Page 5

Chapter 4

Seanna

We grill Diego for hours.

Bit by painstaking bit, we squeeze out names, locations, and fragments of Reyes' meticulously crafted empire. Diego coughs up Sebastián Cruz, the person he would have called had he chosen currently and went for his phone, the next line up the food chain from him. He also gives us Valeria Mendoza and Rafael Navarro—each name dropping like coins into our growing collection. He even throws in a handful of disposable foot soldiers who handle daily tasks outside Reyes’ direct orbit. Every scrap of intel nudges us a step closer to the elusive Javier Reyes himself.

Eventually, Diego clamps down, silence settling stubbornly as exhaustion and fear outweigh our relentless prodding. My sharp questions and Jensen’s cold, calculated threats eventually hit a wall. Diego’s eyes glaze over, focusing on nothing, clearly more afraid of Reyes' ghost than Jensen’s very real presence. For now, Reyes wins this round.

With Diego left to marinate in his own fears, we head upstairs to regroup. I drop into my chair with a tired sigh, massaging my temples. Matteo is already buried in data, fingers flying across the keyboard, dissecting every crumb Diego spilled. Eli collapses theatrically into his chair, kicking his feet up with exaggerated relief, while Jensen slumps wearily, rubbing his eyes.

“Got something useful,” Matteo announces without looking up. “Cruz’s nightclub—the Silver Orchid—is likely a front. Drugs, trafficking, probably money laundering too. Mendoza and Navarro will take more work, but it’s a start.”

I stretch my arms above my head, joints popping satisfyingly. “We didn’t sign up expecting this to be easy. Reyes isn’t hosting a damn open house.”

The afternoon drags while we sink into the monotonous slog of chasing down leads, sifting through endless surveillance footage, bank records, and criminal profiles. Hours blur, and boredom threatens our sanity.

I lean back in my chair, stretching my shoulders and glancing around the room. Eli is sprawled lazily, spinning a pen between his fingers and muttering to himself while his other hand flips through files. Matteo sits stoically at his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration as he pours over data, completely oblivious to Eli’s theatrics. Jensen hunches over his screen, scowling at something he’s reading.

“If I have to look at one more bank transaction,” Eli groans dramatically, leaning back until his chair creaks dangerously, “I’m gonna stab myself in the eye with this pen.”

“You’re welcome to,” Matteo replies without even looking up, voice dry as sandpaper. “Would be the most exciting thing you’ve done all day.”

Jensen chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Keep whining, Eli. Maybe Matteo will let you help with cross-referencing traffic camera footage instead.”

“On second thought,” Eli mutters quickly, snapping upright, “these bank records sound delightful.”

I smirk faintly, shaking my head at their endless banter. It’s the only thing keeping us from losing our minds while hunting ghosts. My eyes blur as names and faces flash across the screen, connections forming frustratingly slow.

Eli’s chair scrapes loudly as he pushes away from his desk. “That's it. I’m going out to get coffee.”

“We have coffee in the break room,” Jensen says absently.

Eli snorts, grabbing his jacket. “I said coffee, not pond sludge. Anyone want anything?”

Jensen makes a vague gesture, either agreement or dismissal—it’s unclear. Matteo nods distractedly. I look up at Eli, mouth twitching into a smirk. “Bring me back something strong enough to dissolve paint, would you?”

He salutes sarcastically. “Consider it done, boss.”

Matteo finally glances up as Eli exits. “You think better coffee will improve his attitude?”

I arch a brow. “No. But he might complain less if he takes himself for a walk, he’s like a puppy.”

Jensen laughs softly, eyes flicking briefly to Matteo. “Wishful thinking, Seanna.”

“You know me—eternal optimist,” I reply dryly, rubbing my temples lightly, trying to ease the ache building there.

The room falls back into a rhythm of clicking keyboards and sighs of frustration. When Eli returns triumphantly, holding steaming cups aloft, the rich aroma of genuine coffee fills the bullpen.

“This, gentlemen,” Eli declares smugly, passing cups around, “is coffee. Take notes.”

Matteo rolls his eyes but takes a careful sip. “Not terrible.”

Eli gasps dramatically. “Did Matteo just give me a compliment? Quick, Jensen—take his temperature.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Jensen warns mildly, hiding a smirk behind his cup.

I chuckle softly, savoring the bitter, strong taste of my drink. This, at least, helps ease some of my frustration over Diego’s fucking stubbornness. Our progress is slow at best, but we’re getting closer to Reyes. One layer at a time, we’ll strip away his protections until he has nowhere left to hide. Reyes' carefully built fortress will crumble.

My gaze drifts momentarily to my phone, remembering Dad’s earlier message. I sigh quietly—soon enough I’ll need to head over to the organization's headquarters to see what Uncle Max has uncovered.

We fall back into our tedious rhythm, each of us buried alive in a digital avalanche of endless data. The hours drag painfully slow, my eyes glazing over as I stare at screens filled with intel I've already branded permanently into my memory. My patience frays dangerously thin, restless tension coiling beneath my skin until I just can't fucking take it anymore. I abruptly shove myself to my feet, stretching my arms overhead until my spine cracks satisfyingly, loud enough to announce to the room that my tolerance has officially died.

“You good, boss?” Eli asks cautiously, peering over his monitor with wary curiosity.

I ignore him, pacing purposefully toward the oversized whiteboard dominating the room—our chaotic altar to Javier Reyes, covered in mugshots, tangled aliases, maps cluttered with colored pins, and scrawled notes. Each desperate scribble is a testament to months of frustration. Folding my arms tightly, I stare down the mess, irritation simmering dangerously beneath my surface.

Behind me, chairs creak subtly as the team senses the shift, their attention snapping to me with cautious alertness.

“We’re missing something fucking obvious,” I snap sharply, voice hard and edged with agitation. “There’s another angle here—some crack we haven’t forced open yet.”

Matteo lifts his head slowly, dark eyes moving methodically over the board, revisiting trails he's walked too many damn times. “We’re thoroughly examining everything Diego provided. Nothing stands out yet, but we’re getting closer. Something will break soon.”

“What about Reyes’ family?” I pivot sharply to face them, eyebrow raised in challenge, daring any of them to argue. “Have we made any actual progress there, or are we still chasing ghosts?”

Jensen exhales heavily, frustration carved deep into his typically unreadable expression. “Just smoke and shadows, Seanna. Reyes obliterated every digital record—medical, marital, birth certificates. Even school transcripts vanished overnight. If we didn't know better, I’d swear the asshole was a fucking figment.”

“Indulge me,” I insist sharply, arms crossed tighter, eyes narrowing. “Give me the rundown again, Jensen.”

He sighs again, visibly exhausted by repetition but obediently rattling off the intel he knows I need to hear. “Rumors put Reyes as married, three kids—two sons, one daughter. Eldest son would be pushing thirty by now, groomed from birth to take over daddy’s criminal empire.”

“Daddy’s little monsters,” Eli mutters sarcastically, leaning back lazily in his chair, disdain coloring his tone. “How charming.”

“Unconfirmed,” Matteo reminds softly, pressing fingers against his temple, clearly also at his patience’s end. “Anyone digging close enough gets permanently silenced.”

I glare at the board, frustration nearly boiling over. Reyes leaves nothing but shadows, but even shadows fade eventually. Every kingpin slips. Every criminal fucks up. It's inevitable.

“We don’t drop the family angle,” I mutter defiantly, more to myself than them. “Eventually, they’ll surface. Deals, meetings, appearances—something. We just need to be ready to pounce.”

Jensen nods slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ll lean harder on informants. Someone always cracks under pressure eventually.”

“Careful,” I warn sharply, pinning him with a look. “Push too hard and they'll scatter faster than cockroaches in daylight.”

Eli rocks his chair back dramatically, balancing precariously, the perfect portrait of exaggerated boredom. “No pressure, right?”

I fix him with a narrowed stare, my tone dripping venomous sarcasm. “Bored, Eli? I can happily arrange a cozy desk job filing tax returns if you need entertainment.”

He flashes a cocky, unapologetic grin. “Hard pass, boss. I'm allergic to boredom.”

Matteo smirks, exchanging a knowing glance with Jensen. “Explains a lot.”

I turn back toward the board, barely suppressing a frustrated growl. We're close—I feel it in my bones—but Reyes still has the upper hand. Every day he's free, innocent people suffer, more blood stains his hands.

“We keep pushing,” I declare firmly, steel in my voice as I meet each of their gazes directly. “Every lead, every whisper, every fucking breadcrumb. Reyes will slip eventually—they always do.”

A ripple of determination moves visibly through the team. Eli's chair hits the ground solidly as he straightens, suddenly dead serious.

“When he slips,” Eli promises darkly, voice low and dangerous, “we’ll bury the bastard.”

I step back slightly, forcibly releasing the building tension in my shoulders. Staring at dead-end leads won’t magically conjure some of Reyes’ secrets tonight. We’ve hit our limit, and stubbornness won’t change facts.

“Enough,” I finally sigh, pivoting back to my team. “We’re spinning wheels. Pack it up and go home. Rest tonight, we’ll attack this fresh tomorrow.”

Matteo nods swiftly, already closing his laptop with quiet efficiency. Eli stretches dramatically, his yawn obnoxiously loud and intentionally irritating. Jensen stands slowly, relief briefly softening his stoic mask.

“You too, Seanna,” Jensen warns pointedly, giving me the protective look he reserves for my most reckless moods. “Rest isn’t optional.”

“Yeah, boss,” Eli echoes smugly, grabbing his jacket. “We all know you'll just stand here staring at the board until sunrise otherwise.”

“I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready,” I retort dryly, but a slight grin betrays my amusement. “Trust me, I’m as done with these dead ends tonight as you.”

Matteo eyes me skeptically but wisely stays silent, packing up quietly. The familiar evening routine offers slight comfort amid the collective frustration.

“Bright and early, boss,” Eli calls cheerfully, mock-saluting as he and Matteo step into the elevator.

Jensen pauses at the door, glancing back briefly. “Call if anything happens.”

“I will,” I promise quietly, waving him off firmly. “Now go.”

As the elevator doors close behind them, I exhale deeply, finally allowing the rigid tension to ease from my frame. The bullpen feels eerily silent, haunted by lingering frustration. Reluctantly, I grab my jacket and keys, knowing my night isn't close to finished yet. The team doesn’t know about my extra obligations to my family’s organization—and it’s safer that way. Secrets layered within secrets, a Darling family tradition.

The bullpen lights flicker off as I step into the elevator alone, descending quietly through the building’s suffocating silence. Uncle Max had better have something worth my fucking time tonight. Because after today, my patience is gone—and god help whoever tests it next.