Page 141 of Damián

You are doing this for Damián.

You are doing this for his family and all the other Harknetts.

I keep reminding myself, so I don’t chicken out.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

I hurry over to the couch and lounge back so it looks like I’ve been relaxing there all afternoon. “Come in.”

Silvio opens the door, hovering awkwardly in the frame. “You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door. Sit down.”

He takes the seat opposite me, his knee immediately starting to bounce.

But before he can even open his mouth to ask why he’s here, I draw the Glock from my waistband and level it between his eyes.

Silvio freezes, and the color drains from his face.

“Either I kill you right now, or I go after your family,” I say, with zero emotion. “Pick.”

“Me. Shoot me,” he answers instantly, his entire body trembling.

“Is that the only leverage Rafael has on you?” I ask, keeping the gun steady. “Your family?”

“Yes?”

“No gambling debts? No money? Nothing else?”

“No—no, sir,” he stutters.

“What if I told you I could keep them safe? Safe from Rafael, safe from everyone in this family. Would you betray him?”

His eyes snap up, locking onto mine. “I would do anything you ask.”

I shift my grip on the gun, pressing the cold barrel directly against his forehead. “Would you die right now?”

“Yes.”

I study him for a long moment, searching his eyes, and I can tell he is telling the truth. So, I lower the gun.

With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper, a master list of every person I’ve saved and exactly where they are located now. I press it to his chest, and Silvio takes it.

He unfolds the paper, and his hands shake as he reads, but as his eyes scan the page, his expression shifts from terror to absolute disbelief.

“They are… alive?” he asks.

“Every single one of them. And their families,” I tell him. “I was too late to help Daniel and his family… But I am not too late to help yours.”

Silvio completely breaks, starts crying, and before I can react, he lunges forward. He grabs my right hand, the one holding the gun, and yanks it up, pressing the muzzle right back against his own forehead.

“Please, save them,” he begs. “Shoot me if you have to. But please, save them.”

I gently twist my wrist, breaking his hold, and offer the weapon back to him, handle-first.

“Silvio, the gun is empty.”

He stares at it… takes the gun, drops the magazine, and sees that there are absolutely no bullets inside.