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Vincent takes a long drag from his cigar, smoke spiralling around his face. He studies me like I’m a chess piece he just sacrificed. “Protected you,” he corrects smoothly while brushing ash from his sleeve. “I gave you a guard dog. You should thank me.”
My hands ball into fists. Blinding white-hot rage burns through me. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Of course you do.” He takes a slow sip of his bourbon. “Your mother. Her treatment. That hospital isn’t cheap. And I can make sure she stays safe. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
The last of my hope fractures. He uses her as currency so casually. Just like he always has. Just like everyone does.
“What do you want?”
His lip curls. “Information. Access. You’re close to him. Inside his world. That gives you value.”
My whole body goes rigid. I’m at the edge of a cliff with no way back.
This is just like my dad. Whatever good he does is wrapped in some kind of twisted agenda, but I’ll not be his pawn today.
“You want me to spy on him.”
He lifts his glass in my direction, as if toasting my intelligence. “Smart girl.”
“No.”
His voice becomes icy. “Think about it. You could help me tear down the Benedettis. Every sleazy deal…every bloody dollar. The world would owe you.”
He lowers his voice. “Help me, and you might just be set up for life after this war. Imagine you and your mother touring Europe as millionaires. She’d love that, wouldn’t she?”
His light but freezing hand settles on mine. I flinch. He’s seen the travel magazine at her hospital.
“You can’t buy me.”
He smiles and slides his thumb over my knuckle. “I don’t need to buy you. I just have to remind you what happens when you cross me.”
He glances at the desk, where there’s a thick, battered manila folder with the name Dante Ricci scrawled on the cover in red pen.
I stop breathing. “What’s that?”
Vincent’s smile sharpens. “Proof.”
He flips it open to reveal photos, emails, news clippings…an entire dossier of my supposed crimes. My name appears everywhere, tangled up in things I never touched, never even knew existed until this moment.
“I cleaned this up for you.” He taps the folder. “You don’t want Enzo to see it, do you? The trail that reveals you tipped off the Feds about Dante’s shipment? The one that got him caught and landed him in jail, where he died.”
“That’s not what happened.” I shove to my feet and back away. “That’s—”
He cuts me off by grasping my hands. “Truth bends. The Benedettis believe what I tell them. And Enzo? He’ll draw blood first.”
I glare. “You’re a monster.”
He sneers. “I made you. You think you can threaten me?”
“No.” My voice shakes, but I hold firm. “But I can stop you.”
He laughs. “You sound just like me.”
That observation hurts more than anything else.
I yank my hand from his grip. “I’d rather die than be you.”
Vincent looks almost proud. “You already are.”
