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“You mean kill me?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Freya, could you leave us, sweetheart? Maybe go and see if Minnie will take you to the ice cream parlor instead?”

Freya looks reluctant but goes. She stares at me over her shoulder in the doorway. “Don’t kill her. She’s my friend. We don’t kill our friends, only bad people. That’s what Matteo says.”

Fuck. Killing her was definitely on the list of possible solutions here, though not at the top. I’m not sure quite what to do with Yvonne. If she had less rage, I might consider letting her go. I might be able to charm her into forgetting. But really, what would she go back to? We could maybe set her up with a new identity, a new life, and wipe clean the one she had before. It would be a lot of effort to go to, and I’m not even sure it would work. She seems damn strong willed and clever enough to fake anything it takes to earn her freedom.

“Yes, Yvonne, killing you is an option,” I reply as soon as Freya is gone. “Frankly, you seem like trouble, and I already have a full dance card when it comes to trouble. I’m not letting you leave right now. I can put you back in the dungeons if you want, or you can put your bitching on hold until I have the time to figure something else out. I have to say, though, at this stage killing you would be a lot less hassle.”

She’s not an idiot, and she bites down on her anger. “What if I could make myself useful? Like I said, I’m good at my job. Even down in the dungeons, I found things out. Nobody ever took any notice of me being there. They thought I was mad or broken or that I was too pissed to listen. I heard things …”

Aidan glances at me, raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like maybe where those hostages are. I heard you from outside. My eyesight’s not so great after eight years in the dark, but my ears are fucking fantastic.”

Aidan is on his feet, snarling, fangs out. His civilized exterior fades and he has her pinned to the wall by her throat. She glares at him defiantly. I’m guessing she’s seen worse.

“Kill me and you’ll never find them,” she mutters through the chokehold.

“Enough!” I say firmly. “Aidan, go get a coffee or a blow job or whatever the fuck. Yvonne, you are going to tell me everything you know, and then we’ll see where we are. But if you’re playing us, I will kill you. I’ll just tell Freya you went to live on a farm with some puppies.”

For a second, I wonder if Aidan is too far gone, whether I’ll have to drag him off her. He’s frustrated, and there’s a chance she might end up like the pencil he snapped earlier. But after a few beats, he drops her, slams the door on his way out. He might wear a suit and tie, but he’s still a monster, just like me. Yvonne rubs her throat, a wicked glint in her eye and half a smile on her face. Jesus Christ. Now I see how she was able to survive all these years.

“Sit down,” I order her. She does, and I see that she’s limping. A flash of regret goes through me at what’s been done to her. I didn’t hurt her in person, but I knew what Vincenzo was. I knew what Carlos was. I let it happen, and even though I found it frustrating and pointless, I never tried to stop it. Not until Rosa walked into my life and gave me half a conscience. “Coffee?”

She nods, and I make her one of the fancy pod drinks. I don’t need to eat or drink human substances, but sometimes I like to. My mind conjures up an image of that woman from my dreams, the sweet crunch of apples between my teeth. I drive it away. I don’t have time for that shit.

“Where are they?” I ask, as she sips her espresso, looking blissed-out at the taste.

“Fuuuck …” she mutters. “That’s so damn good. I used to live on caffeine. There’s a second dungeon. Underneath his garden.”

What the fuck? Can that be true? I thought I knew every single inch of this place. I thought I knew all its dirty little secrets. “The garden in the courtyard?”

“Yeah, unless you have another one? I was looking for it today. No dice, but I heard it was well hidden. An old cellar or something. That asshole Carlos had it soundproofed, and there’s a metal grid in there that can be opened and shut. Direct sunlight. I hear it can be painful to your kind.”

Shit, that sounds exactly like something they’d do. In fact, Vincenzo would have gotten off on it, having his own secret torture chamber. In addition to his very public one. He was always obsessed with that fucking garden, always out there at night pruning his damn lemon trees or whatever. Now I know it held more than one attraction for him.

“How do you know?” I ask her, making another coffee straightaway. I can spot an addiction kicking in when I see one.

“Carlos talked about it. He liked to talk. Vincenzo would watch, and then once Carlos had finished whatever sick, twisted shit he wanted to do, Vincenzo would feed from me. While they did all this, they’d casually talk business. I suppose they thought I was in too much distress to listen. Or that I simply wouldn’t ever get out. Maybe they just didn’t even see me as a real person and definitely not as any kind of threat.”

She’s nailed it, I have to admit. It could be all those reasons. Or just as likely, they never even considered her at all. She was a toy, a plaything. They were evil kids burning ants through a glass, never sparing a thought for the ant.

“I know other things too. Get me something to eat and I might tell you.”

I could force her to talk, but that would take time, and I wouldn’t enjoy it. Instead, I slide open my desk drawer. I keep a bag of Reese’s Pieces in there for Rosa, who is way more partial to candy than you’d expect. I throw them to her, and she laughs as she pulls the bag open. I give her a moment, while she makes the kinds of sounds I usually associate with sex. I look away. It feels like a private time between her and the Reese’s.

“Felicia, Vincenzo’s ex, had an affair with the Don of the Romas. That’s why he always hated them. And Carlos kept his mom in a penthouse suit on the Upper East Side, went to fucking church with her every Sunday. And they had something on a witch called Minerva; though I couldn’t ever quite figure out what, some way of making her work for them. Carlos, clown-looking motherfucker, really hated someone called Luca. That’s you, isn’t it?”

I nod, watching as she licks her fingers clean. She’s malnourished, and I take the bag away from her. “Too much and you’ll be sick. Go on.”

For a second, I think she might try and fight me for them, but she nods. “Carlos always thought you were plotting against them.”

Eventually, I was. But it was too late by then. Carlos is gone, and the world is a better place. I’m still reeling from the thought that he had a mother. I always suspected he was created in a lab or sprung fully formed from the bowels of hell.

“Anything else?”

“Probably. I was in there a long time.”