So I do the only thing I can think of. I offer him a trade.
I’ve been inside the Santoro systems. I know what they’ve been searching for. The encrypted communications about the Benedetti family. The bounty Dante Santoro put out for information on their whereabouts. The desperation underneath the cold efficiency of their search patterns.
Lorenzo Santoro wants the Benedettis. And I have them.
“Kill me if you want.” My voice doesn’t waver. I’m proud of that. “But I know where the Benedettis are hiding.”
The gun lowers a fraction of an inch. Just enough to let me know I have his attention.
“I’ve been mapping their operation since my sister disappeared. Every safehouse, every route, every vulnerability.”I meet his gaze, those flat eyes that see right through me. “Your family’s been hunting them for months. I can end that hunt tonight.”
Silence. The kind that stretches and thickens the air until I can taste it. He’s calculating. It’s in the set of his mouth.
“Why?” he asks.
“Why what?”
“The Benedettis. Why do you care?”
My throat tightens. Sofia. Braces and that ugly shirt. I swallow twice before I can speak.
“They have someone who belongs to me.”
He watches me for a long moment. His head tilts. The muscles in his neck shift. He swallows once. His thumb eases off the grip, and something behind his eyes changes that has nothing to do with the deal I just offered.
Then he lowers the gun.
“You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“Move.” He steps back, making space.
My legs are shaking. I don’t realize how hard I’ve been leaning against the desk until I attempt to push off from it and my knees buckle. A shiver tracks down my spine, cold and electric.
He tucks the weapon into his waistband, and the casual efficiency of the motion sends my pulse kicking harder than the gun itself did. His hands are scarred. Capable.
“To the Santoro compound?” I shake my head, gripping the desk edge to steady myself. “Where I’ll be surrounded by people who want me dead? Hard pass.”
“You’ll be alive.”
“Will I? For how long?” I cross my arms, trying to look defiant instead of terrified. “You’re supposed to kill me. That’s what you do. I’ve read every file I could find on you, Santoro.”
His nostrils flare. That stare goes even emptier.
“We’re leaving. Now.” His voice drops into a register that makes my legs move without permission.
I turn around. My screens are still glowing, cursor still blinking where I left it.
“My equipment,” I say. “My research. I can’t just abandon?—”
“Leave it.”
“I can’t just?—”
“I said leave it.” He’s already moving, expecting me to follow. “You can recreate files. You can’t recreate yourself.”
He’s not wrong. But he also doesn’t understand.
