The prison looked more like a bunker than a building. Gray walls. Electric fences. Sharp wires curling like claws toward the sky.
Santino parked the car and turned off the engine. Beside him, Mia sat still, hands folded in her lap. "You don't have to do this."
"I already did."
"You're quiet."
He looked up at the gates. "So are you."
They walked in together. No words. Just the sound of their shoes on the pavement and the wind scraping through metal.
Inside, the air smelled like bleach. A guard scanned their IDs without a smile.
"Maria Leandro?"
"Her son," Mia answered.
The man blinked. "She hasn't had a visitor in twenty years."
Santino said nothing as they led him through security. Metal detectors. Wand checks. Long corridors with peeling paint and flickering lights.
They reache
