man nodded frantically. "Routine surveillance."
Surveillance. On Aurora. My jaw tightened. Dangerously. The urge to kill him arrived. Not because of the surveillance. Because he'dlookedat her. Taken photographs. Followed her. Watched her. The thought made violence feel necessary. Marco saw it happen.
