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Vito's eyebrows flare up as our eyes meet. He slowly shakes his head, very aware of Edoardo's orders.

"What's in it for me?" I turn my attention back to Lambert, who doesn't look surprised in the least that I would ask that question.

"You'll get what you want. You'll see Carlos sentenced," he stops, trying to read my expression. With a sigh, he adds, "I'll have him sent to any prison of your choice."

"That's very generous of you." The sarcasm in my voice doesn't deter him, and he glares right back at me.

"You have a funny way of asking for a favor." I tilt my head.

"Trust me, if there were any other way to save my child, I would take it."

"How long has he had her?" I ask, ignoring his little righteous tirade.

"Since… the night before yesterday."

"The night before yesterday? He has had her for two days? It took you two days to swallow your pride and ask me for help?"

Lambert's fist hits the table. It’s made of strong mahogany wood, and I'm sure he does more damage to his hand than the surface, but he doesn't show it. "I didn't know what to do," he finally admits. "I can't go to the police. He'll kill Scarlet."

"I played his game yesterday," he admits, looking again like a broken man. "But last night… the worry for her… and the guilt of what I did… that's when I thought of you." He raises his head but won't meet my eyes. My instincts flare up; there's something he isn't telling me. "Scarlet is all I have left in the world. Her mother died in a car crash."

This story would be heartbreaking to hear for a man with a heart, but mine died when my father was killed. Dad, Gigi, and I were tightly knitted, more so after Mom's death. What little was left of my heart turned to stone after Don Edoardo ordered me not to lay a finger on his killer.

Edoardo is so sure of himself that he will never suspect me behind Carlos's arrest and trial. Neither will he suspect me when Carlos gets killed in jail. Grigori will make sure that it doesn't come back to the Bratva. I don't like giving Grigori Arsenyev, the Russian Peckham, leverage over me, but I already have a plan for that, too. He and I are not exactly friends; too much blood has flown between our families for that, but we are both adult enough to realize that working together is better for our families than being at each other's throats. Especially with the fucking Venezuelans breathing down our necks and invading our territory.

I consider having Lambert eliminated, appointing a new judge to Carlos's case, and washing my hands of his daughter, who Carlos would inevitably dispose of once she outlived her usefulness. But then I’d have to track down another judge as untarnished as Lambert, setting the whole circus in motion again. It would take time, and every second that bastard still draws breath is an insult to me.

Sapphire eyes pop up in my mind’s eye, wide and defiant even in the face of terror. That kind of spirit won't last long as Carlos's prisoner—unless someone strong enough intervenes. I would hate to see her broken. And that realization pisses me off more than I care to admit. With all this teetering the scale in Lambert's favor, I say, "Alright."

"Alright?" Hope sprouts on his face.

"What?" Vito nearly shouts.

"Let's be clear, though. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can ever know that it was me who got your daughter out of there."

"Of course," he nods eagerly, ready to make any promise to save her, even if it means dealing with the devil himself.

"Don Carloswillgo to jail," I add.

"Done." There is not an ounce of reluctance in him.

"As a precaution, your daughter will stay with me until the trial is over. I promise I'll keep her safe. You'll need to move to a safe house, and my men will protect you in and out of the courtroom."

"I understand," he mumbles.

"Send me that video, and we'll figure out where he's holding her."

Lambert rises and extends his hand, but I don’t take it immediately. Instead, I let the silence stretch, making him feel the weight of what he’s asking me to do. Finally, I clasp his hand with a firm grip.

"You’re in my debt now, Judge," I say quietly. "You better not forget that."

Lambert swallows hard but nods. He knows exactly what that means. Before he reaches the door, I stop him, "Out of curiosity, why did you come to me with this? Why not go to Don Edoardo? Or one of the other capos?"

He doesn’t hesitate to reply, "Because you are the only man I know with a reason to free my daughter. You want Carlos to go to prison for what he did to your family."

I watch Lambert leave, his shoulders still sagging with the weight of his decision. I should feel victorious, knowing I have him under my thumb now. But all I can think about is thewoman in that video and the way her blue eyes locked on the camera. The way my blood burned watching her spin in those chains.

It may have been just a second, but that second is burned into my memory—a frozen image I can’t shake.