Page 78 of The Voicemail

My cousin looks at me and forces a smile. “This seems like an overreaction.”

I walk toward him without answering. His smile fades before I reach him.

“You gave Bianchi Maya’s address,” I say.

“No, I didn’t.”

I hit him once.

He goes down hard, shoulder striking the floor. One of the men moves to haul him up, but I raise my hand, and he stops. Nico coughs, then spits blood onto the marble.

“You always were emotional,” he mutters.

I crouch in front of him. “Wrong answer.”

“I didn’t give him Maya.”

I grab his hair and slam his face against the floor. This time, he makes a sound.

“Stop lying to me.”

His breathing turns ragged. “I turned over some information. That’s all.”

“That’s all,” I repeat, disgusted.

“I didn’t know he’d take the friend.”

Luca laughs harshly.

Nico’s eyes cut toward him. “Stay out of it.”

Luca takes one step forward. “You broke a hundred security protocols, you little asshole. Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“Enough,” I say, and Luca stops.

Barely.

I look back at Nico. “What did you give him?”

He stares at me a long second, calculating, until I press my gun under his jaw. The calculation stops.

“Addresses,” he says quickly. “Guard rotations. Names attached to Bellamy. A few routes. That’s it.”

My finger rests along the trigger guard. “Where is Bianchi?”

“I don’t know.”

I press the gun harder against his skin.

“I don’t know exactly,” he rushes out. “He uses places he can clear fast. Restaurants. Back rooms. Basements with garage access. Places that look closed but aren’t.”

“Names.”

He gives them. Luca writes them down quickly.

“Vespero?” Luca asks.

Nico flinches.