CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
They'd worked him over good.

One eye was swollen shut. Fresh cuts marked his cheekbones. His shirt was torn and dark with blood in places I couldn't see the source of. But when his good eye met mine, something passed between us. A silent question and answer.

You okay?

For now.

The guard shoved me into the empty chair beside Hank. Our shoulders touched. Just that small contact steadied my racing heart.

"Finally," Vincent said. He was leaning against a metal table. Relaxed. Like we were having coffee instead of being held prisoner. "The whole family together."

I counted four guards in the room. All armed. The space was larger than my cell but felt smaller with all the bodies in it. A drain in the center of the floor caught my attention. I looked away quickly.

"Nothing to say, Antonio?" Vincent pushed off the table. "Five years and you can't even greet your brother?"

Hank's jaw worked but he stayed silent.

"Still playing the strong, quiet type." Vincent picked up a bottle of water from the table. Took a long drink. "You know what I remember most about growing up with you? How Father always said you were the strong one. The one who could handle the hard choices."

He set the bottle down carefully.

"Turns out he was wrong."

"Maybe he was," Hank said. His voice was rough. "Or maybe strength isn't what he thought it was."

Vincent laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Please. Don't give me philosophy. You ran because you were weak. Simple as that."

"Believe what you want."

"I will." Vincent moved behind us. I felt him there even though I couldn't see him. "But right now, we're not here to discuss your failures as a Torrino. We're here to discuss what happens next."

My wrists hurt from the zip ties. I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure. The plastic cut deeper.

"Here's how this works," Vincent continued. "Tomorrow is the Founder's Day Festival. Lots of tourists. Lots of cameras. Lots of witnesses. Perfect place for Antonio Torrino to make his grand return from the dead."

"I'm not doing anything for you," Hank said.

"Oh, but you are. Because if you don't, I start hurting people you care about. Starting with the detective here."

Ice flooded my veins.

"Then her mother. Then those three girls you tried to rescue. Then that blogger and her little journalist friend." Vincent came back around to face us. "One by one. Very publicly. Very painfully. Until you do exactly what I tell you."

"What do you want?" I asked. My voice came out steadier than I felt.

"Smart question." Vincent smiled at me. "I want Antonio to stand up at the festival. Announce that he's alive. Tell everyone that he's been working with me this whole time. That the trafficking operation was his idea."

"No one will believe that," Hank said.

"They will when you show them proof. Financial records with your signature. Testimony from witnesses I've prepared. Video evidence that's very convincing." Vincent tilted his head. "Technology is wonderful, isn't it? Deep fakes look so real these days."

"Then what?" I asked. "After he destroys his reputation?"

"Then he goes away. Quietly. Takes the fall for everything. And I continue running the business without interference."

Hank made a sound low in his throat. Almost a growl. "You want me to be your scapegoat."

"I want you to clean up the mess you made by coming back. By interfering. By making me look weak in front of the other families."

"This isn't about the families. This is about your ego."

Vincent's hand shot out. Grabbed Hank by the throat. "My ego is the only thing that's kept the Torrino name relevant for five years. While you were playing with fishing nets, I was building an empire. Don't you dare minimize what I've accomplished."

He let go. Hank coughed, gasping for air.

I wanted to help him but I couldn't move with the guard's hand heavy on my shoulder.

"You have twelve hours to decide," Vincent said. "Cooperate, and the people you care about live. Refuse, and I start making examples."

He nodded to the guards. "Take him back to his cell. The detective stays with me."

"No—" Hank started, but they were already dragging him up. He fought against them but there were too many. They pulled him toward the door.

His eyes found mine one last time before they pushed him through.

Then I was alone with Vincent.

He pulled out a phone. Started setting up a camera on a small tripod. Adjusting the angle. Testing the light.

"What are you doing?" My mouth was dry.

"Making sure Antonio understands what's at stake." Vincent looked at me through the camera lens. "Smile for your close-up, Detective. This is going to hurt."