e's

ather, Marco Valerio, walking into the St. Vincent warehouse at eleven forty-three p.m. on a Tuesday. Eight minutes later, h

the coroner said

lsh

wo fingers against my temple where a headac

back every second of every day. The underbosses circle like sharks since the death of my father, they see an opportunity to rise and t

rove all of

Only two people in this buildi

mp from the rain outside. He shakes water off his leather jacket and grins like he

," I say with

s boots on the armrest. "Luca and Matteo are on their way. They found Federico Moretti at some dive ba

e. "How much

lion. Give

or tak

ss the city." Santino pulls out his phone and scrolls. "He offered the u

tive

red his

antino's face. He is still scrolling, unconcer

aughter,

two jobs. Quiet. Keeps her head down." He

ady ha

te. No college. Two jobs, both minimum wage. No criminal record. No social media presence. No friends that we can

ame came up on a list of people my father met with days before he died. The Morettis

u want me to tell Matteo t

N

g payments for six months. If we let him walk, every lowlife in the

t say let

ble above his collar. He moves like a tank. Behind him, Matteo Greco steps inside, smooth and

nd since my father died. These are

. He offered his daughter in exchange for clearing the debt. Not as payment. As collater

"That is disgust

ays no

hree floors below, people move through their lives unaware that men

er here,

sitates.

es

straight. "You are not se

s daughter works two jobs to pay for a stepmother who treats her like garbage. She has no debt of

no

am alone again with the surveillance footage and the

camera with big brown eyes that tilt downward at the corners. Her expression is neutral, but there is someth

her to a monster. That

not

bly cry. And she will have no idea that I have been watching her for weeks, waiting for t

and watch the foota

alking. Then h

is laughing about it. Someone

are w

And I will do it slowly enough that th

I need Isab

ow, I will