Page 133 of Brutal Heir

“Bad news is that she probably dumped the phone right after she messaged you because the signal’s gone dead. She could be on the move.”

Or in the air. If she mentioned Conall that means Belfast. According to my sources, the Butcher hasn’t set foot in Manhattan. “They’re going to the airport,” I shout.

Matteo nods, jumping up from behind the desk as I race for the door. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The tires scream against the pavement as Matteo floors it down the private road toward the airfield. I’m gripping the dashboard so hard my knuckles are white, heart pounding with every passing second.

I can’t lose her.

The idea of going back to a life without Rory has my heart refusing to pump, my lungs rejecting the idea of inflating.

“We can’t let her get away,” I growl, my voice tight with fury. “If Conall gets his hands on her...”Dio, I don’t even want to consider what he’ll do to her.

Matteo doesn't take his eyes off the road. “We’ll get her back, Ale. I swear it, cuz. You’re not going to lose that little firecracker.”

A fresh wave of dread coils in my gut. She left to save someone else. To protect me.

I check my phone again. No messages. No signal from her cell. Just the last breadcrumb one of the Gemini techs managed to dig up: a private jet, chartered from JFK. Destination: Belfast. Two passengers. No names.

But I know.

It’s her. It has to be her.

Could Conall have made it past my men somehow?

Does he have her already? Or is it one of his men escorting her to Belfast?

Or maybe it’s someone she trusts. Why else would she have agreed to meet with them at Holy Cross Nursing Home? I already had Gemini men search the facility. No sign of anyone. One of the nurses remembered seeing a redhead with another man, but she wasn’t exactly helpful with details.

We tear through the security checkpoint at the tarmac. Matteo flashes the Gemini clearance, barely slowing as we lurch toward the line of hangars and gleaming jets.

Then I see it. A white Learjet slicing through the dusky sky, its landing gear tucking in like a sneer.

“No…” I slam my fist against the dash of Matty’s BMW. “No, no, no!”

Matteo brakes hard near the control tower. “Shit. That’s the jet.”

I shove the door open and launch myself out, ignoring the guards calling after us. I race to the center of the tarmac, my heart a war drum against my ribcage. The ground shakes with the roar of the departing jet. My pulse thunders in my ears.

I’m too late. I stare up at the shrinking silhouette of the plane, every muscle in my body coiled and burning.

She’s gone.

She left me.

Despite her promises.

My knees give, smacking the tarmac, gravel biting into my skin, but I don’t feel it. She’s in the sky, gone. And I wasn’t fast enough to stop her.

“I swear to God, I’m going to kill whoever let her get on that plane.” My voice is low, venomous.

Matteo jogs up beside me, panting. “So what now? We wait? Call your father? Track it and?—”

“No.” I turn to him, jaw set. “We don’t wait. We go now.”

His brows lift. “To Belfast?”

I nod once, sharp and deadly. “She thinks I’ll let her walk away? That I’ll just sit here while she runs straight into Conall’s hands? Fuck that.” My voice shakes now, not with fear but burning rage as my hand sinks into my pocket and clutches the small box. “I will scorch that city to the ground before I let him touch her.”