“Anyway, there’s a bit of trouble brewing, but nothing our boys can’t sort out. And if they can’t, I’ll sic the rooster on ‘em. He’s meaner than Digger on Black Friday.” Her laughter jangled through the line, full of mischief and love. “You know, since you’re on break, why not come home before spring semester starts? I’ll hide your textbooks and feed you biscuits till you forget what algebra is.”
I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to confess everything. “I wish I could, Stella, but I can’t. School’s keeping me busy.” The lie burned on my tongue, but I couldn’t bear to burden her with my secrets—not yet.
“Well, don’t let those professors turn you into a robot. Want to talk to one of the boys? Or maybe the rooster?”
“No, just give them my love—and a warning about the rooster.”
“Will do, honey. I’ll tell ‘em to duck and run.”
“Hey, Stella?” I paused, voice trembling.
“Yeah, sugar?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, baby girl. Bunches and bushels.” Her voice wrapped around me like an old quilt, and when she hung up, I sat in the hush of luxury with tears streaming down my face, wishing the distance between us was nothing more than a thread I could tug right home.
Chapter Thirty-One
Massimo
I tried to control the burning rage boiling deep as I sped through the icy city streets of Chicago. The windshield wipers scraped rhythmically against the glass, barely clearing the curtain of sleet that blurred neon signs and blinding headlights. Cesar, next to me, gripped his phone in silence, while Luca sat in the back seat, his fingers drumming an impatient, staccato beat on the leather console. Each thud echoed the restless pulse pounding behind my temples, my jaw clenching so tightly it ached. The unforgiving cold seeped through my coat, but all I could focus on was the wild, anxious energy surging in my chest as we barreled toward whatever waited for us in the shadows of the city.
Cesar received the call early this morning from Crispin Sinclair, his voice cold and taunting, telling us that he had my runaway bride and if I wanted her back, I would need to come claim her myself. The words replayed in my head, each syllable a spark igniting the fury I tried—and failed—to contain. My palms were slick against the steering wheel, my breaths shallow and sharp, blending with the muffled hum of the city that seemed to sense the storm raging inside me.
The tension in the car was nearly suffocating as Luca finally voiced the question that haunted all of us. His words, quiet but heavy, cut through the air. “Do you think he knows?” We exchanged uneasy glances, each of us well aware of the consequences should our worst fears come true.
Cesar broke the silence, his tone rough and laced with dread. “For our sakes, let’s hope he’s still in the dark, because if he’s learned the truth, he’s an adversary we won’t beat. The only thing in our favor is that we only learned the truth a few days ago. So, there is hope.” He paused, his brow furrowing deeper. “I’m more interested in how she ended up at his place.”
Frustration surged inside me, and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles whitened. “It had to be Oliver,” I growled, anger flaring in my voice. “When I get my hands on that little shit, I’m going to wring his damn neck.” My mind raced, connecting the dots. “His father occasionally does business with Sinclair.”
Luca’s voice was tentative as he said, “Maybe he thought Sinclair would help?”
My anger simmered just beneath the surface, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “Too bad for him; our deal with Sinclair trumps everything else,” I seethed. There was no room for sentiment or misplaced trust now—business was business, and our allegiance was clear.
The car jerked as the tires lost traction for a moment, and Cesar’s grip tightened on the door. His tone was stern, cutting through the escalating tension. “Massimo, you need to slow down,” he ordered. “Killing us will not help matters.”
Realizing the danger, I reluctantly eased my foot off the accelerator, drawing in a long, steadying breath before letting it out in a sigh. The urgency remained, but I forced myself to focus.
Sensing my agitation, Luca leaned forward from the back seat, his hand gripping my shoulder in an attempt to anchor me. “Relax, brother,” he said, his tone reassuring. “She’s safe. Sinclair would never hurt a woman.”
I glanced at him, skepticism and worry etched into my face. “You sure about that?”
He hesitated for a moment before answering honestly, “No, but Miranda isn’t Jane Craven.”
The name hung in the air, heavy with implication. Everyone knew Sinclair’s vendetta against Jane Craven—after what she’d done to him and countless others at the Trick Pony, her days were numbered. If Sinclair had his way, there’d be no mercy; he would make sure he was the one to end her.
The tension thickened, a heavy silence settling between us as headlights from an oncoming car flashed across our faces. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts, weighing the risks, the fragile alliances, and the secrets that threatened to unravel everything. The city’s lights flickered in the distance—a promise of answers or perhaps more trouble waiting ahead.
An hour later, I eased the SUV’s speed as we approached the iron gates. They swung open in response, granting us entry to the estate. Guards stood watch, heavily armed and alert, their eyes following our every move as we drove up the winding drive toward the imposing house.
Luca’s gaze wandered over the grounds, curiosity evident as the SUV rolled to a stop near the front entrance. “Did you know Sinclair had a place in the city?” he asked, his tone reflecting surprise at the sight of the grand home and its fortified security.
Shaking my head, I replied as I turned off the engine, “No. I knew he had homes in Greece, Turkey, and the Maldives, but not in Chicago.”
Before I could say more, Cesar asserted himself. “Let me do the talking,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He opened the vehicle door and stepped out into the crisp, biting cold. The rest of us quickly followed, falling into step behind him as we made our way up the path toward the front door.
As we approached, the door swung open, and Sinclair himself appeared, waiting for us. He stood tall in the entryway, his presence commanding.
