"Yes," Luca snapped, stepping closer. "That was the task, wasn't it?" He raised the gun slightly, not pointing it yet, just enough to remind them of its existence. "So tell me, at what point did I say you could hurt the sister?"
"Boss—" one of them began.
"Stop," Luca cut in, holding up a hand. "Do not insult me by pretending you don't understand the question."
Marco stood off to the side, watching Luca carefully.
He stepped back, gesturing toward the exit with the gun. "Walk out of here if you had nothing to do with it."
"If everyone walks out," Luca added softly, "everyone dies."
The men did not need to be told twice.
Their eyes slid in unison, toward the one at the far end of the line. He was trembling now, knees knocking faintly, a thin sheen of sweat turning his face slick and pale. If fear had a smell, it would have been sharp and acidic, and the room was saturated with it.
Luca watched the shift.
