Page 88 of Hunter

“Wait for us in my office. You will be comfortable there.” She nods, and we make our way up the basement to my office, the lingering tensions of our kiss and the desire for more looming over us.

“Before you leave me in your office can we go to my car real quick?”

“For what?”

“I found a box that belonged to my dad the day I went through his stuff that I haven’t gotten around to looking through.” She shrugs with an amused look on her face. “No better time like the present, when your boyfriend is busy torturing someone, to go through documents of your dead parent.”

I snort a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. Sophia has such a strange way of seeing things sometimes. “Of course, krasavista. Let’s go to the car.”

“Let’s get this party started,” I say as I step back into the room, my phone in hand. The call is connected and on mute, as promised.

Sophia is safe in my office, and her father’s box keeps her busy. It’s better this way—her light doesn’t belong in a place as dark as this.

“It’s about time.” Luca wipes blood from his knuckles with a sheet of paper. “I was starting to think you’d miss all the fun.”

My brows shoot up as I take in Danny’s condition. He’s tied to a chair, arms bound tight to the rests, legs strapped down, his busted lip dripping blood. His nose is crooked, likely broken, and his right eye is swollen shut.

“Looks like you got a head start,” I say, gesturing to the mess Luca’s made.

Danny smirks weakly, blood staining his teeth. “What’s this supposed to be? Good cop, bad cop?”

I crouch to his level, letting my Glock dangle loosely in my hand. “Good cop?” I chuckle dryly. “There’s no good cop here, Danny.”

His eyes drop to the gun, then back to mine. “You should save us all the trouble and just shoot me. I’m not telling you shit.”

The corner of my mouth lifts. God, I love it when they say that. The challenge makes this part so much sweeter.

“He’s been a bore,” Luca says, tossing the bloodied paper onto the table. “All the bravado he had earlier? Gone. Just the usual nonsense. ‘I know things, blah, blah, blah.’” His tone drips with mockery.

I glance back at Luca and smirk. “Let’s help him find that bravado again.”

I head to the table, my fingers grazing the array of tools laid out before me. This was one lesson my father drilled into me that I actually embraced. He used to say, “An interrogation is like a show—the louder, the flashier, the better.” Even if they try to hide it, they all break when you draw out the anticipation.

I make a show of skimming the tools, running my fingers along the blades and implements. Some of these bastards start talking before I even make a selection. But not Danny. He’s going to make me work for it.

My eye catches on a flat object—a mandolin slicer. Its clean, sharp blade glints under the light. Perfect. I hold it up, letting Luca get a good look.

“How about we start with this?” I say, my voice calm, almost casual.

Danny’s smirk falters, just barely, but I catch it. Good. Time to peel back the layers.

You’d think after two hours of punches, slicing, and stabbing—taking turns between Luca and me—Danny would’ve cracked, but he hasn’t. No matter what we do, he won’t talk.

I have to admit, I’m impressed. His willpower is unlike anything I’ve seen. Military training, no doubt. They must have taught him how to endure even the worst situations.

I’m about to press him with another question when my phone rings. My stomach twists. A call shouldn’t be coming through—I made sure no one would disturb us.

I grab the knife, placing it back on the table, and move to where I left the phone. The screen lights up with Jeff’s name. My heart skips a beat.

Something’s wrong.

“What is it?” I snap, keeping my voice steady even though dread claws at my chest.

“Sir, Ms. Sophia has left your office and is walking toward her car.”

My body stiffens. What the fuck is she doing?

Does she not comprehend the danger we’re in right now? Is she putting herself at risk because she’s overwhelmed? Is she trying to leave me?

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