Page 25

What the fuck does he want now?

The phone continues buzzing, a harbinger of the shitstorm I know is coming. Part of me wants to let it go to voicemail, to delay the inevitable. But that’s not how this works. Not when you’re Uncle Sam’s favorite attack dog.

With a resigned sigh, I snatch up the phone. “What?”

“Where are you?”

“Where the fuck do you think? Packing up for Moscow.”

“Good.” Hawkins’ voice drips with satisfaction. “I presume you’ve had your fill of the Romano girl because playtime’s over. It’s time to hand her over.”

My fingers tighten around the phone as something dark and violent curls in my gut.

“I don’t have her anymore.”

“Where is she?” Hawkins’ tone sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“My best guess? On her way home. Hector knows her routine; he can pick her up wherever.”

A beat of silence. “Did you at least chip her?”

“No time. No supplies.” The lie curdles on my tongue, even as my gaze drifts to the safe where the micro-tracker still sits, untouched in its sterile packaging. One quick jab, and she’d have been a living, breathing GPS signal for these sharks.

“Fuck, Quinn.” Hawkins’ sigh of frustration bleeds through the line. “She’s a Mafia princess. You think Alfred Romano will ever let her set foot outside after last night’s mishap? Without Clemenza’s help, Hector will never get his hands on the girl again.”

“Clemenza might be too busy to play fetch.” I let a smirk slip into my tone. “He’s likely counting the money I wired him.”

Along with a graphic description of what would happen to his balls if Luna gets so much as a scratch.

A beat of silence. Then Hawkins’ voice drops to a whisper. “You mean to tell me you paid out thirty million dollars, and then you just let the girl walk?”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

“Quinn.” Hawkins’ voice tightens with barely contained fury. “You forget there’s still no merchandise to deliver to the Middle East.”

“That sounds like a Hector problem.”

“No, actually, it’s yours. Because you’ve not only stolen his merchandise, you’ve edged Hector out of a multimillion-dollar deal. He’ll want your head.”

“He won’t be alive long enough to take it.” The words slip out before I can control them.Shit.

“You are not authorized to lay a finger on Hector Lobo!” Hawkins barks. “He’s the only lead I have to Al-Dawahi!”

“Is he? Well, that sounds like a you problem.” I pause, then add, “Mine is to face Moscow while you fuck off and let me do my job.”

“I’m starting to question your judgment, Agent Quinn. You not only disobeyed a direct order, you’re sabotaging the bureau’s mission.”

I clench my fist so tight the tendons strain against my skin, then force my voice into a deadly calm. “As I said, if anyone wants that woman, they’re welcome to go get her themselves.”

I end the call abruptly, cutting off Hawkins mid-sentence. The phone lands on the couch as I pace the room, frustration coiling in my gut like a venomous snake.

Luna’s defiance and warmth still linger on my skin. Her voice echoes in my head, demanding to know why I took her.

Because I couldn’t turn my back while another woman got treated like livestock.

At the window, I watch Chicago wake up, the city oblivious to the dangerous undercurrents flowing beneath its surface. My fingers flex at my sides, itching for action, for violence, for something to make this stop.

But it’s inevitable. Luna Romano is a marked woman.