Helena Bertinelli looked down, looked up, and smiled. "Please get Mr. Costello some pants."

The sound a pistol's hammer being gently disarmed was accompanied by Helena getting to her feet, and walking casually behind the man. The snap a switchblade, and relief came flooding into the man's bound joints as the tape was cut. A beat later, and one of the men tossed Costello his pants, followed by his shirt. Helena motioned to one of the guys near the door, Arturo, Bertinelli muscle with a sweet wife and a darling little boy at home, a man who took online classes for a law degree. 

The knife she kept loose in her hand. "As for the other questions...wouldn't you like to know." There was the slightest play in her tone, a twisted sense of humor briefly bothering to reveal itself under the surface of her normal dull and officious tones. Her boys preferred her angry tones; they usually got a show when that happened. She took a few steps and turned, wishing she had something to snack on. She hadn't drank much at the club, but she also hadn't eaten much in a while, and it was starting to gnaw at her. 

When she turned back to look at him, after his pants were on, she couldn't help but find herself wondering how good Costello was. Could he see signs of her own training? Did he have that kind of trained eye? Or was he more of a young punk? The moment being what it was, there was some difficulty in reading these things--and she had always been good at reading these things. In the end the decision was made in the most unusual, rare, of ways for Helena. 

It was decided by emotion. 

She'd been standing there silent while he redressed, and even a few long moments after that, her eyes never moving from him. She could use Costello; he was a buy low investment with potential. If nothing else, the person who hired him considered him just competent to get the job done without really realizing what was going on behind the scenes. Had they underestimated Costello? If they had, it wouldn't cost Helena that much to find out...and the potential payoff would be worth it.

There was no way she'd depend on him alone in the matter, but before she knew it, the idea of sending the man used to frame her family to hunt down those who did the framing was an incredibly satisfying one. Because someone was coming after her family. There was a predator loose in the dark, unknown and hungry, and she knew now it had been driving her crazy all night. And driving her anger. Anger that had no use being used on Costello. 

"Okay." [i]Sure, fuck it, why not believe you?[/i] A quick shrug, and she continued, "Half a million up front paid in gold coins, set up costs included." Suddenly Arturo walked in with a hand held black case, setting it down at Helena's feet before snapping up the lock mechanisms and flipping it open; five rows of gold coins snugly fit into foam cutouts. Helena pushed it gently with her foot, in Costello's direction. "Saul's in Old Gotham is the place I'd go to exchange for cash. Open 24/7, discrete, fair, but naturally that's up to you."

The silver plated pistol she tossed to Arturo, the knife being refolded carefully in her hands as her eyes finally dropped to the ground, in thought. "...there's another player in the mob. Hiding, working from the shadows, used you to frame us, probably planning on not revealing themselves until they've had time for their little ploy to come to fruition." 

Her eyes snapped up, quicker and sharper than the switchblade folded in her hands. "Find them and the other half million is yours. Stay underground, create safehouses, burner phones, stay away from cameras, don't contact anyone from your past. If I found you, others could find you, others that might sell that location to the highest bidder," [i]Fucking Nigma[/i], "don't contact us, we'll keep an eye on you but you're on your own and we won't claim you if shit goes south. I'm using you because you're a dead man--if I don't kill you someone will, the Vitis, the person who framed us, a hitman looking for a bounty score. You have one way out of this, find them, expose them, destroy them."

One last look around, at the torture tools, at Costello, at the basement, and Helena turned back to him. "Think you can do it?"