Page 132 of Crescendo

The thought goads my fingers into typing a single number into the keypad, and when a gruff voice answers, I don’t waste any time on formalities.

“Where is Stacatto?”

“Ah, Vialle,” Van Hallen grunts, sounding too tired to fuck around either. “Want to tell me why my phone has been ringing nonstop with women—all with broken English, mind you—who are more than willing to testify against an illegal sex-trafficking operation?”

I flinch, caught off guard. So the girl’s plan worked after all—a victory that will soon be turned against her. For every girl she set free, Stacatto would be sure to make her suffer. Who knows what the fucker has already done to her. He’s hadhours,after all...

“Stacatto.” I clip the name, and it cuts like a whip. “Where the fuck is he?”

Van Hallen takes a second before answering. “Vialle, I wouldn’t tell you where Stacatto was even if I knew—but let’s say Ididknow,” he adds before I can cut him off. “Let’s say...hypothetically,that I just received a tip that the man bought a house in the waterfront district. Walnut Street. Number two sixteen. And, if this tip panned out, I wouldn’t then be an accessory to a crime, now would I, Vialle?”

I hang up. With the address burning in my brain, I cutthrough Mack’s territory, my gaze on the fenced-in perimeter. It’s only when a fist rams into my shoulder that I realize I’m being followed.

“Slow the fuck down,” Arno snarls, moving to stand by my side before I can whirl on him with a blow of my own. He’s wearing a leather jacket over his tattoos, the hood drawn to cover his hair—the same tactics he used when he ran deals for Dino to avoid being spotted. “What? You think I’d let you go after this fucker alone?” He jerks his head behind him to the scattered remains of his crew.

They fall into step like jackals in a pack. I spot Dall and Francisco among them, their eyes sharp, looking eager for a fight.

But then my eyes home in on two figures who don’t belong. One of them is just a kid who’s clutching his injured hand to his chest and doing his best to fight the pain back.

“Es—”

“I’m coming,” he insists before I can say a word. Fuck, he almost sounds like me.

The other figure lingers a few paces behind the others, his cocky smirk bloodied and smug. “Did you really think I’d let you boys have all the fun, Kitty?” he demands, his voice still rough despite the bruising around his neck. He reaches into his pocket and tosses whatever he pulls out into the air only to catch it in a closed fist. “We’ll take my van.”

“We need a plan,”Arno grunts as the van approaches the address Van Hallen gave me—who, at the end of the day, was still a fucking cop. Any other time, I wouldn’t go near the place with a ten-foot pole.

Tonight? Tonight, I can’t think. I can only taste. My tongue clings to one flavor in particular, and I spit it out onto the floor of the van, not that it helps any. Heroin was easier to come off ofthan her. On dope, I was meaner, too. Colder, liable to beat the living fuck out of anyone unlucky enough to meet me in the cage.

Now? It’s impossible to think above the buzzing. To drown it out, I’ll barge in there alone through the front fucking door. I’ll drag her out by her hair if I have to. Right there in front of her beloved fiancé, I’ll kill the bitch myself—slowly.

I’ll make her regret having taken it upon herself to break one stupid fucking promise.

My thoughts drift while Arno plots out a method of attack out loud. “We’ll sneak up from behind. Case the property for an hour. Think this through...”

But there is nothingtoplan. No thoughts to think.

Gritting my teeth, I scan the narrow street, searching for the house of that prick. No matter what he does to her. What he says. How badly he hurts her. How loudly he makes her scream...

She won’t ever truly belong to him again. Not if I have any fucking say in it.

“Dante!” Arno snaps his fingers beneath my nose.

It’s only now that I realize that the van stopped moving, but he has his arm barred over the door to stop me from climbing out.

“Dante, wait—”

I shove him off and wrench the door open. When my boots hit the pavement, I’m a beast again, aching to kill, tear, rip, bite, destroy.

But, when the sound of sirens reaches my ears and smoke fills my nostrils, I realize I won’t have very much left to sink my teeth into.

Nearly a block ahead, a gated townhouse burns beneath the glow of a wild, uncontrolled fire. Firemen attempt to battle the blaze, but I can tell even from here that they aren’t wasting too much energy trying. It’s a lost cause—the kind of shit that screams“intentionally set.”

“We...we don’t know if she was even in there,” someone says—maybe Espi.

They may not know, but I do. Her scent rides the wind, mingling with the smoke. She was here.

The little bird got tired of waiting for me, apparently; and she set her entire cage on fire.