“My son was ambitious.”
“Your son sold desperate people to monsters.”
“Your family smuggled desperate people across borders and called yourselves saviors. Let us not pretend morality is what separates us.”
Skip gears up to say something, but I hold my hand.
Victor chuckles again, as if he knows he has the room’s attention.
“I wondered when you would figure it out. Nearly a year, Maverick. Nearly a year of my trucks moving through your territory. Nearly a year of your name sitting on paperwork while my people rebuilt what your brother destroyed.”
“My people will correct that mistake.”
“I’m sure they’ll try.”
“You killed Elio.”
“Elio asked too many questions.”
Victor continues as though he’s discussing the weather.
“He was loyal. I’ll give him that. Terribly inconvenient, loyal men. They die with so many unanswered questions.”
Stefano begins to rise.
I catch his wrist without looking away from the phone.
“Why call?” I ask.
“Because this was never only about trucks.”
“No?”
“No. The trucks were useful. Profitable. Amusing, even. But they were never the point.”
“And what is the point?”
“You.”
The word settles into the room like poison.
Victor’s voice lowers.
“You took my son from me.”
“Your son earned what he received.”
“He was my child.”
“He was a monster.”
“He was mine.”
The words scrape something raw inside me.
Mine.
I think of Adriana.
