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“Something like that,” I replied, not explaining further.
My hands clenched and unclenched when he showed me a room. Walls were gray and there was a partition in the middle. I sat in the creaking metal chair and held my breath. The door across from me clicked as he stepped in, his hands cuffed in front with an annoyed look on his face.
The air changed, and I held my breath as I looked into the eyes of my brother’s killer. Dominick. I didn’t know his last name, and even though I demanded it with an offer of ten grand, the officer didn’t give it to me. He was a special prisoner, they said. Someone not to mess with.
“Mr. Dominick,” I said, keeping my voice level as he turned his chair around and sat on it, propping his chin on the metal back of the chair. He looked younger than me. Covered in tattoos, with olive skin and soulless eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked, tilting his head. “You seem too posh for me to remember. Did I kill one of your family?”
He chuckled as if it was a joke.
“Yes, you did,” I said, leaning close to the partition, my hands on the cold metal.
Dominick smirked. He didn’t care that he had murdered someone. Too confident and cocky.
“How much?” I asked, counting down the seconds. Even though I knew I was safe with the guards surrounding us, and there was no way a human could pass through the iron bars in front of him, my body knew that he was a killer and wanted to get away from him.
Secretly, I was glad. So glad that he killed Drake.
“How much what, sunshine?” he drawled.
I closed my eyes and sighed. “How much money do you want for killing my brother?”
“Oh?” His obsidian eyes lit up, his accent coming through. He wasn’t American. “I killed your brother. Who was it?”
“Drake Grant.” Even saying his name filled me with disgust. “He stalked our half-sister and tried to… tried to harass her. Sexually.”
Dominick whistled. “I know that fucker.”
He leaned closer, a smile on his lips. The hair on the back of my neck rose. “Do you want to know how I killed him?”
I stayed quiet.
His smile widened, an evil gleam in his eyes. “I hate rapists. So, I chopped off his dick and pinned it to his room before gutting him.”
I swallowed, clenching my hands into fists.
“Do you want to know his last words?” he asked, taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. When I stayed silent, he lit up his cigarette and said, “He said he loved Emma. Tell her I love her.”
The look on my face must have told him everything I know as he blew out smoke and tsked. “He was stalking your sister, and what did you do?” he asked, cocking a brow. “Helped him?”
“I got help to protect her,” I said in a bitter voice and stood up. “I had paid someone else to kill him, but you got to him before he did.”
Dominick chuckled and stood up, taking another drag. He was the same height as me but leaner. How could someone so young be able to kill?
“I don’t need your money, sunshine,” he said, eyeing my Patek Philippe. “I have more than you have.”
Somehow, I didn’t doubt that.
“Then why are you here?”
He hummed. “Would you believe me if I said I killed a guy with my shoelace so I can have a vacation here?”
I blinked at him. Of course, he did.
Unbuttoning my suit, I pulled out my card holder and pressed it on the metal slab. I slid it through the tiny dome of glass to his side and said, “Call me if you need anything.”
He grinned, picking up the card and reading my name, “Damon Grant. Hm.” He pocketed it. “You are now insured by the mafia. If you need help, you know where to find me.”
