Page 112 of Knot So Lucky

"We're both going to be absent for however long this takes," Cale answers, and there's grim certainty in his voice. "If Aurora's going into Heat…which she is…we're fucked on multiple fronts. Need to contain this, get her somewhere safe, deal with it before it kills her."

Jenna nods with understanding that suggests she's grasped the severity.

"I'll figure something out. Cover for you both. Run interference with management and the press."

"Thank you."

The doors close with finality, sealing us into the mobile command center.

The van lurches into motion, and one of the agents immediately starts interfacing with Cale's phone, Aurora's tracker location appearing on the main screen in high definition.

A red dot moving through the city streets, leaving a breadcrumb trail that we're following in real-time.

Luca stares at Cale with an expression I can't quite read—somewhere between respect and disbelief.

"Why the fuck aren't you freaking out?" he demands. "Your Omega was just kidnapped by people who threatened me, she's probably terrified, and you're sitting there like we're on a casual Sunday drive."

Cale pulls out a second device from his inner jacket pocket—another phone, sleek and expensive-looking, with a screen that lights up, showing a contact list that's notably short.

He doesn't answer Luca's question.

Instead, he selects a number and calls.

The line picks up on the first ring.

"Yes, Mr. Hart." The voice on the other end is male, professional, carrying the kind of crisp efficiency that speaks to military or private security training.

Cale's voice, when he speaks, is absolutely devoid of emotion. Clinical. Cold enough to freeze.

"Someone has taken what's mine. If Aurora isn't back in my grasp in fifteen minutes, this whole fucking city is going to be turned upside down before sunset. Yes?"

"Yes, sir." No hesitation. No questions. Just immediate acknowledgment and implicit agreement. "We'll have her in our possession in ten minutes."

"Good."

Cale ends the call and leans back in his seat, tucking the phone away with casual ease.

All three of us—me, Luca, Adrian—stare at him with varying degrees of shock.

"You guys can track her if you wish," Cale says mildly, gesturing toward the screens. "But my people are already on it."

Luca's jaw is practically on the floor. "You're either being a cocky bastard, or you genuinely think whoever you just called is going to get your woman back in ten fucking minutes."

Cale's smirk is sharp enough to cut.

"If you're scared of the Lane family legacy," he says, voice carrying dark amusement, "you've clearly never seen the Harts protecting what's theirs. The only rival I acknowledge is with Aurora herself. Everyone else is chopped liver."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"And I'm about to remind everyone in this city exactly why the Hart name carries weight."

The confidence isn't bravado. Isn't empty posturing or Alpha dominance games. It's cold, calculated certainty backed by resources I'm only beginning to understand the scope of.

I look at Luca, then Adrian, finding my own shock reflected in their expressions.

We're all Alphas from wealthy families with significant resources. Luca's racing empire, Adrian's family connections, my own Bravati heritage with its underground dealings.

But Cale Hart just made a phone call and mobilized what sounds like a private army with the casual ease of someone ordering takeout.