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CHAPTER SIX

Stefano

Tomasso's black SUV idles in the motel parking lot, a machine too sleek for its surroundings.

I watch Ava through the rearview mirror until she disappears inside her room, my keys still clutched in her hand. The sight causes something possessive to cramp in my chest—she's keeping something of mine.

"Boss." Tomasso's voice cuts through my thoughts. "We've got trouble at the docks."

The words should snap me to attention, but I'm still caught in the memory of how Ava felt in my arms, how she leaned into me despite her protests. The way she looked at her brother—fierce, protective, ready to burn the world down to keep him safe.

Just like me with Angela.

"Someone's been poking around the shipments," Tomasso continues, pulling onto the empty street. His tone carries the weight of worse news to come. "Security caught three men an hour ago. Not locals."

That gets my attention. I force myself to shift mindsets, from the man who just held Ava to the one they call Monster. "Caught them how?"

"Camera sweep picked them up near Container B7." He takes a sharp turn, heading toward the waterfront. "They were photographing manifests, tracking shipment patterns. Professional job, except they didn't account for the new motion sensors."

My mind calculates possibilities, threats, reactions. This is what I'm good at: the chess game of power and control. So why do my thoughts keep drifting to dark eyes and defiant smiles?

"The men?" I ask, shoving thoughts of Ava aside. Business now. Always business.

"Detained in the warehouse office. No IDs, but their equipment's high-end. Someone's bankrolling this operation."

I check my phone—messages from my dock supervisor, the security chief, and three missed calls from my sister. The last makes me frown. Angela should be asleep at this hour.

"Your sister's fine," Tomasso says, reading my expression. "Called to ask if she could go to the theatre to watch some werewolf movie with Violeta. I handled it."

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. At least one vulnerability is secure tonight.

"The men's equipment? Anything traceable?"

"Clean. Too clean." Tomasso's hands tighten on the wheel. "Boss? How do you want to handle this?"

I stare out at my city, at the empire I've built through blood and calculation. At the power I've amassed to protect what's mine.

What's mine.

The words echo in my head, along with the thought of Ava's face, her brother's vulnerability, the weight of everything I've promised to protect.

"Take me to them," I say, letting the Monster rise. "Let's find out exactly what game they think they're playing."

* * *

The warehouse looms ahead, security lights cutting through the fog, my men standing at attention as we approach. Here, in my domain, I know exactly who I am. What I'm capable of.

What I'll do to anyone who threatens what I've built.

"Have them ready for questioning," I tell Tomasso as we park. "Let's find out what these men know."

The warehouse door closes behind me with a sound like fate. Or maybe that's just the Monster, hungry for blood.

Either way, someone's about to learn exactly why they shouldn't play games in my city.

* * *

The warehouse office has been converted into an impromptu interrogation room. Three men are zip-tied to chairs, heads bowed, expensive camera equipment laid out on the table before them. Professional gear. Professional idiots.

I take my time studying the equipment, letting their fear build. The room smells of rust and saltwater, of desperation and sweat. One of the men—the youngest and shakiest—keeps glancing at the dark stains on the concrete floor. Smart boy. Those stains tell stories he doesn't want to be part of.

"Nikon D850," I muse, picking up one of the cameras. "Excellent choice for night photography. Expensive, though." I turn it over in my hands. "The kind of equipment that requires significant funding. The kind that raises questions about who's paying your bills."

None of them speak. But the middle one who is older and harder, with prison tattoos peeking from his collar, shifts slightly. He’s testing his restraints.

"I wouldn't," I say softly, not looking up from the camera. "The zip ties are reinforced. The more you struggle, the deeper they cut. Makes quite a mess, actually." I smile, remembering. "Though I suppose the floor's already stained."

The young one whimpers. Music to my ears.

"Now then." I set the camera down carefully. Everything I do is precise. It's part of why they fear me. The Monster who never loses control is far more frightening than one who rages. "Let's discuss what brings you to my docks at this unfortunate hour."

Silence. I didn't expect anything else. Not yet.

I move behind them, footsteps echoing. I let them wonder where I am and what's coming. The young one's breathing quickens. The harsh, panicked gasps sound obscenely loud in the quiet.

"Your equipment tells an interesting story," I continue, circling them slowly. "Professional gear. Detailed maps of my shipping routes. Security rotation schedules." I pause behind the prison-tattooed one. "The kind of intelligence that suggests inside help. The kind that makes me very...curious about who's been talking to whom."

"We don't know anything," the third man bursts out. American accent, trying too hard to sound tough. "We were just hired to take pictures?—"

The sound of my hand connecting with his face cracks through the room like a gunshot. I didn't even consciously decide to move. The Monster simply...responded.

"Interrupting is rude," I say mildly, straightening my cuffs. Blood trickles from the man's split lip. "And lying to me is...inadvisable."

The young one starts to cry silently. The tattooed one remains stoic, but I catch the slight tremor in his hands. They're breaking. It's just a matter of time.

I lean against the table, selecting another piece of their equipment. A satellite phone, expensive and untraceable. Or so they thought.

"Here's what I know," I say, keeping my voice conversational. Pleasant even. "I know you were hired to photograph specific containers. I know you have a contact point in the park three blocks east. And I know—" I snap the phone in half with my bare hands, making them all flinch, "—that you're not the only team in play."

The tattooed one's head snaps up at that. Interesting.

"Oh yes," I smile, all teeth. "We're aware of your...colleagues. The question is, how much pain are you willing to endure to protect people who clearly didn't think enough of you to warn you about my new security measures?"

I move back behind them, letting the words sink in. The young one breaks first, as I knew he would.

"It was a phone call," he sobs. "Disguised voice. Said to document shipment patterns, take photos of manifests. Easy money, they said. Just drop the intel at the dead drop and?—"

"Shut up!" Prison-tattoos snarls, but the dam has broken.

"They said other people were already in place!" The words tumble out between hitching breaths. "That we just had to worry about the docks because they had someone in the club already. We didn’t?—"

The sound of my hand slamming onto the metal table silences him. The Monster roars in my chest, hungry for blood, but I keep my voice deadly calm.

"What club?"

Silence falls again, heavier this time. Even the young one seems to realize he's said too much.

I move to stand before them, letting them see exactly what they're dealing with.

"Let me be very clear," I say softly. "You have two options. Tell me everything you know about this other operative, or find out exactly why they call me Monster. And trust me," I lean down, meeting each of their terrified gazes in turn, "the stories don't do me justice."

Prison-tattoos is the one who breaks this time. "We don't know details. Just...just heard them say the club infiltration was successful. That someone was already close to you. That's all, I swear to God."

The words hit like bullets, but I don't let it show. Can't let it show. Because they're wrong.

No one is getting close to me.

"Names," I demand. "Descriptions. Every detail you remember about this...infiltration."

"We don't know!" The American again, desperate now. "Everything was compartmentalized. We just know it's someone you'd never suspect?—"

My hand closes around his throat, cutting off his words. "Choose your next statement very carefully."

But he's said enough. They've all said enough.

I straighten, adjusting my cuffs again. My old habit when I need to cage the Monster, to maintain control.

"Tommaso," I call, knowing he's waiting just outside. He appears instantly, efficient as always. "Get everything they know. Every detail, no matter how small." I glance at the three men, letting them see the promise of violence in my eyes. "Make it memorable."

"And you, boss?"

I'm already moving toward the door, mind racing. "I have a club to check on."

* * *

The drive back to the club feels endless. Dawn bleeds across the sky, painting Chicago in shades of gold and shadow. My city is stirring to life, unaware of the games being played in its depths.

Someone has infiltrated my organization. Someone is feeding information to my enemies. The thought makes the Monster snarl, hungry for blood.

But I know who it isn't.

“Boss, there’s nothing left to hear from them,” Tomasso’s says over the phone.

“Get me everything we have on recent hiring across all operations. Every new employee, every contract, every cleaning service."

He grunts. "And Ava?"

My jaw clenches. "She’s not a suspect."

"Boss—"

"Start with the bartenders," I cut him off. "The new cleaning service, too. Anyone with access to private areas."

"But what about?—"

"I said not Ava." The words come out sharp, final. "Don't waste time investigating what we already have looked into. I know her situation well enough.”

Because I do know. I know her down to my bones, even after ten years apart.

I pull up the employee records he sends to me half an hour later. Six new hires in the past month alone. The club's success means constant expansion, and constant vulnerabilities. Any one of them could be the leak.

My phone buzzes again. Tomasso.

"The young one broke further," he says without preamble. "Says someone powerful is behind this. Multiple organizations involved."

"Names," I demand. "I want every contact, every handler, every piece of shit involved in this operation."

"Working on it. But boss, they mentioned the infiltrator was chosen specifically to?—"

"Then find out who it is," I cut him off again, already pulling up security footage. "Check the new bartender. He's been asking questions about shipping schedules. And that waitress who keeps volunteering for VIP service."

They're the real threats, the ones trying to worm their way into my organization, thinking I wouldn't notice. Thinking they could use my club, my legitimate business, my pride, as a front for their games.

"Increase security at all our properties," I tell Tomasso. "Full background checks on the recent hires. I want to know every breath they've taken since birth."

After I hang up, I stand at my office window, watching the sun rise over my city. Somewhere out there, someone thinks they're clever enough to infiltrate my world. To threaten what's mine.

They’ll learn.