Page 2

Minutes later, Milo reappears from the back hallway, his steps purposeful. In his hand is a body cam device, its casing smeared with dirt and blood, ripped from one of the dead guards outside. The sight sends another wave of nausea rolling through me.

“I’m pulling the footage now,” he says, eyes scanning the small screen. He fast-forwards through flashes of movement; a car pulls up, and the window rolls down.

“Wait.” His finger hovers over the pause button before he presses it abruptly. “There.” His tone changes.

Dante.

The image freezes on a face I know all too well.

Dante.

My blood turns to ice instantly—a frigid wave that starts at my core and radiates outward until even my fingertips feel numb. My lips part slightly in shock, yet no sound escapes as I stare at his image on the screen.

Milo mutters under his breath, venom dripping from every syllable. “Merda! Shit.”

I don’t respond—not yet. Words feel insufficient for what’s twisting inside me right now: rage hot enough to burn and fear cold enough to freeze all at once.

Instead, I watch as Dante leans casually out of the car window on screen, like he hasn’t just set this whole nightmare into motion, and speaks to the guard stationed at the gate.

The guard nods hesitantly before pressing the button to open the gate for him. When he turns back toward Dante’s car… Dante doesn’t hesitate. The gun appears almost lazily in his hand before a single shot rings out on-screen.

A second car speeds through the gates while Dante steps out of his vehicle with an infuriating calmness. He walks straight into the gate booth without sparing so much as a glance toward the camera, recording his every move.

He didn’t even try to hide his face. Like he wanted me to see this—to know it was him behind all of it.

“She had the tracker,” Milo says suddenly, jerking me out of my trance. His voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts like a lifeline tethering me back to reality. “The subdermal one—you had Stevens implant it last year.”

I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking as I open the GPS app. The screen lights up, and the map loads with agonizing slowness. I stare at it, willing the little red dot to appear—to show me where she is, to guide me to her.

Nothing. Offline. No ping. No signal.

“Jammed?”

Milo shakes his head. “Maybe. If it’s not jamming… then he knew. He either removed it or blocked it at the source.”

“Dante told him.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I’d lean more toward a signal jammer. I don’t remember telling Dante she had one.” Neither do I come to think of it.

Everything inside me goes still.

Milo puts a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off.

“She’s pregnant,” I whisper. I don’t even mean to say it. And the words leave my lips anyway. Its weight slams into me all over again.

“She’s pregnant,” Milo echoes, quieter. Then, more urgently: “They don’t know that, right?”

“No. They can’t. If they find out…”

We’re both silent.

Then I straighten, jaw tight.

“Call everyone. I want every fucking contact awake and shaking.”

Milo’s already moving, snapping orders into his phone.

I stare at Fallon’s broken phone, the last trace of her I have.

Four hours later, we get our first message. A video of Fallon being dragged from the trunk, her scream sends my blood cold as she’s tossed on the ground and slapped when the footage cuts off.

The video loops for the fourth time.

I should stop watching it.

I don’t.

Fallon’s scream rips through the silence of the room again, and I feel every nerve in my body tighten like a tripwire.

She’s not begging.

She’s not crying.

Just that one, raw cry when they hit her.

And then nothing.

Milo shuts the laptop without a word. We sit in the dark for a long stretch, in silence that only men like us can survive, silence made of rage, not quiet.

“He’s going to contact us again,” Milo says eventually. “He’s not done playing; he just wants us to know he has her.”

“I killed his sister,” I say. My voice is dead even to my ears. Milo swallows thickly.

“He kills her, he gets nothing. She is still alive.”

I nod.

The call comes exactly two weeks later. Two weeks of not hearing a thing, two weeks of us searching for where he has kept her.

We’ve raided every known location, every friend and acquaintance.

Dante has been missing for just as long.

My father is convinced he was also kidnapped and was forced to let Mikhail and his men in.

Despite the video footage, my father refused to believe his beloved son was a snake.

Encrypted. Routed through six dummy locations.

Milo patches it into the secure line and stands just out of frame.

“Mikhail.”

His voice comes through, smooth and calm.

“Leone. I hope you liked the preview.”

“If you lay a hand on her again, I will cut them off and feed them to you before you die.”

He laughs. Softly. Like he’s enjoying this.

“And there it is—the famous rage. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach the surface. No need to worry. She’s intact. For now.”

I say nothing.

Let him fill the silence. Let him show his hand.

“I know what kind of man you are,” he continues. “Calculated. Controlled. A creature of loyalty. So I thought… let’s test that, shall we?”

Milo tenses across the room. He knows what’s coming.

“There’s a shipment coming in. Port side. Not yours. Belongs to our mutual friends south of the border.”

“You want the Cartel shipment?”

“I want you to take it.”

“And give it to you?”

“Yes.”

I sit back, hands steepled under my chin.

“You’re asking me to start a war.”

“Not if it looks like someone else took it. A small explosion. Some cartel-on-cartel drama. You’ve staged worse. You’ll manage.”

I grit my teeth, knowing he is referring to Lydia. As far as he knows, she overdosed. My voice stays level.

“And in return?”

A long pause.

“Proof she’s still in one piece. Only if you pass this little test.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then I start mailing you the leftovers.”

He waits. He’s not sure I’ll do it—he’s betting that I’m too in love, too afraid to lose her, to call his bluff.

He’s not entirely wrong.

“You’ll have your shipment,” I say.

Milo shifts beside me, sharp and surprised.

“If I even suspect you’ve lied before I get confirmation she’s alive?—”

“You’ll kill me,” Mikhail finishes. “Yes, I know. But Leone… this isn’t about hurting her.”

“No,” I say flatly. “It’s about humiliating me.”

“Exactly. It’s a test of character.”

“I’m not doing anything until I hear her voice.”

Mikhail laughs. “That can be arranged. For now, sit tight. You’ll get your proof. And then you’ll get me that shipment.”

The line goes dead.

Milo curses and slams his fist against the table.

“You can’t give him that shipment. You know that, right? The Cartel?—”

“I know.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing, Leone?”

I rise slowly.

“We’re doing what we always do.”

I look him in the eyes.

“We let him think he’s winning.” Milo curses and falls back on the sofa. His hands grip his hair when the door opens.

Rocco steps in, pale and limping.

“You should be resting still,” I tell him as he clutches his side.

“I don’t need rest, I’m fine.” I shake my head at him and push up from my chair and stand.

“Come on then, we are leaving,” I snap, unable to sit here and wait for everyone else to find intel. I have to do something, and right now, I need to go see my father.