Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Precisely. Would you like a few minutes of freedom?”
She grits her teeth. “I’d like a lot more than a few minutes of freedom but yes, of course, I would like at least that.”
“You’re a long, long way off from earning full freedom, Vivia. You’re being accused of some of the most serious offenses our families have ever known. The fact that you’re even here with me is a mercy.”
Her lips thin. I doubt she’d phrase it quite that way.
“For now, you can answer some questions for me. I’m an excellent judge of character. So it’s in your best interest to answer as truthfully as possible. If you do, I’ll completely unfasten your bonds and let you use the bathroom.”
I watch as her back goes ramrod straight. She narrows her eyes at me. “I’d be grateful for that.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “You like me sitting in your lap.” She squirms on my lap, holding my gaze. I don’t know if she’s uncomfortable or trying to get a rise out of me.
“Of course. You’re beautiful. I might have a job to do, but I’m not dead.”
Something shifts in her eyes. It isn’t the first time I’ve noticed a response to a compliment. I keep note of this because I can use it to my full advantage.
“We’re going to start with some very simple questions. Straightforward answers. Don’t sugarcoat anything. Understood?”
She swallows hard. I can’t help but notice how thin and vulnerable the skin at her neck is.
“Yes, of course.”
I have a few ways I could interrogate her. Brute force is one, but with a woman like her that likely isn’t going to go over too well. If she’s been raised in the mob, she’s probably more accustomed to brute force than anything else.
I’ll try another method.
“What was your childhood like?”
No reaction at first, then she clears her throat. She likes to think before she speaks, then. Formulates her words. “You probably know more about the Rossi family than any other family, I’d guess. Our childhood in some ways was very similar. We had similar expectations. My father, like theirs, was heavy-handed and authoritarian. He thought nothing of harsh, vicious punishment at the slightest sign of what he’d call disobedience. His favorite expression was ‘Mazze e panelle fanno i figli belli.’”
Ah. I’m familiar with his favorite saying. Literally translated, it means “sticks and bread make beautiful children.” In other words, hard discipline and good food are the recipe for a good childhood. Most of us grew up with a variation on the principle. My grandma used to say walk softly and carry a heavy wooden spoon. Good times.
She continues with a sigh. “But fortunately for me, I wasn’t around him much. My biggest jobs were to look pretty and… keep my legs closed.” She can’t hide the note of bitterness in her tone or the way her voice wobbles. She knows as a woman of the mob, her parents likely only valued her virginity with an eye toward potential marriage to someone of high rank above literally anything else she could offer them.
I nod my head. “I understand. And your mother?”
She shrugs. “Still alive, as you probably know. She’s a good enough mother, I suppose, but cowered under my father and made the rest of us toe the line. She sent me to boarding school when I was little, and I never fully got over that rejection.”
I listen to everything that she says, but I try to read between the lines. Her home was nearly loveless, the only affection she likely ever received was when she did something her parents approved of. Knowing what few expectations they had for her, I would venture to guess that wasn't very often. I can use this to my advantage. I'll have to.
While brute force is only one way that I could interrogate her, I could use the carrot instead of the stick as well. Personally, I prefer using both methods, but we’ll get there.
While I listen to her answers, I gently slide my hand to the small of her back. It's a gentle, possessive move that should reassure her, and while she's talking, she might not even be aware that I'm doing it, except for realizing that it's comfortable for her.
"Tell me about your brothers."
She bristles. I watch as an unreadable expression spreads into a thin-lipped smile. There's a touch of sadness there. "I got along with my brothers when we were younger. We were on the same side, really. But once my dad was gone, and Sergio took the lead, he was almost as bad as my father."
I don't know much about Sergio, but I'm not surprised. He takes his job very seriously.
“Do you trust them?"
She looks away and doesn't answer at first. Finally, she shrugs. "Trust them to save me if I were in danger? Yes. Trust them to take care of me if I needed something like a roof over my head or money in the bank? Yes, of course. That's part of their job. Trust them to know who I am and to take care of my best interests?” She shakes her head with a laugh. "Not on your life. "