"What did he look like?"
"I don't?—"
I grip the skin again.
"TALL!" he screams. "Tall, dark hair, accent. Italian maybe. Or something close. He had a scar. Here." He jerks his head toward his own jaw. "Along the jawline."
I look at Pietro.
His expression has changed. Hardened.
He knows something.
"What else?" I turn back to the man. "What else did he say?"
"Nothing. I swear. He paid half up front, said we'd get the rest after. That's all I know. That's everything."
"Where were you supposed to meet him for the second payment?"
"A bar. Rosetti's. Downtown. Tomorrow night. Nine o'clock."
I study his face. Looking for lies. For tells.
He's too broken to lie. Too desperate.
I believe him.
I wheel back. Fold the knife closed.
The man sags in his chains. Sobbing. Blood still dripping from the wound in his side.
"Clean him up," I say to no one in particular. "Keep him alive. We might need him again."
I turn to Pietro.
"Rosetti's. Tomorrow night."
Pietro nods slowly. "I'll have Liam set up surveillance."
"I want to be there."
"Bruno—"
"I want to be there."
Pietro holds my gaze for a long moment.
Then he nods.
"Fine. You'll be there."
I wheel toward the exit. My hands are steady. My breathing even.
The man's screams still echo in my ears.
I don't feel anything.
That's the problem.