His face doesn’t soften. If anything, it hardens further.
“I don’t care if you die here,” he says, his voice flat, unfeeling. “What use are you to me? You’ve been nothing but a burden from the day you were born. Your mother died because of you. Did you think I would forget that? Because of your… deformity, it was mandatory that she gives me a perfect child, even after the doctor said another pregnancy would be risky. And it killed her. You killed her.”
The air feels too thin around me. My throat tightens, my vision blurring at the edges. He has said this before. Many times. But here, in this place, it feels final.
It’s not my fault that my mother died. My unfortunate plight was never my fault, I sign, my hands shaking. You forced her to get pregnant again; her death is your fault, not mine.
His lip curls. “You’re a jinx. You walk into people’s lives and ruin them. Just like you’re about to ruin Giovanni’s. He doesn’t see it yet, but he will.”
The floor feels unsteady beneath me. I want to deny it, scream that he is wrong, but the words lodge somewhere deep, tangled with the old wounds he carved long before this day.
Vittorio steps closer, crouching so we are face to face. His cologne is sharp, expensive, and out of place amid the damp rot of the dungeon. “This can end quickly, Liliana,” he says softly. “Tell me about Giovanni. Tell me about his operations, his current routes. Tell me where he’s vulnerable.”
“We want the same thing we have been after for the past six years,” Vittorio says. “Giovanni’s empire. His routes. His contacts. You can give them to us.”
I shake my head. I know nothing that would help you.
My father, or the man who embodies the character, crouches in front of me. And in this moment, he becomes nothing but Renato to me. “You know enough. Where his shipments go. Who his major suppliers are. His current money laundering routes. You tell us, and you walk out of here.”
My signs are slow now, unhurried. You’re asking me to betray my husband.
“I’m asking you to survive,” he replies.
Vittorio moves closer, his shadow falling over me. “Your husband will not come if he believes you’ve already given me what I want. So, you may as well spill the details.”
I meet his gaze and sign with deliberate movements. He will come.
The faint curl of his mouth says he doesn’t believe me. “Last chance. Names. Routes. Schedules.”
I don’t move. I stare at him, my lips pressed together.
He tilts his head. “Or… it can end slowly.”
When I still do not move, he straightens, glancing to my father. “You see? Stubborn.”
“She gets it from her mother,” Renato says with a shrug. “Break her of it.”
Vittorio's jaw tightens. He nods to a man I hadn’t seen in the corner until now.
The first slap catches me on aware. A sharp, searing pain spreads across my jaw, and I taste blood. My head jerks to the side, andmy cheek burns. I blink, trying to focus, but they don't give me any time.
Renato watches, arms folded.
Another strike, lower this time. My vision swims, but I hold on to one thought—Giovanni’s face.
Vittorio crouches so we are eye-level. “This can stop, Liliana. One word from you.”
I turn my head away and keep my hands still.
The next blow brings white light behind my eyes. My breath comes ragged, each inhale edged with fire. My body trembles, but my resolve stays intact.
Renato leans in, his voice low. “Giovanni will not die for you. Why would you allow yourself be killed for his sake?”
It takes effort, but I raise my hands. The signs are slow, and shaky. He would.
Something flickers in his eyes. It's not guilt, just irritation. He straightens and nods for them to drag me away. The pain becomes a dull throb, merging with the dripping water in the corner. I hold my mind on the image of Giovanni walking through the door, his voice cutting through this place, and soothing me.
They do not stop.
