I spent hours tonight proving I'd destroy anyone who threatened her. And while I was doing that, someone took her right out from under me.
But she's still in the city, close enough to reach.
And when I find whoever took her, they're going to wish Carlo Bellandi's broken hand was the worst thing I'm capable of.
The tracker shows eighteen minutes to the airport.
I make it in twelve.
Orders go out in short bursts. Clipped. Precise. No room for confusion.
"Enzo. Take your team and block every road leading to the south hangars. Nothing gets in or out without my say."
"Copy."
"Rafe. Perimeter. I want eyes on that warehouse and every exit covered. Anyone tries to move her, you stop them. Non-lethal if possible, but I don't care if it's not."
"Understood."
"Luca." I'm still driving. "Third priority. Kill the article. Pressure who published it. Legal threats. Financial leverage. Whatever it takes. I want that story buried before sunrise."
"On it. But Dante—some of these sites are outside our jurisdiction?—"
"Then get creative, brother. Threaten their advertisers, their hosting services. Make it more expensive to keep the story up than to take it down."
He doesn't argue. Just disconnects.
The goal is simple. Clean. No complications.
Extraction first.
Get Bianca. Get her safe. Get her away from whoever took her.
Damage control second.
The article. The fallout. The politics. All of it can wait until she's in my arms.
I pull into the airport access road doing eighty. Tires screaming as I take the turn toward the private hangars.
The tracker dot pulses ahead.
I'm coming, Bianca.
And God help anyone who gets in my way.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Bianca
The jet engine screams to life with a high whine that starts low and builds until it's a physical thing pressing against my eardrums, making my teeth ache.
They're really doing this—really taking me.
Adrian's hand closes around my arm, fingers digging in hard enough that I feel bones shift beneath the skin, hard enough to leave marks that will purple by morning. If I make it to morning.
"Come on." He pulls me toward a side door, not the main hangar entrance where the jet waits, but a smaller door that probably leads directly to the tarmac. "We need to move. Now."
I dig my heels in and try to plant myself, but he's stronger than I remember, more desperate than I've ever seen him.
