Page 61

Atlas had given the order.

Raze had found the warehouse and wanted to set the whole dock on fire.

Tone had stitched the surviving girl’s wrists while saying nothing, which was worse than if she had screamed.

I had asked for Vittorio because I needed his ending to come from my hand. Whatever passed for closure between us was not forgiveness, but the final absolution of a wretched life. No one argued.

The man sat with blood drying beneath his nose and one eye swollen nearly shut.

He lifted his head when I stepped closer.

“You know why you’re here,” I said.

He swallowed. His throat worked above the open collar of his expensive shirt. He had sweated through the fabric beneath his arms and across his chest. Fear had ruined the smell of his cologne. “I can explain.”

“Most men think they can.”

His eyes flicked toward the door, then back to me. “This is a misunderstanding.”

“It’s no misunderstanding.”

The words settled over him. He shifted against the ropes.

“I didn’t know they were moving through your port.”

I looked at him for a moment, then pulled a second chair across the concrete and set it in front of him. The scrape of metal echoed through the warehouse.

He flinched.

I sat.

I never stood over them at first. Standing made men perform. Sitting invited them to believe they still had a chance.

“That’s not the point,” I told him. “The point is that you were moving the girls at all, regardless of where or how.”

His jaw trembled once before he clenched it. “You know how these things work. It’s just business.”

“I get it.” I didn’t, really. What a fucking disgusting way to make a living, moving innocent, defenceless girls across borders.

He had expected anger. He looked like the type who understood anger. He could plead with it, redirect it, blame someone else. Anger gave him something to work with. Calm left him nowhere to go.

“I have money,” he choked out.

“Do you?”

“I have alot.”

“I know exactly how much you have.”

“Then name the amount.”

I leaned back. “For what?”

“For this to go away.”

“Vittorio, if this were about money, you wouldn’t be sitting in a chair.”

His eyes shone under the lights, wet with the tears he fought back.