Page 60 of The Silent Princess

“I’m guessing you didn’t go easy on him,” I say, but Matt chuckles roughly.

“Pummeled the guy’s face with her fists, you mean? If I hadn’t stopped her, he would have looked like porridge by morning.” She rolls her eyes, and I appreciate their banter, knowing that we never need humor more than in dark times.

“What did you do with the others?”

Matt speaks. “Tied up and dropped off to the cops like Christmas presents.” Six men of the Vodianov clan that we will not have to deal with anymore. Great.

“Get some rest. I’ll make him talk.” I will not be using violence. Instead, I will find other ways to be much more persuasive. As in finding what motivates him, what he cares about, and pressing exactly where it hurts to gather more intel on Cole. That is where Father was wrong. You do not always need blood to make people talk. Press the right button, and they open like books.

“Get some sleep. I’ll get back to you in the morning, and we’ll see where to go depending on what the guy says.” I still have a few men waiting in the hallway. They’ll cuff and drive the Vodianov to the nearest police station when I am done with him.

“Copy that,” says Matt as they both give me clipped nods before heading out of the room. I crack my neck, exiting and walking toward room B34, one of our interrogation rooms. I knock three times, and the metallic door opens onto a rather small concrete room with one neon light above a hooded man chained to a chair, dressed in a full black shirt and trousers. His face is covered with a burlap sack, and he moves like a bird in the dark, unable to see where the predators are, fear exploding through his imagination into the worst possible scenarios.

“I’ll take it from here.” I nod at Paxos, who grunts back, in his usual habit of using the least amount of words. Matt found him two years ago, and since then, he’s been a loyal and reliable security asset. Dragging a chair from the corner of the room, a cheap brown plastic thing, confirming the illusion that we are nowhere near the Ashford Building, I set it before him. The walls are soundproof, hiding any cars or honks one could hear, even in the dark hours of Westhaven. Sitting backward on it, I sigh. It has been a long day, and I am still not done. Sleep has been rare these last few days, but I cannot let my guard down. I need to strike while the iron is still hot. Paxos left a sheet with the guy’s name and the few pieces of information he managed to get out of him.

Ivan Parlov.

Runs warehouse number 4.

I keep his hood on, letting fear sink its claws into his imagination.

“You know, Ivan, there are days when you are so tired no amount of sleep could cure it.” I sigh, drifting away. “I think this is one of those,” I mutter, dropping my voice lower, giving him a false sense of security, of vulnerability.

My head hurts like a damn alarm, and I wish my girl were with me to make it go away.

“Where are the other buildings holding hostages, and how can we access them without anyone knowing?”

“I ain’t telling you shit.” He spits blood, jutting out of his gums. “Cole got you all bothered, huh? You’re in for a treat.”

“I’d rather inform you,” I say, checking his name on the sheet. “Ivan, right? My lack of patience is quite notorious.”

“Fuck you, Ashford. You’re trying to force a fortress, and guess what? We’re waiting. Waiting to slaughter you real slow.” He jerks his chin through the hood at his left arm, where an inked black snake runs down his forearm. “He’ll kill what you love, Ashford. You hear me? What you love. So if you have a pretty little thing, I’d recommend keeping it hidden because one day or another…we’ll get rid of her real quick, and it won’t be clean, Ashford.” I freeze.

Breathe.

You are not your father.

You do not let violence descend on you.

You are different.

Better.

You…

You…

My hand finds a screwdriver on the desk near me.

I am not violent.

I raise it above his head.

I am not violent.

If he is talking about Ella, then I will not be able to stop it.

I am not violent.