The Woman at the Docks (Grassi Framily)

"Do the semantics help you sleep better at night?" I asked.

"With you acting as a thorn in my side, I don't foresee any sleep until I get the answers I need."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Poor little mafia guy. It must be so hard for you."

To that, his lips twitched. "I've known cold-blooded killers who wouldn't speak to me that way."

"Hard for them to speak to you with condescension when you and them are on the same level morally."

"And you're better than me? Skulking around private property?"

"I'm not a killer. Or a kidnapper. So I have that going for me."

Again, that lip twitch. "Are you going to be mouthy all night, or are we going to have a conversation?"

"I seem quite capable of doing both."

I got an actual chuckle out of him at that, a deep, rolling sound that seemed to glide over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"I don't doubt that. But for the sake of saving both of us some time and aggravation, how about you drop the clap backs and give me some straight answers?"

"Why would I give you what you want? I have nothing to gain here."

"Your freedom."

"Right. Because anyone who has come down to this basement has made it back out."

"Actually, no one's been in this basement."

"Just like you're not a boss of the mob."

"I'm not the boss of the mob," he corrected, and there was a ring of truth in his words.

"An underboss then," I told him, summoning up some lingo I'd picked up from a mob movie I'd seen years before. I knew I got it right when he didn't respond to that. "Why is there a fresh coat of paint if you haven't spilled some innocent person's blood here before?"

"Because there was water damage from a burst pipe," he told me, smirking. "And I think we established that you aren't innocent here, Romy."

"I'm not the kind of guilty you seem to think I am. I'm not a threat to you."

"Anyone snooping around my docks is a threat to me."

This was the part where I had to seriously consider what my next move was.

There was a lie, of course. But a part of me instinctively knew that I wouldn't get away with that, that this man would be able to smell dishonesty on me.

But what would happen if I gave him the truth?

Could he be trusted with it?

Would he let me look for what I needed to find?

Or was he in on it?

Did he not give a damn?

No one wanted to believe the person who was currently in control of their freedom was a ruthless, evil person.

But what would it mean for me if I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and it backfired on me?