Bastardi nodded slowly. "The virgin," he said flatly. "Where is she?"
He licked his lips, eyes darting toward the door, toward the street where his dog's barking had faded into nothing. "I don't know," he said hoarsely. "I swear."
"Think carefully. Because if you lie to me, Vito, this ends badly for everyone you love."
"She's with Luciano Genovese. Both of them are," Vito said at last. His shoulders slumped. Years ago, he had been broader, louder, a man who still believed he had a say in how his life unfolded. Now he looked small on the couch, sweat beading along his hairline, hands clenched together.
Bastardi's smile vanished.
"No," he said. "Luciano traded the virgin with me. Except she escaped. And now my client wants his money back. I don't do returns." He tilted his head. "The girl?"
One of Bastardi's men raised his gun smoothly, the metal pressing against Vito's temple. Vito let out a broken sound that might have been a sob.
