Even then, Antonio had seen people as possessions to protect or control.
"Exactly. Whatever we do, they'll be ready for it."
A guard appeared in the doorway. "Sir, there's a package at the front gate. Courier dropped it and left immediately."
My blood turned to ice. "Bring it here. Carefully."
The box was small, plain cardboard with no identifying marks. Inside sat only a burner phone.
It rang the moment I lifted it.
"Ricci." I kept my voice steady despite the rage boiling beneath.
"I have something of yours." Falco's voice oozed through the speaker like poison. "Pretty little redhead. Feisty, just like I was told."
"If you touch her—"
"Already did." He laughed, the sound making my skin crawl. "She's got spirit. I like that in a woman."
I gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked. "What do you want?"
"Check your messages first. I sent you a little video. Just so you know this is real."
I pulled the phone from my ear, found the video message, and pressed play with trembling fingers.
Sophie appeared on screen, tied to a metal chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Her lip was split, a bruise forming on her cheekbone. But her eyes—those green eyes burned with defiance even now. She stared directly into the camera, chin raised despite the zip ties cutting into her wrists.
In the background, barely visible but unmistakable, stood Jonah. He was speaking to another man, gesturing as if providing detailed information. The traitor had completed his journey from my service to my enemy's.
"Say hello to your boyfriend," Falco's voice came from off-camera.
Sophie's response was to spit blood onto the concrete floor. "Fuck you."
The camera shook as Falco laughed. "See what I mean? Spirited." His hand appeared in frame, grabbing Sophie's jaw roughly. "Tell him what happens if he doesn't pay."
"Don't give this piece of shit anything," Sophie growled, her eyes finding the camera lens.
The video went dark as Falco's hand struck her face.
White-hot rage exploded behind my eyes. I was going to kill him. Slowly. Personally. With my bare hands.
"Now that we understand each other," Falco continued when I put the phone back to my ear, "here's what I want: ten million in cash, plus the shipping routes through New Jersey you've been keeping from Antonio. He wants you to pay for the privilege of getting her back. Consider it… compensation for the trouble you've caused."
Ten million. Double what he might have asked without Jonah's intelligence about my resources.
"You're dead," I said quietly. "You understand that, right? The moment I find you, you're dead."
"Big talk from a man whose woman is bleeding in my warehouse." His voice hardened. "Thanks to your former employee, I know exactly how you operate. Your tactics, your resources, your weaknesses. This time, you don't have the advantage."
Jonah. That treacherous little bastard was probably telling them everything—rescue protocols, backup plans, even personal information about me and Sophie.
"Proof of life," I demanded. "I want to speak to her."
A shuffling sound, then Sophie's voice, strained but clear: "The warehouse district—I can see industrial equipment. There are at least six of them here."
A slap echoed through the phone, followed by Sophie's muffled cry.
"You have six hours," Falco said. "I'll text instructions."
