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The Viper seemed taken aback by my words, his brows drawing together in confusion. "Petty?" he repeated, as if the concept was an alien one to him. "No, Teo. This is not petty. This was about claiming what's mine."
I sighed, my head throbbing. “Okay. You won. Fine. How do I get Sofia back? How do I get Victor back?”
“Won?” his brow furrowed. “I think you’re misunderstanding me. We’re only just getting started now.”
Chapter Thirteen: Sofia
Ihad no idea where this man was taking me. After a short ride in a car with tinted windows, where he shoved me into the backseat, he dragged me out when we were in a covered garage that provided me with absolutely no information about where we were. From the sticky heat, I could tell we were probably still in Miami, though, so that was something.
His grip on my arm was firm, his movements swift and purposeful. He led me down toward a closed metal door with the number 1 painted on it in bold, white letters. He led me inside, into a sterile white corridor, the only sound the echoing clack of our footsteps against the cold, concrete floor.
"Where are we going?" I managed to croak out, my throat dry with fear.
"You'll see," was his only response. His voice was low and gravelly, like stones grinding together.
A door appeared before us, nondescript and foreboding. He fumbled with a set of keys before finding the right one and turning it in the lock. The door creaked open to reveal a dimly lit room. He nudged me through the doorway before following suit and shutting the door behind him.
The room was sparsely furnished – a couple of chairs, a small table, an overflowing ashtray. It reeked of stale smoke and something else… something metallic… blood? This didn’t look like a dungeon, though. It looked like an apartment.
"Why am I here?" I asked, my eyes darting swiftly around the room. It felt wrong, somehow. Disrupted. Like bad things had happened here before. But it was also oddly luxurious, the walls lined with exotic paintings and the floor covered in plush Persian carpets. An ornate, dark-wood bookshelf with dozens of faded hardcovers filled one wall. A spacious bathroom was visible through an open door, pristine white tiles and gleaming chrome fixtures in stark contrast to the intimidating aura of the room.
There was a large window with velvet curtains drawn together, not allowing any peek outside. An ornate, dark-wood bookshelf with dozens of faded hardcovers filled one wall. A spacious bathroom was visible through an open door, pristine white tiles and gleaming chrome fixtures in stark contrast to the intimidating aura of the room.
"Make yourself comfortable," Stephen said, a wolfish grin curling on his lips. "You'll be here for a while."
My stomach twisted at his words. "How long is 'a while'? Where's Victor? What do you want with us?" I demanded, my voice rising in desperation.
He sighed. “Let me offer you a drink,” he said. “But let me assure you, Sofia, if I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already.”
That didn't comfort me, not in the slightest. Stephen moved to a small cabinet on one side of the room, pulling out a glass bottle filled with some amber liquid and two tumblers. He poured generously into both before offering me one. I stared at it like it was poison; every instinct screamed at me not to take it.
“Go on,” he encouraged, holding his own glass and taking a sip. “You probably need a drink after everything that’s happened.”
“No, thank you,” I said slowly, pushing the drink away. It clinked against the tabletop, the sound echoing in my ears.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Victor,” I pressed again, staring into his dark eyes. There was a hint of amusement in them that made me want to claw at his face. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I assume he managed to fight his way out with the rest of the Blades,” he said, then took a sip of his amber drink. “I wouldn’t have left them if I thought anything was going to happen to them.”
I glared at him, standing with my arms crossed over my chest. “What does that mean? You’re my dad’s capo, right? Don’t you want something to happen to Victor?”
“That’s what your father thinks,” Stephen said. “But he has been out of the loop for a little while now. Of course, I couldn’t exactly tell you everything when we were under his surveillance, but now I can fill you in a little more.”
I waited for him.
“I don’t work for your father. I work for someone else.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Despite the fear knotting itself at the pit of my stomach, curiosity won over. "Who?" I managed to ask, earning myself a smug smile from Stephen.
"The FBI," he said simply, as if discussing a weather forecast.
I blinked at him, stunned into silence. "What?"
Stephen shrugged, draining his drink and setting the glass on the table with a soft clink. "My actual job is to keep tabs on your father’s operations and report back to them."
"So you're...a mole?" I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It felt like some sort of twisted joke, the punchline yet to come.
