Page 82 of The Voicemail
“You know where she is, don’t you?” I ask, batting my eyelashes a little for effect. “Bianchi trusts you with things like that.”
“She’s safe for now.”
“For now,” I repeat, frowning. “What does that mean?”
Tomaso looks away.
I lower my voice. “He’s going to kill her.”
“No,” he answers, too fast.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You want to know what I think?” I ask. “I think Bianchi kills Maya the second he has the file. Then he kills me, because I’ll have seen too much. Then maybe he kills you too, because you’ve gotten too attached to me.”
Tomaso’s face darkens. “How could I not? You matter a great deal.”
“To him?”
“To me.”
The answer comes too fast, too intense, and I fight the urge to lean back. He watches me like he expects gratitude. Like those words are supposed to make any of this less horrifying. I swallow hard and make myself look at the door instead of him.
“He called me leverage,” I say. “He doesn’t see me as a human being. He sees me as a means to an end.”
“He shouldn’t have said that.”
“But he meant it.”
Tomaso’s hand flexes at his side. Another tell. I can do this. I can drive a wedge between them. Maybe enough that he’ll get me out of here, and then… and then I don’t know what happens. But if my options are Tomaso or Bianchi, I’m going with the man who’s obsessed with me over the one who sees me as collateral damage.
“You said you saw me before Alex did.”
His attention snaps back to me.
“You said you knew me,” I continue. “So tell me I’m wrong. Tell me Bianchi will let me walk away after I give him what he wants.”
Tomaso says nothing. For one second, I think I have him. Then the door opens wider behind him. Bianchi stands in the hall. He looks from Tomaso to me and understands enough that his face goes still.
“You are very easy to manipulate,” he tells Tomaso.
Tomaso turns. “She’s right, though. Isn’t she?”
“She’s playing you. She just wants out of here.”
“She’s not leverage—”
Bianchi steps into the office. The guard behind him keeps one hand inside his jacket, like he’s ready to shoot someone the second the conversation bores him.
“She’s incentive,” he says, as though that softens it. “Since she apparently couldn’t find the file, now Alex has a reason to tear this city apart looking for it. And if he can’t deliver, she stops being useful to me.”
Tomaso’s face flushes. “Don’t say that.”
The room goes very tense. I stop breathing for a second. Tomaso takes one step toward him. “You promised she wouldn’t be hurt.”
“I promised you access to her,” Bianchi says. “You heard whatever you wanted.”
