Page 77 of The Broker
“I’ll be okay.” It all seems like a bad dream. “Dante killed Andreas.”
He gives me a searching gaze. “Are you surprised?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone shot at point-blank range before.” There was blood everywhere. Blood and brains. On the wall, on the floor, on Dante’s clothes.
“You know why I like numbers?” Tomas asks. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s because there are clearly defined rules that govern them. Our world is violent and messy, but there are a few cardinal rules. Andreas broke the most important one of all: You don’t target children. They’re always off-limits. Save your empathy, Valentina. People like Andreas don’t deserve it.”
Dante looks up when I walk into his office. I’ve been too busy sniping at him to notice, but he’s lost weight, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
The last few weeks haven’t been easy for either of us.
“I was just going to interrogate Smith,” he says. “Do you want to come?”
I’ve been so concerned about Angelica that I’ve almost forgotten about the man at the root of this all. But if I’m ever to turn the page from this episode, I need to hear from him. “Yes.”
He leads the way to the attic. One of the rooms has been converted to a makeshift holding cell. The room is sparse—an air mattress on the floor and a bucket in the corner. Nothing else. No table, no chairs. Nothing the hacker can use as a weapon.
Neil Smith is sitting on the air mattress. He lifts his head when Dante and I enter the room but doesn’t get up. “The heroes of the moment,” he says. “Triumphant and eager to rub my failure in my face.”
“Talk,” Dante says tersely.
“That’s it?” Neil gives him a mocking look. “No threats, no promises of torture? How civilized. Very well, I’ll play along.”
“You’re Federico’s son,” Dante prompts.
“Yes,” Neil confirms. “His bastard son. My mother tried to hide, but his assassin found her when I was a year old.” His lips twist. “I don’t remember it, but the records show she was killed in front of me. I don’t know why I was spared. Maybe Federico’s hired muscle couldn’t kill a child.”
Tomas’s voice sounds in my ear.You don’t target children. They’re always off-limits.
“When I was twelve, I hacked into my records and discovered the details of my mother’s death. It was only a matter of time before I found my mother’s online diary and learned all the sordid details of the affair that led to my conception.”
“You wanted revenge.”
“I did. So, I became a hacker. I worked for a handful of criminal organizations, building my reputation and my resume. I called myself the Revenant. A fitting name, I thought. My father left me to die, but I came back from the dead.”
Dante rolls his eyes. “Then you were hired by Verratti’s organization.”
“I did. Finally, my dream was within reach. I had it all planned out. Federico was alive while my mother was dead. Salvatore had grown up the favored prince and heir while I bounced from foster home to foster home. They would pay for it.”
I take a deep breath. “You stole a hundred million euros from the organization.”
“Yes.” A smile plays about his lips. “I made it seem like all of Salvatore’s investments had failed. I wanted him broke and desperate. I wanted him to suffer. For a while, my plan worked brilliantly.” He fixes me with a poisonous glare. “Then the idiot went to the Russians, who approached Antonio Moretti.”
“And that’s when I got involved.”
He nods. “At first, I wasn’t paying attention. I even thought it would work in my favor. The rank and file of the organization hated that Salvatore got involved with the Russians. There was a lot of discontent among them. But then you took the files from the computer, and I realized I had a new adversary.”
“I was arrogant,” he continues. “I see that now. Andreas told me you were going to the farmhouse to get the computer, but I was confident you couldn’t get past my encryption. I didn’t realize I was dealing with the legendary Sparrow.”
“Why kidnap Bianca Di Palma?”
“I’m a hacker,” he replies. “Brains, I have. But I needed muscle. Romano Franzoni was loyal to Salvatore and suspicious of me, but then I learned that Bianca Di Palma was his mother. He came around once I threatened to hurt her.”
“Franzoni told you about Marco,” Dante guesses. “Didn’t he?”
“Yes. If I were to ever get my money, I needed to weaken your organization. But the idiot couldn’t pull it off. He missed, and Antonio Moretti lived.”
I glance at Dante’s face. He’s definitely not as calm as his voice suggests. If I were Neil Smith, I’d be very, very afraid. “Who shot Giorgio Acerbi?” he asks. “And why?”