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That asshole is involved I just know it. Fury and fear rise together so fast I almost choke on it. I stand and spin toward Nico. “She’s not here. Her phone’s broken. Merlyn’s on edge. This isn’t just her forgetting to charge her phone—someone was here. Someone took her.”

Nico’s already pulling out his own phone. “We’ll find her.”

“How?” I rasp. “We don’t know where she—”

“I said, we’ll find her.” His voice is still calm, but it slices through the noise in my head like a knife. “I’ll call in every contact I have. But you need to stay sharp. We’re not panicking. We’re moving.”

I nod, but my fists are clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurts. I look down at the shattered phone in my hand then up at the empty doorway.

And I swear—whoever touched her, whoever dared take her…

They don’t know what kind of hell they just opened.

I can’t sit still.

I pace the length of the hallway, Merlyn trailing behind me, restless and whimpering, her nails clicking against the wood floor. I try to dial Laney again, even though her phone’s in my hand—shattered—as if the universe might give me a different answer this time.

Voicemail.

Every ring is another nail driven into my chest.

I place a call to Jake Marshall and explain the situation I’m in, and he instantly offers to help. When Cherry was in trouble, I dropped everything and Nico and I helped end the man who threatened her. He’s only too happy to return the favor now.

“Leave it with me. I’m gonna loop Hunter in too. He has a few friends that might be able to help and get access to the communications through his company Lungo Tech.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

“No problem, man.”

I hang up, hating how helpless I feel right now, how impotent.

Nico’s across the room, pacing slower than me but every bit as charged. He’s on his phone, speaking low and fast in Italian, and it’s the tone that gets me. It’s not clipped and controlled like usual.

It’s furious.

“I don’t care if you’re at the port or the Vatican,” he snaps into the phone. “You lost him? You had one job.”

My stomach turns.

He ends the call with a violent swipe, then throws his phone onto the table so hard it bounces and nearly slides off the edge.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask, stalking over.

“Marco—my guy on Randy? Pulled from the detail last night.” Nico’s jaw ticks, teeth grinding. “Guess who called it?”

“Who?”

“Vincenzo.”

I freeze. “Your Capo?”

Nico nods, seething. “Yeah. That selfish son of a bitch rerouted Marco to babysit a shipment coming in from Liverpool instead. Product, something dirty, no doubt. Marco didn’t even push back. Just left the tail cold and didn’t even have the decency to call.”

“You gave an order,” I say, the realization dropping like a hammer. “And he disobeyed you, but you’re the Underboss.”

Nico picks up his phone again with a sneer. “Not just me. The Don. My father put me on this. He told Vincenzo I had priority. And that little prick ignored it.”

He’s texting now—fast, clipped bursts of rage flying from his thumbs.