Page 8 of The Pawn

“It’s paid.”

“What?”

“I got the notification and verified it. The debt’s been paid.”

I force myself to take a breath, to calm down. I clear my throat and start the engine. I tell myself to get my shit together. Jet’s car is already back on the road. I watch his taillights disappear.

“If it’s paid, then you have no claim on her.”

Silence.

“What happened to Michael Moretti is not your concern,” he continues.

“He took her.”

“Cassian. Think. If Malek did this, then he’s got backing with deep pockets. Moore family, maybe? Could be anyone. You said yourself he was willing to make a deal with you. He could have arranged another deal. You go after him for taking back what belonged to him?—”

“She doesn’t belong to him!”

A beat passes. “You know what I mean. She belongs to the family. She’s Alaric Moretti’s only daughter. Put two and two together.”

“I’ve already put it together.” I start the engine.

“He’ll use her to take over the family, the territory, all of it.” There’s a pause before he adds. “He has more right than you and you know it.”

“No.”

“Cassian—"

“She’s mine.” Silence crackles. I can almost see Angelo biting his tongue to keep from telling me what I won’t hear. That she isn’t mine. That she never was mine. “I want her back. I’m going to get her back,” I say more slowly, letting fury fill me. Letting rage banish the terror of thinking that I’m too late. That she’ll be gone too. That he’ll kill her like he did her brother.

He can’t. Not yet. He needs her.

“Are you ready to start a war?” Angelo asks.

“You advise. You do not dictate,” I remind him.

Silence followed by a sigh. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need men. Get them to the house. I want a fucking army. Arrange it.”

3

ALLEGRA

It’s so dark down here. The kind of dark where you can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed. The kind of dark that turns me into a claustrophobic mess. It’s like I’m suffocating in a box. A box under the ground.

Sobs come as I scratch at that door, trying to find some way to open it. I’m mumbling, muttering. There is no way out. I know that. And with every breath I take I smell that old smell of wine bottles broken years ago. I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, if they’re memory or if the smell is real.

Focus. I need to focus. I need to not go mad.

Before Rami left, he switched out that one lightbulb. They’d left the light on before. We’d only been plunged into darkness that first night. Then, the man in charge had said we could have the light.

My mom was missing the first of her fingers by then and even then, she was thanking him. Cradling her hand in a filthy, bloody cloth, she was thanking him.

My breath trembles as I press my back into the metaland let myself sink to the ground. There are shelves in the room. A wine cellar. Are any bottles left? I’d wanted to make a weapon out of one, but my mom, she knew what was coming. She knew it was pointless. I think she was trying to save me. I know she was. She knew what they’d do to her, and she was trying to save me.

Had they killed the Maestro by then? I don’t know. No. Malek said he burned alive. But Malek’s a liar.