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“Marco Russo. New York City’s Chief of Police. Ratting out Cosa Nostra to the authorities. Backing a RICO case. A fucking coward of a father if you ask me.”
“At least I have a father.” Her smile is razor sharp.
Pride pulses through me again. I should be pissed we’re getting nowhere, but watching her stand her ground is... impressive. If time weren’t against us, I’d happily watch her verbally dismantle my men all day.
“What did you say?” Cardo seethes, white knuckling the dagger.
“Arrogant and deaf? Pick a fucking struggle, kid.”
“I’m not a fucking kid.” His voice cracks, making him sound exactly like the child he’s denying being.
“Okay, sweetie.” She’s going for blood now. “Why don’t you get your big boss and tell him I’m not going to speak to his adopted boy.”
“No!” Cardo shrieks, looking seconds from tears. “You don’t get to demand. I call the fucking shots!”
“Then call it.”
“Where the fuck is Marco Russo?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fucking liar.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs like she’s discussing coffee preferences, not fighting for her life.
“Don’t play with me.”
“Aw. But I like playing with you, kiddo.”
“I’m not a—”
“A kid. Yeah, yeah. You said that already.”
“Shut—”
“On second thought, I’m bored with you now.”
“This isn’t a fucking game—”
“Go get Dominic and I’ll talk. Maybe.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Before I can reach my holster, Cardo lunges, pressing his blade against her throat. The room freezes as he drags the tip across her skin, drawing a thin line of crimson.
Red floods my vision. Not Cardo’s rage—mine.
Alessa’s breath catches, her head tilting back as far as possible, her eyes widening with genuine fear for the first time. Her gaze finds mine across the dim basement, and relief flashes across her face.
She trusts me to stop this.
The realization hits harder than any bullet.
“That’s enough.” My voice cuts through the silence like a blade.
Cardo turns, his arrogance evaporating as he registers my expression. Sweat beads on his forehead, eyes darting like a cornered animal.
“Walk away, Cardo.”