Louisa climbed out. I got out behind her.
“Lovely home,” I said, and then looked at the driver. “Wait down the block.”
He nodded and drove off.
“You know who I am and what I do,” she said.
“I do.”
“Part of that is my war with the mafia.”
“I know about that, too.”
“Good. So you’ll understand what I’m about to show you.” She walked up the front stoop and forced the door open.
I followed her, fascinated.
Inside, the house looked like it was once richly decorated. There were the remnants of velvet curtains, plush couches, and expensive glasses. Most of it was in tatters, and the place smelled like mildew. There were definitely bullet holes in a few places, and I was pretty sure the copper-colored stain in the front hall was blood.
“What happened here?” I asked her.
“This is where women were made into slaves.” We walked through the downstairs, lingering in each room a moment. For a second, I thought I could still hear the voices of the people that passed through those rooms.
There was a heavy weight sitting in each space, like something was still lingering. I couldn’t exactly pin it down, but it wasn’t a good feeling. It was in the small details: a ripped-open condom box, a child’s toy, a can of Spam.
“We did this,” Louisa said finally as we got to the back door. It was splintered open like a bomb had gone off. Bullet holes riddles the walls.
“Why?”
“We saved the girls here.”
More copper stains covered the floor.
“How many people died here?”
She shrugged. “Not many. We’re good at what we do.”
I frowned. “Still. I’m a politician, Louisa. If it ever comes out that I’m involved with violent people . . . “
“You already are.” She stared at me for a second. “Come on.”
I followed her back to the front of the house. We moved upstairs, being careful to step around the trash and the detritus leftover from the battle. There was more blood on the walls, splattered all over. We reached the first landing and walked down a tight hallway with multiple doors on either side.
“Look inside,” she said.
I opened the first door. It was a small room, barely the size of a closet. There was a single twin bed in the middle, though it was badly stained and torn. There was a dresser against another wall, and that was it.
“A girl lived in there,” Louisa said behind me. “She barely left here.” She stepped past me and opened the drawer. Carefully, she lifted up a needle. “This is how they kept her here.”
“Drugs?”
“Heroin. They hook them on opiates, get them so addicted that they’ll do anything for a fix, including have sex with multiple men every day.”
“That’s horrendous,” I said softly.
“Look around us.” We stepped back into the hallway. “Each room represents a girl, and there are more upstairs. They were kept in here, forced into addiction and sex slavery.”
I watched her as she spoke, an admiration growing in my chest. This was a warrior with a cause, and a damn good cause. She had everything before she started this mafia, all the money and comfort she could ever need. Louisa Barone was a mafia princess, and she didn’t need to start the Spiders to get by in life.
She did it because she wanted to. She did it because she wanted power, just like me.
“And this is why you do what you do?”
“Exactly. For these girls.”
I smirked at her. “Bullshit.”
That surprised her. She stared at me for as second before finally speaking. “What?”
“Bullshit. You’re not doing this for the girls.”
She shook her head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because we both know it’s true.”
“Why do I do this, then?”
“You like to do it. You like the strength it gives you. You like the rush of defeating an opponent.” I began to head toward the stairs. “This is just a game to you.”
She followed me quickly and grabbed my wrist. “This isn’t a game.”
“To you it is.”
She tried to stop me and I turned toward her on the stairs. “No, it isn’t,” she said angrily. “You may think we’re alike, but we’re not the same. You just want to get strong because you had no strength when you were growing up. I want to control the city to make a difference.”
I grinned at her and pushed her back, pinning her up against the wall. She gasped as I reached up and took a handful of her hair.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said softly. “If I just wanted money, I wouldn’t be in this business.”