Hands grab me, yanking me up, slamming me against the van wall. Zip ties bite into wrists, securing them behind my back. Another tie around ankles. They’re efficient, practiced.
This isn’t their first kidnapping.
“Please.” The word comes out hoarse, terrified. “Please, I don’t know anything. I can’t help you—”
“We don’t need your help.” The scarred man crouches in front of me, and his smile is all teeth and malice. “We just need De Luca to know we have you. Need him to understand what happens when you disrespect the Russo family.”
Russo family. The rival organization. Greco’s people.
“He won’t care.” The lie comes desperately. “We’re not together anymore. I kicked him out. He doesn’t—”
“Doesn’t what? Care about you?” The man laughs. “Sweetheart, he’s had guards on your shop twenty-four seven since you left. Has your apartment bugged. Tracks your every move. The man’s obsessed.” His hand reaches out, grabbing my face roughly. “Which means you’re valuable. Means we can use you.”
“Use me how?” But the answer is already visible in their eyes, in the way they’re looking at me, in the hunger mixing with violence.
“Well.” The second man who is younger, with a spider tattoo on his neck, grins. “Boss said not to kill you. Didn’t say nothing about having some fun first.”
Terror, pure and primal, floods every nerve. “No. No, please—”
“What do you think, Bruno?” Spider tattoo looks at the scarred man. “De Luca’s girl. Bet she’s a good fuck if he’s this obsessed.”
“I think—” The scarred man’s smile widens. “I think De Luca needs to learn a lesson about respect. And what better way than sending him back his girl all used up?”
“Please.” Tears are streaming now, I can’t stop them. “Please don’t, I’ll do anything—”
“You’re going to do anything anyway.” His hand slides down, gripping my throat. “Question is whether you fight and make it worse, or submit and maybe we’ll be gentle.”
They won’t be gentle. I can see it in their eyes, in the way they’re already reaching for belts, in the anticipation making them careless—
The van swerves violently.
Everyone stumbles, thrown off balance. Gunfire erupts from somewhere outside, the distinctive crack of assault rifles.
“What the fuck—” The scarred man scrambles toward the front. “What’s happening?”
“It’s De Luca!” The driver’s voice is panicked. “He found us, he’s, oh Christ—”
The driver’s window explodes. Blood sprays forward. The van careens wildly, tires screaming, and then it impacts hard, slamming everyone against the walls.
Everything stops.
For a moment, silence. Then the back doors rip open, literally rip, the metal screaming as they’re torn from hinges and Alessandro stands silhouetted against the winter sunlight.
But this isn’t the Alessandro from the penthouse, or the flower shop, or even the man covered in blood three nights ago.
This is The Shadow.
His face is absolutely blank, no rage, no fear, nothing human in his expression. In one hand is a gun. In the other, a knife that gleams with fresh blood.
“Mine.” The word comes out soft, deadly. “She’s mine.”
He moves like death itself.
The third man, the one who hadn’t spoken, reaches for his weapon. Alessandro’s gun barks once. The man’s head snaps back, eyes going vacant, body crumpling.
Spider tattoo lunges with a knife. Alessandro disarms him in two moves by grabbing his wrist and twisting, the wet crack of breaking bone fills the van. The knife transfers to Alessandro’s hand and buries itself in the man’s throat. Blood sprays, hot and arterial. The spider tattoo gurgles, clutching uselessly athis neck, and Alessandro just watches him fall with those dead, emotionless eyes.
The scarred man, Bruno, has his gun out now, pointed at Alessandro. “One more step and I blow your head off, De Luca.”
