My chest tightens, but I keep my expression blank.
"Who runs it?"
"I don't know," the man says.
I punch him.
"Shit. Fuck," he says and grabs his nose. "I am serious. I just know they use it for auctions, and that's where we send them."
"Do the Volkovs use this place?" I ask.
The man thinks for a moment, then nods. "Yes, the Volkovs are dangerous. You don't want to cross them. Someone from that family is always around there."
I breathe deeply, trying not to break. I pull out my phone, scrolling to the photo I've stared at for days, and I shove the phone in his face.
"Her," I say. "Do you know her?"
He squints at the screen and blood drips onto his legs.
"I... I don't know her," he stammers. "I've never seen her before. I swear."
"Fifty million was her price," I say, lowering my phone and putting it back into my pocket. "That's what your Bulgarian friends in LA said."
He shakes his head and wipes his eyes, looks around the room, then back at me. "I swear I've never seen her, but if someone paid that much, fifty million, you said, then yeah. She was probably brought to the chateau."
Victor steps forward. "Where exactly is this chateau?"
The smuggler looks up at him. "It's near Verbier. In the mountains. It has a small local airport they all use. But you're not?—"
"What's the address?" I snap.
He looks at me and laughs. "I don't have an exact address! It's not like that! These places don't show up on Google Maps, man. You need connections, invitations. Fucking clearance of some kind."
I grab his throat again and squeeze. A sudden sideward urge to pop his fucking head off almost overtakes me as his hands claw at mine.
"Give me something," I say through gritted teeth.
"There's... there's..." he says, but I don't let go.
Victor taps my arm and I release the man.
"There's an auction happening there next week. They are doing it during some ambassador summit or some shit. I don't know, but that's when we'll move the girls. That's when they?—"
"Ambassador summit?" Victor asks.
The Bulgarian nods frantically. "Yeah. They do that sometimes when they have an influx of buyers coming. Bring in diplomats, politicians, rich fucks from all over Europe. Host an event. No one questions it because it looks legitimate. But underneath, it's... it's the marketplace."
Victor leans down and stares at the man. "How fortified is it?"
The smuggler smirks. "Fortified? I told you, you don't get it. It's a fucking fortress, man. Guards. Security checkpoints. Diplomatic immunity for half the guests. Unless you've got high-level political clearance or you're connected to someone on the inside, you're not getting within a mile of the gates." He stops and spits more blood out. "Shit, you won't even be able to land at the airport there."
Victor straightens up and nods, then looks at me and pulls out his phone. "I'm on it."
The Bulgarian sees the shift in my expression and starts babbling. "Look, I gave you everything. You got what you wanted. I don't know that girl. We're done, right? Right?"
I don't say anything, and the man starts to breathe heavily.
"Please," he says. "I told you everything. You got what you came for. We're square, yeah? It's just business. Money, you know."