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“Did you learn about trackers from your girlfriend?” I ask, remembering the assassin he picked up from the nightclub and ‘interrogated.’
He waggles his brows. “You’ll never guess where she kept hers.”
Sometimes, I wonder if Cesare needs a therapist. Maybe losing Dad, then me and then our mother in such quick succession fucked with his sanity. Maybe he needs to lash out before anyone comes for us again. Or maybe he was broken all along. It’s hard to tell, but his loyalty to the family is absolute.
There’s nobody on this earth I trust more to watch my back. I wish I’d paid more attention to him when he was little because there are times I don’t understand what’s going on in his mind.
“Alright then.” I tilt my head, feeling the satisfying crack of my neck joints, followed by a wave of relief. The tension in my shoulders lifts, and I focus on the assassin.
He stares up at me like I’m the voice of reason, even though I’m the one he shot. I meet his pale blue eyes and say, “We both know you’re not leaving here alive, so I’m giving you two choices. I can put a bullet through your skull and put you out of your misery, or my brother can continue slicing you up and cauterizing your wounds.”
His pained groan tells me which option he prefers, but I continue. “Help me identify who you were working with, and I will end you.”
The man squeezes his eyes shut.
“Is that a no?” I ask.
Cesare jabs him with the blade. “My brother asked you a question. Are you going to ID your accomplices?”
He opens his eyes and blinks once.
“That’s a yes,” Cesare says.
“Raise him,” I say to my brother. “I want him sitting upright for a digital identity parade.”
Cesare moves to the table’s center and cranks up a lever that moves the back rest up to form an L-shape. The assassin’s pained moans echo across the walls, filling my senses with the sweet cries of his agony.
This is nothing personal. He’s only doing his job, but the Moirai Group is New Alderney’s largest and most ruthless firm of contract killers. Cousin Leroi once mentioned that it takes a lot to crack their employees. Apparently, the cost of betraying their overlords is worse than death.
I open my computer tablet and the photos app. Last night, my men searched the cars and removed any plus ones who weren’t legit. Anyone whose ID matched government records was allowed to leave. The rest were brought back to the house for further verification.
We were left with a series of high-class escorts and people who didn’t seem to exist.
“Look carefully,” I say to the assassin. “Every time you see one of your colleagues, I want you to blink. Is that understood?”
He bobs his head, making sure to close his eyes and open them once.
Scrolling through the photos is time consuming, and I note each person he identifies as an accomplice. I made sure to include a few red herrings in the selection to test his truthfulness.
At the end, we run through the pictures again, and I ask, “Have we missed anyone?”
He blinks twice for no.
My lips pinch, and I hand the tablet to Cesare, who scoffs. None of the people he pointed out includes Rosalind, who we know for a fact works for the Moirai Group.
“You’re lying,” I say, my voice flat.
His eyes widen, and he recoils.
“Take off his boxers,” I snap.
The assassin struggles in his restraints, making choked noises I can only interpret as begging.
Cesare slices through the fabric with his scalpel, making sure to nick the man’s flesh. Blood pools in his upper thighs but soon coagulates and turns black.
The man turns to me, his eyes streaming with tears, his unmarked face contorted with pain.
I lean in close and bare my teeth. “You had your chance to cooperate, but some of the people you chose are trusted associates. Now, it’s time for you to spend the next weeks of your existence as my brother’s toy.”
