Page 27 of The Assassin's Captive
Victor: 11:30 AM: Dante's in position. I’ll send Rocco to take over at 5.
I type back my confirmation and scroll to another contact—Cristiano Laera, an information broker who sells intelligence to the highest bidder but maintains loyalty to those who pay him consistently. If other families have heard whispers about Emilio's connection to a prosecutor, Cristiano will know within hours of the first conversation.
Lorenzo: 11:32 AM: Need you monitoring all channels. Any chatter about Costa family developments. Immediate alert if my name comes up.
Cristiano: 11:33 AM: Standard rates apply. What timeframe?
Lorenzo: 11:34 AM: Indefinite. Double rates for priority status.
Cristiano: 11:35 AM: Consider it done.
I pocket the phone and move to the living room windows that overlook the back terrace and gardens beyond. Serena paces across the stone patio with restless energy that has been building since she discovered the surveillance files yesterday. Her movements are sharp, agitated. She's acting like a caged animal looking for signs of weakness in its cage and she'll find none.
She stops at the edge of the terrace and stares across the tall privacy fence that separates my home from the neighborhood. From this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders, theway she holds herself with rigid control that threatens to crack under pressure.
She sits on one of the wrought iron chairs, then stands again within seconds, unable to find comfort in stillness. The pacing resumes, back and forth across the same stretch of stone she's covered dozens of times since breakfast.
I understand her frustration. Serena is accustomed to action, to building cases and pursuing justice through legal channels that give her purpose and direction. Being held in protective custody while forces she can't see or influence decide her fate goes against every instinct she's developed as a prosecutor.
But understanding doesn't change the reality of our situation. She remains here until Emilio determines whether she's genuinely his daughter or an elaborate deception designed to infiltrate his organization. The DNA evidence suggests the former, but Emilio didn't survive three decades in power by accepting convenient truths without exhaustive verification.
My phone rings with a call from the man himself. I answer on the second ring.
"Any developments?"
"The house is secure. Dante's watching the gate, and I have sources monitoring for intelligence leaks."
"Good. What about the woman?" His voice is clearer now, though more tense. He's been stone-cold sober now for 36 hours.
I watch Serena through the window as she continues her restless circuit of the terrace. "She's asking questions. Pressing for answers about why she's here and what we want from her."
"And you're telling her nothing."
"Nothing she doesn't already know."
Emilio's breathing changes, becoming more thoughtful. "She knows about your Costa connections?"
"She found photographs. Files. She understands who I work for, but not why that matters to her situation."
"Keep it that way until I finish my research. I'm having people look into her background, her adoption records, anything that might confirm or contradict the DNA results."
The line goes quiet while he considers something, then his voice returns with a decisive tone I've learned to recognize. "How long can you keep her contained without complications?"
"As long as necessary. But her office will start asking questions if she doesn't check in soon."
"I'll handle workplace concerns. Your job is to make sure she stays alive and isolated until I tell you otherwise."
The call ends, and I remain at the window watching Serena's increasingly agitated movements. She's stopped pacing and now stands with her hands pressed against the stone railing, her head tilted back toward the afternoon sun.
When she turns toward the house, her eyes find mine through the glass. Even at this distance, I can see the fury in her expression, the demand for answers that I can't provide without compromising both our positions.
She walks back into the house through the French doors that lead to the kitchen and approaches the living room where I wait. This dance we're doing is a delicate one. I can shut her down, but I like the game of it all. Serena is interesting to me, like watching a colony of ants create a home between panes of glass. She intrigues me in a way I should never allow myself to be intrigued by, especially given that she's the boss's daughter.
"Why haven't you killed me yet?"
The question slices through the afternoon with startling directness. Serena doesn't waste time with pleasantries or build up to difficult conversations. She attacks problems head-on. Of course she does. She's used to being the most powerful person in a room, second only to the judge who convicts or acquits menshe tries. But here, she's under my thumb, and that amuses me and frightens her.
"Because you're too valuable alive."
