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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T he heavy metal door slammed shut behind us, the sound ricocheting off the damp concrete walls.

I watched, completely void of emotions, as my men dragged the sniveling staff member across the room, their grip iron-tight on his scrawny arms.

He was Marianna’s nephew, which added a layer of complicated—not that it mattered. Nobody poisoned one of mine and got away with it.

Nobody.

I side-eyed Hero, who flanked me, his eyes hard as flint. Until now, I’d spared my brothers the dirtier side of the business as much as I could. Not that it was of much use since my father dragged them in as much as he could—his idea of indoctrination and education.

The air was thick with tension, tainted by the metallic scent of fear that clung to the man like a second skin. His eyes darted around in terror, taking in the array of sinister tools lining the walls and the ominous chair in the center of the room.

They shoved the man into the chair bolted to the center of the floor and closed the ancient iron shackles. A little reminder that my nonno—as soft and as loving as he was to me—had another side. He wasn’t the boss of the Salvini family for nothing.

He whimpered as the rusted metal bit into his skin.

Pathetic.

I curled my lips in disgust, then leaned in close, our faces mere inches apart. “Who ordered the poisoning?” I said, my voice low and menacing.

“I-I don’t know! P-please, I swear I don’t?—”

I straightened, traced a finger along the tray of gleaming instruments. I picked a knife, tested the edge of the blade, then, with a soft scraping sound, cut in a straight line across his forearm.

The man stared at the blood oozing from the cut. He trembled, sweat beading on his forehead as he stammered.

He looked up at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed convulsively. “Please,” he begged, “I don’t know anything.” The man’s sweat drenched his pale skin and darkened his shirt.

I shook my head.

Hero circled behind him like a predator sizing up his prey. He selected a pair of needle-nose pliers and worked the jaws open and closed with deliberate menace.

The man’s eyes bulged, darting between us—two angels of death come to reap his secrets…or his life .

I could practically hear his hammering pulse, smell the acrid stench of his terror.

I almost pitied him. Almost.

If he hadn’t tried to poison Jemma, if Fee wasn’t in the hospital, holding on for dear life.

“I’ll ask again.” I caressed the handle of a serrated knife. “Who sent you to poison my family?”

“It w-wasn’t me! I’m just the?—”

A resounding crack echoed through the room as Hero backhanded him. The man’s head snapped to the side, blood trickling from his split lip. “Lying ain’t too smart, friend,” Hero’s voice dripped with false amity. “Last chance before things get real unfriendly-like.”

“Okay!” he gasped out, tears streaming down his face. “I put the powder in the juice, but I swear I didn’t know it was poison. And I don’t know who’s behind it!” Tears and snot streamed down his face.

I exchanged a glance with Hero. Could be the truth, could be he was still clinging to some misplaced sense of hope or loyalty.

Lucky for me, I didn’t need him to spell it out.

I already knew who was behind it.

And nothing he could say would change the vicious urge to make him suffer for his betrayal.

He was dead, no matter what.

Hero’s phone buzzed, and I looked up at him.

He checked the screen, and his lips tightened. “Peaches,” he answered immediately .

I strained to hear Peaches’ voice on the other end but could only make out the low, rapid cadence of his speech. Hero listened, his eyes shot to me, and his complexion turned ashen.

I took the phone from his white-knuckled grip and put it on speaker. “What’s going on?”

Goofy’s voice came through, urgent and strained. “The convoy stopped and hasn’t moved in the last five minutes.”

At the uncharacteristic grimness in his tone, a cold needle of dread pierced my chest. “What? Where?”

“Peaches is putting up a drone right now; we should have visuals in… Oh shit.”

My heart skipped a beat, my blood running cold. “Explain,” I demanded, my grip tightening on the blade in my hand.

“There’s nothing. The SUVs are parked in the middle of the road. The doors are open; it looks like they’re all gone.”

“Gone?”

There was silence on the other side. “Fuck. It’s foggy down there. But it looks like they’re still in the cars—either dead or unconscious.”

The words hit like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. The world tilted, blackness fuzzing the edges of my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the nightmare away. But when I opened them again, Hero was still staring at me, his expression a mirror of the icy dread solidifying in my veins.

Dead or unconscious.

Jemma, Bella and Mira, Dante, Dom. All of them ?

“I’m on my way.” I ended the call, took one swift look at the traitor. “Kill him,” I ordered my men, turned, and was out of the room and halfway up the stairs before I took my next breath.

My mind raced as Hero and I sprinted up the stairs. Was this all an elaborate ploy? Had the poisoning been a calculated move to flush us out, creating the perfect opportunity for a real attack?

The pieces were falling into place with sickening clarity.

We burst into the main hall where Peaches, Goofy, and Michele were already waiting, their faces grim.

“What’s the latest?” I barked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

Peaches shook his head. “No change. They’re still not moving. We’ve got eyes on the scene, but…”

“But what?” I growled, my patience wearing thin.

“It’s too quiet,” Goofy finished, his usually jovial face etched with concern. “No signs of a struggle, no blood. It’s like they just…fell asleep. It looks like a trap. You should stay here—let us check it out.”

I lifted one brow and stared at him. As if anything or anyone could keep me from going. I didn’t care if it was a trap, didn’t care if I lived or died. It was my family out there. The only people I loved—the people I vowed to protect. The only reason being alive made any sense.

Goofy sighed, shook his head. Michele thrust a duffel bag at us. “Gear up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I grabbed a Glock and extra magazines, my hands moving on autopilot as I shut down my mind and focused on the task at hand. I checked the weapon, and Hero did the same, his movements mirroring mine with practiced efficiency. We both put on the bulletproof vests, as well. “Let’s move,” I ordered, already running toward the garage.

We piled into an open Jeep, Michele behind the wheel, Hero and Peaches in the back, and Goofy and one of my men on the truckbed. The engine roared to life, and we tore out of the property, gravel spraying in our wake.

As we sped toward the convoy’s last known location, I gripped the door handle, my knuckles white.

Every second felt like an eternity. Jemma’s face flashed in my mind—the way she looked at me before I sent her away—her huge green eyes full of sorrow.

I shook my head to dislodge the image. I couldn’t let emotion cloud my judgment. Not now.

“ETA fifteen seconds,” Peaches called over the wind rushing past us. “There’s still no movement, but there’s trees to both sides, so it’s the perfect location for a trap.”

I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

I was ready. Whatever would happen, would happen.

But if I came out of this alive, I would make sure whoever was behind this would pay. And pay dearly.