“Scava? Angus Scava’s nephew? What the hell would he have had to do with anything? The brand on Castellano’s chest is the Benedetti family crest.”

“Then you believe it was our uncle who ordered it?”

“I don’t know what I believe, and I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m sorry Mateo was killed, but nothing will bring him back, and my knowing—or your knowing—won’t change that. Stay out of it, Dominic.”

“Victor Scava is involved in human trafficking. Mateo was going to turn over evidence. That’s why he was silenced. Made an example of.”

“Stay the fuck out of it,” Salvatore repeated.

“Too fucking late for that.”

“What are you talking about? How do you know all this?”

“I’ve got Gia Castellano. She witnessed the murder. Scava branded her too. Same mark.” I paused, but I needed to tell him everything now. In a way, it was a sort of confession. Although I had no hopes of redemption. Hell, wasn’t I way beyond wanting it? “She’s due to go to auction in a week.”

“Due to go to auction? What the hell does that even mean?”

He knew what it meant. It was the one thing the Benedetti were not involved in. One thing where Franco, his father before him, and his father before him, had put their foot down on. No human trafficking.

Fucking saints, the lot of them.

“Any chance Roman could be involved with Victor Scava in something like this?” I pushed.

“Human trafficking? No. No way. Where exactly are you, and why do you have the girl?”

“If he’s not involved, then why would Mateo have been branded with the Benedetti mark? Why not quietly kill him and get rid of the body? I mean, we all know how to get rid of a fucking body if that’s what we want to do. Scava was sending a message. I want to know what that message is, and how the Benedettis are involved.”

“This is fucked up, Dominic.”

“No shit.”

“Roman knows—”

“And he doesn’t give a shit. He’s king now. You made him that, remember?”

“If he betrayed our father—”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, counting to ten. I’d let this one slide.

The pause told me he realized his mistake. “Where are you, and where’s the girl?” he asked.

“Vermont.”

“Vermont? You hate the cold.”

“I’m surviving.” What, were we going to make fucking small talk?

“What do you mean with taking her to auction? You can’t be involved in anything like that.”

“I’m already involved.” Nearly a dozen girls involved.

Salvatore sighed. “Tell me about the auction.”

“Ten, maybe twelve girls. Enough buyers invited to make the bidding interesting.”

“Jesus.”

I snorted.

“Do you know who’ll be attending?”

“No.”

“Can you find out?”

“There isn’t exactly a guest list to these sort of events.”