Elena
“They’re all we have right now,” Riccardo says with a smirk that looks almost smug and gestures at the Mexicans. “Do you want to give it a try?”
Is this an invitation?
I raise an eyebrow, and my gaze lingers on him before I nod and turn away. Well, I’m not gonna refuse. If even the almighty Don of the Messina Clan can’t force a few rats to speak, I have to dig my own hands into their blood.
I step forward, studying the Mexicans to find the weakest spot. It’s almost scary how indifferent I am to the demonstration of misery and suffering in front of me-but even eight years away from my family couldn’t take away everything they planted in me when I was a child.
Others are only a tool in getting what you want. You should use them, stomp on them, and build your way up on the bodies of those who aren’t yours to care about. Only those who share your blood get to receive mercy.
And right now, I don’t care a goddamn bit about Mexicans, Italians, Americans, or whoever the hell stands in my way to Max. I was stupid and reckless enough to let those bastards steal my son, but I’m not gonna let them get away with it. The more blood spills under my hands, the sooner I’ll get to see Max, so I step up to the hostages without an ounce of sympathy.
“I see you aren’t scared of death.” I pointedly nod at their companion whose lifeless body is already being dragged away by Marco.
While the interpreter translates my words, I look at the Mexicans one after the other, making sure to meet each of their gazes. They’re wide and petrified, full of unspoken pleas, and I can see the urge to deliver their thoughts in each of their gazes. They must think that I’m a young one, I’m a woman, so I’ll be merciful to them-and well, maybe I will. I don’t like Riccardo’s way of beating the truth out of them. It clearly doesn’t work. “What is it that can make you speak, then?”
I walk to the one who looks the weakest and crouch in front of him, unafraid of his attack. One of his hands is chained to the wall, the other is slumped on the ground and swollen, and when I put my knee on it, it earns a cry out of him.
The Mexican immediately starts murmuring something in an unrecognizable mixture of Spanish and English, and I understand what he’s saying even before the interpreter repeats after him. “Signora, it is a misunderstanding. I’m not a criminal, I’m not the one you need. I don’t know anything, I promise.”
I hum, eyeing him with cold curiosity. “What’s your name?”
“Diego.”
“Do you want to live, Diego?”
He nods as soon as the interpreter translates it and fidgets to sit up straight despite the pain of the movement. Hope truly is the most powerful force out there, and I smile a little in an attempt to reassure him. He’s younger than others. More scared, too. Perhaps he’ll be able to get out of here indeed.
“Are you ready to help me?”
Diego hesitates for a second and glances around. “I don’t know where your son is, I’m sorry.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. Are you ready to help me?”
In the quiet of the room, the interpreter translates my words, and Diego slowly nods again, earning my satisfied smile. I can feel Riccardo’s intense gaze on my back. I’m sure he doubts I’ll be able to do it, and I’m not confident in my skills either. It’s been years since I took part in an interrogation, but I can still hear Olga’s voice instructing me.
Find a weak spot. “Good, Diego, very good.” Become the last hope.
“If you are able to help me, I will make sure to keep you alive.”
Make them beg for it.
“Yes, Signora,” Diego mumbles with a heavy Spanish accent, writhing to get himself closer to me.
Use them till the last breath.
I pat his shoulder with an encouraging smile and lean in to his ear. “You understand me, don’t you?”
“Little.”
“Good. I’ll keep it simple. Do you know them?” I whisper and pull back just enough to point at the remaining four Mexicans with my eyes.
Diego follows my gaze, visibly swallows, and nods. A drop of blood runs down the side of his head from a scratch on his temple, and I wipe it away with an almost careful gesture.
“Are they family?”
He shakes his head. Perfect.
I turn around and beckon the interpreter closer. I don’t want the rest of the room to hear our conversation, but I don’t want to miss any details either. The interpreter hesitates, glances at Riccardo, and only after a nod of approval from him does she walk over. Of course, only the Don can give orders here.
“Now, Diego. It is your last chance to survive, so you better be obedient, alright?” I look into his eyes, and as soon as the interpreter finishes the question, he nods. Well, here we go. “So you either tell me where my son is or you give me everything I want about these friends of yours.”
Diego’s eyes widen, and he glances at them with a look of hesitation and refusal in his eyes. He doesn’t want to betray them, and that’s natural. So I pat his knee almost gently and, as soon as our eyes meet, raise my eyebrows in a silent reminder. It’s his last chance.
“Don Riccardo is not gonna wait for you to make up your mind,” I murmur so that no one but the interpreter can hear us. “Are you ready to talk to him again?”
Diego is weak, it’s clear in the grimace of terror and the shudders going through his body. It doesn’t take long for him to make the right choice, so I ask him for all the details I need. The others’ names, families, children, places of living; Diego doesn’t know everything but he is diligent enough to provide me with a good foundation.
I can take care of everything else on my own.
As soon as I turn away from him, I see a look of interest on Riccardo’s face. He looks into my eyes with a silent question, but I don’t have time to explain myself to him. I’ve wasted enough time here, I don’t want to let Max stay in the clutches of enemies for even a second longer.
“Ramon, how is your daughter doing?”
I turn to one of the Mexicans curled on the floor, looking into his eyes with fake curiosity. The man immediately moves up and further away from me, frowning deeply. He glances at Diego with fury and hurt in his eyes, but I clear my throat, walking closer.
“Would you like me to bring her and chain her to your dead body?
Or are you gonna speak now and save my child and yours?”
His eyes widen, so I leave Ramon to give it a thought and turn to another one of the Mexicans. “Carlos, your grandfather is in the hospital, isn’t he? I’m so sorry to hear about his condition.”
“You aren’t,” the guy spits out in broken English, trembling-this time, from anger, not from pain. I don’t mind it.
“At least I’m trying to be polite. I don’t want him to go through another heart attack when I bring your body to his bed.”
And so, I go through each of them one by one, asking, offering, and threatening them in order to get what I want. Riccardo could’ve easily killed all six of them, but that would’ve left us with nothing. You can’t scare a Mafia member with pain and death-family is our weakest spot, and I’m ruthless in using it for my own.
But they keep their lips shut for long enough to piss me off, so a few minutes later I breathe out a huff and straighten up. “Well, then, it’s time to go from words to actions. Signor Riccardo, when would you be able to bring Gabriella Cano here?”
I turn to my husband, catching a weirdly fond look in his eyes, when
Edgar raises his voice in panic. “No, stop! Don’t touch, I-I will tell.”