I stepped back, wiping the blade clean. "Find out who he reports to, and maybe you walk out of here alive."
Hope flickered in Tony's battered face. "I'll try, boss. I swear. He's supposed to call me tomorrow night."
I nodded to Marco, who released his grip. Tony slumped forward in relief.
"Set up surveillance," I instructed Marco. "I want that call monitored. And get him cleaned up."
I left the basement, heading to my office. The club was beginning to fill with early evening patrons, music pulsing through the main floor. I scanned faces as I passed—which one of these people was betraying me?
Everyone looked guilty when you were searching for traitors.
In my office, I stripped off the blood-spattered gloves and washed my hands. I'd ordered Angelo to keep Sienna away from the club today. She didn't need to see this side of our business.
Strange how I suddenly cared what she thought of me, when just six weeks ago she'd been nothing more than a strategic alliance.
Her face flashed in my mind—the defiance in her eyes that first night, the vulnerability I sometimes glimpsed, the way she'd felt pressed against me. The unexpected possessiveness I felt whenever another man's gaze lingered on her too long.
This wasn't part of the plan. These feelings were dangerous. A liability I couldn't afford.
And yet, the thought of someone threatening her made something feral and violent rise within me.
My phone buzzed with a text from Angelo:Package arrived for you. Hand-delivered to front entrance. No courier ID.
A chill slid down my spine.
Bring it up, I replied.Carefully.
Angelo entered only a few minutes later, holding a small manila envelope with gloved hands.
"No suspicious weight or sounds," he reported. "Security scan shows no electronics or metal inside."
I turned the package over in my hands, and before he stepped out of the room, Angelo hesitated. "Francesco's been asking detailed questions about Mrs. Romano's daily routine," he mentioned, voice even. "Says it's for comprehensive security coverage, but..." He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.
"What kind of questions?" I asked, my attention sharpening.
"Meal times, when she exercises, her sleep patterns. More detail than seems necessary for perimeter security." When I didn’t ask anything else, Angelo slipped out into the darkened hallway, back to his post.
I filed the information away, another piece of the puzzle I was still assembling.
Once alone, I carefully opened the envelope. A single photograph slid out, along with a folded note.
The photograph showed Sienna and me entering our penthouse six weeks ago, the night of our wedding. Her dress was torn, my tie loosened. My hand rested possessively on the small of her back.
But the note told a different story.
THE FAMILIES BELIEVE THE LIE. I DON'T. TIME IS RUNNING OUT. 200,000 NOW.
The price had doubled. But that wasn't what sent ice through my veins.
The note was written in red—a rusty, brownish red that could only be blood.
And in the corner of the photograph, someone had drawn an X over Sienna's face.
My vision tunneled, narrowing to that crude X slashed across her features. A wave of rage surged through me, so intense my hands shook. Beneath the fury, an unfamiliar sensation clawed at my chest—raw, visceral fear.
Not for myself. For her.
When had she become someone I couldn't bear to lose?
