I laugh.
"See, that's the kind of answer that makes me want to get creative." I snap the pliers and move towards him. "I was hoping we could keep this civilized."
"Wait! Jesus Christ, wait."
I stop. "I'm listening."
"It was a job," he gasps. "Twenty grand each. Half up front."
I lean in close enough to smell his blood. "Who paid you?"
The million-dollar question. His eyes slide away from mine.
"Look at me," I growl. When he doesn't, I grab his chin, force his head up. "Who. Paid. You?"
"He'll kill me."
"And what do you think I'm going to do? Send you to Disney World?" I release his chin with a shove. "I'm not a patient man, and you're testing what little I have left."
He stays silent and I nod to Alexei again, who cracks his knuckles with a sound like breaking twigs.
"Your brother," he gasps. "Declan Moretti paid us."
The words hit like a sledgehammer to the chest. For a moment, I can't breathe, can't think, can't process what I've just heard.
My brother. My blood. The man I've protected, provided for, trusted with my life and my family's safety.
Suspicion is one thing—it whispers in dark corners, plants seeds of doubt. But confirmation? Confirmation is a knife between the ribs, twisted slow and deep.
From this point on, thanks to my darling brother, I'll need eyes at the back of my fucking head.
I pace a slow circle around his chair, letting him stew in his own terror. "How did my brother contact you?"
"Through a guy I know. Carlo something. Works at that club downtown."
Carlo Visentin. One of Declan's boys from way back. This story checks out.
"What else did my brother want?"
"Just… he said if we happened to run into the girl, we should grab her. Said she was leverage you wouldn't expect."
My blood boils so hot I almost miss what he says next.
"Said your daughter would be left alone, though. That was the one rule."
Small fucking mercies. My own brother puts a hit on my house but draws the line at hurting his niece. I should be touched.
I turn to Alexei. "Get some air."
"Boss—"
"Five minutes. That's all."
Alexei hesitates, then leaves.
I wait until his footsteps fade, then turn back to our guest.
"Here's what happens now." I take a seat opposite him, resting my elbows on my knees. All casual, like we're having beers instead of a confession under duress. "I'm going to make you an offer."