I press it into his thigh first, not deep enough to end anything, just enough to tear through muscle cleanly and make his body react.
His breath shatters into a scream.
“Talk.”
“I don’t know...”
I pull the blade free and drive it in again, slightly higher this time, watching the way his body jerks against the restraints, the way his head drops forward as the pain cuts through whatever he was holding onto.
“You looked into her,” I say. “You knew who she was.”
“We—” he chokes, his voice breaking. “We looked into her...found her past...”
“Who.”
“Her ex... Paul—”
I don’t stop.
“You used him.”
“We didn’t have to,” he rushes. “He was already watching her, already stalking her, we just...used it.”
The knife presses in again, slower this time, the edge dragging as I lean closer.
“How.”
“We told him to take her,” he gasps. “Said we’d pay him...use her against you...against the Bellandi’s.”
The words settle into place.
“And where is she.”
“I don’t know!”
The blade slides deeper.
He screams again, his entire body straining against the chair.
“I don’t know!” he shouts. “He was supposed to deliver her...warehouse...outside Houston...he didn’t show...he kept her...we don’t know where he went.”
I hold there.
Watch him.
Wait.
Nothing else comes.
“Address,” I say.
He gives it immediately. No hesitation. No resistance left. I step back. Pull the gun and shoot him.
The sound cuts through the space clean and final.
Behind me, Jackson shifts, the movement sharp, the reaction immediate even though he doesn’t say anything at first.
“We go to that warehouse,” he says finally, his voice tight, controlled around something heavier.
