Page 125 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
Stefano answers without looking at him. “More than expected.”
Something tightens inside my chest, unwelcome and sharp.
Leon watches us both for a moment. Then he leans back, studying the room as if he owns it. “You have always had strange tastes, Savarese. I thought you preferred assets that knew their place.”
The word slices into me.
Assets.Not children. Not people.
Stefano’s voice lowers. “Careful.”
Leon smiles into his glass. “What? You object to the language now?”
“I object to you using it.”
“That is rich.”
“No,” Stefano says. “It is a warning.”
Leon’s smile fades by degrees.
Good.
Let him feel it.
Let him understand the room has shifted under his feet before Raven gives the signal.
He taps one finger against the stem of his glass. “I am not here to argue philosophy. I lost something in Miami.”
“You lost several things.”
“Not the things I care about.”
My stomach drops, but I keep my face still.
Stefano says nothing.
Leon looks at him. “Two children. Mine. Taken during the raid.”
There it is.
The words should sound like grief. They do not.
They sound like a man reporting stolen property.
“You think I have them,” Stefano says.
“I think you know who does.”
“You have a generous imagination.”
“I have information.”
Leon reaches into his jacket slowly enough that every part of me locks. Stefano does not move. Neither do the men at Leon’s table. Across the room, Raven’s agent near the bar shifts his weight.
Leon pulls out a folder.
Not a weapon.
