3. ANTONIO #2
In the video, Nestor Peak, Carlos's second-in-command, comes into focus. He holds up a piece of paper with a tag. After a second, he leans forward, and when he steps back, I notice a young woman sitting tied to a metal chair. The note now pinned to her chest reads, You know what to do .
A tiny whimper escapes her. Long, brown hair hangs messily over her features, hiding her face from the camera.
I clench my jaw. I know it's not unheard of to kidnap family members and torture them, but I've always tried to abstain from involving family; there are other ways to get the job done, in my opinion.
One wrong decision on an objection call, and she pays the price.
For each piece of evidence allowed, she will lose a finger or an ear, clear?
Nestor says into the camera, hoist her up .
It's not until the chains she's bound to lift her off the floor that I realize how drop-dead gorgeous the woman is.
The dark brown hair falls away from her face, and she shakes her head so her gaze can follow Nestor as he retrieves a knife.
Large sapphire eyes turn toward the camera for a split second, and my heart rate picks up.
I pause the video so I can study her angelic face.
Even in her fear, she's beautiful beyond measure.
Her face has the classic lines of an old-era Hollywood actress; Ava Gardner comes to mind.
Perfect full lips, a long, elegant neck…
Something inside me tightens. She is off-limits to me, just another casualty in this war. Yet… I don’t like knowing Carlos’s hands are anywhere near her. Just the thought of him touching her raises my blood pressure.
Neither do I like where my thoughts are going, and I push play to listen to Nestor's laughter as he makes her spin on the chain that keeps her in the air.
Across from me, Lambert puts his hands over his face. Undoubtedly, he has watched the video a few times. Even for me, it's hard to watch the video as Nestor rips the back of her shirt to expose her milky, elegant shoulder blades. Slowly and with a glint in his eyes, he slices a long line down it.
I turn the phone off and hand it back to Lambert. "Why did you come to me with this? I'm not the one holding her."
Lambert's hands slide from his face, and the steely look is back in his eyes, similar to the woman's in the video. "No, but I do know that Carlos killed your father."
I stiffen. If the old coot is trying to blackmail me…
"I know that you have a very vested interest in seeing Carlos go to jail." His eyes meet mine. He knows.
He knows that Edoardo has forbidden me to lay a hand on the bastard who killed my father.
What he doesn't know, what nobody besides Grigori and Vito knows, is that I've made a deal with the Bratva to have Carlos killed as soon as he steps foot into jail.
In a world as black and white as Lambert's, going to jail is a just punishment.
"Then you also know that I can't touch him." I steeple my fingers as I lean forward on the chair.
Lambert nods. "I don't know why you haven't killed him yet, but if I had to guess, I'd say you have your orders." His gaze would have been challenging had it not been shrouded by worry.
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Get my daughter out of there," Lambert demands, and then a bit lower, "save my only child."
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 Carlos will go 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 the woman 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.
Nestor just earned himself a spot at the top of my shitlist. That thought alone lifts my spirits. Edoardo may have tied my hands when it comes to Carlos, but Nestor? He’s fair game.
A slow grin spreads across my lips.
I’ll have it all—Carlos will die in prison, and Nestor will be bleeding at my feet. And then, whether she realizes it or not… Scarlet is mine to save.