Page 36 of Mafia Kingdom

"Baz would never assume such authority," I say softly. My calm tone seems to frighten him more than any shouting would. "Try again, or we remove the next finger."

His breath comes in panicked bursts. "Maybe…maybe I stepped away. For a smoke. That's all it was, I swear to Christ."

I study him for a long moment, my expression betraying nothing. Then I pull a chair directly in front of him and sit, our knees almost touching. I take out my silver cigarette case—a gift from my father on my twenty-first birthday—and extract a cigarette. The flame from my lighter illuminates the fear in Malone's face as I light it.

"A smoke," I repeat, taking a long drag. "So you abandoned your post for what, five minutes? Ten?"

He nods eagerly, desperately. "Just a few minutes, that's all."

"And during those few minutes, Sasha just happened to leave with Baz."

"Yes, exactly," he says, relief flooding his voice. "Bad timing, that's all it was."

I exhale a thin stream of smoke directly into his face. "And did you tell anyone about your little smoke breaks? About the gaps in our security?"

His relief vanishes. "N-no, Boss."

"No?" I raise an eyebrow. "Not even when Ian asked about our security protocols last week?"

Malone's face goes slack with shock. "How did you—"

"You think I don't know what happens in my own house?" I lean closer. "Who else did you talk to, Malone? Who else knows about our routines, our movements?"

"No one, I swear—"

I nod to Tony, who steps forward with the pliers. Malone's screams intensify as Tony rips out a fingernail with practiced efficiency.

"I want names," I say, standing up and brushing invisible dust from my trousers. "Every person you've spoken to about our operation in the last month."

"Jesus Christ, Boss, there wasn't—" His words dissolve into another howl as a second fingernail joins the first on the floor.

I turn my back, feigning disinterest, and walk to a small table where a bottle of Jameson sits beside a single glass. I pour myself a measure, taking my time.

"It's going to be a long night, Malone," I tell him, not bothering to turn around. "How much of it you survive is entirely up to you."

Behind me, I hear the wet sound of Malone retching from pain and fear. I wait until he's finished before facing him again.

"Let me tell you what I think happened," I say, sipping my whiskey. "I think someone approached you—someone with authority, someone you were afraid to refuse. They asked questions, and you answered. Maybe you didn't think you were betraying me. Maybe you thought you were just following orders from higher up."

Something flickers in his expression—recognition, guilt.

"But here's what you don't understand," I continue, setting down my glass. "There is no higher authority in this house than me. Not when it comes to Sasha's safety."

I step closer until I'm looming over him, the overhead light casting my shadow across his broken form.

"This is your last chance," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who. Did. You. Tell?"

He breaks, as they always do.

"Ian," he sobs, head hanging in defeat. "Ian said your father wanted to know about security, about who was coming and going. Said it was a test."

I straighten up, nodding slowly. "And what exactly did you tell him?"

"Everything," Malone admits, his voice hollow. "Shift changes, weak points, who was assigned where. He asked specifically about the girl—how she was guarded if she ever left the house. And if she did, give him a call."

I exchange a look with Tony, whose face has hardened into stone. This confirms what I've suspected—the betrayal leads back to my father's inner circle. Malone is saying it was an order direct from my father, but that is what Ian said; that doesn’t make it true.

"Do you know what happens to men who betray me?" I ask softly.

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