He had served my father for twenty years and had served me for twelve.
He was my right hand, my executioner, and the keeper of my family’s darkest ledgers.
He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw the little girl sitting on my desk, sipping a glass of apple juice I had retrieved from the mini-fridge.
– ¿Jefe?
Preguntó Rocco, con la voz baja.
“Lleve a Mia de vuelta a los aposentos de su madre a través del pasaje de la sirvienta”, dije, mi voz inquietantemente tranquila: el tono que Rocco sabía significaba que alguien iba a morir.
“Tell Elena she and the child are under my personal protection.
Con efecto inmediato, asigna a dos de tus mejores hombres para que hagan guardia en su puerta las veinticuatro horas del día.
No one enters their room.
Not even Vivien.
Especially not Vivien.”
Rocco’s eyes narrowed, a cold realization dawning in them.
