"Did he tell you that his grandfather—our grandfather—built this empire on blood? That every dollar Cassian has comes from someone else's suffering?" Matteo's voice took on an edge. "Did he tell you about the people who've disappeared when they crossed him? The deals made in back rooms, the bodies that wash up in the East River?"
"You're no different," I shot back. "You're doing the same thing."
"Oh, I'm very different." He pushed off the wall, circling me slowly. "Cassian pretends to be civilized. Wears expensive suits, plays the businessman, and acts like the oil empire makes him legitimate. But I'm honest about what we are. What we've always been."
"Criminals."
"Family." The word came out sharp. "This is about loyalty, about blood, about taking back what should have been mine from the beginning. Cassian was never supposed to be Don. That was my father's role, my birthright. But because my father made one mistake, one error in judgment, Cassian's father took everything."
His voice had risen, anger bleeding through the polished facade. The guards shifted uncomfortably.
"And now Cassian has the empire, the power, the respect—while I'm left with scraps." He stopped in front of me, his eyes cold. "But he made a mistake. He let himself care about something. About someone. About that boy sleeping two floors above us."
The confirmation that Leo was here, in this building, sent relief and terror through me in equal measure.
"And you," Matteo continued, studying me. "You're an interesting variable. The mother of his child. The woman he's been protecting,moving into his home. Tell me, Isla—does he love you? Or are you just another possession he's claimed?"
"I don't have to answer your questions."
"No, you don't." He smiled again, that empty, threatening expression. "But you will. Because here's what's going to happen. In—" he checked his watch, "—sixteen hours, Cassian's deadline expires. And if he hasn't surrendered everything to me by then, I'll bring your son down here and let you watch while I hurt him. Not kill. Not yet. Just hurt enough to make Cassian understand I'm serious."
The chair back was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. I swung it at his head with all my strength.
One of the guards caught my wrist mid-swing. The metal clattered to the floor.
Matteo didn't flinch. Just watched me struggle against the guard's grip, that awful smile never wavering.
"Spirit," he said approvingly. "Cassian always did like them fierce." He nodded to the guard. "Let her go. She's earned a small mercy."
The guard released me, and I stumbled back against the wall.
"You want to hurt me?" Matteo asked. "Go ahead. Try. But understand—every bruise you give me, I'll return to your son tenfold."
The threat froze me solid.
"That's better." He moved toward the door. "Sixteen hours, Isla. Make them count. Think about what you'll say to your son when I bring him down here. How you'll explain why his mother couldn't protect him."
The door closed. The lock clicked.
I slid down the wall, shaking with rage and helplessness.
Sixteen hours.
Cassian had to be looking for us. Had to have gotten the message, seen the video. But was sixteen hoursenough time? The building could be anywhere. Brooklyn was huge, full of warehouses and industrial zones where you could hide anything.
Anyone.
I forced myself to breathe, to think past the fear. The guard had taken my weapon, but the bucket remained. The broken light fixture overhead. The chair frame still bolted to the floor.
Something. There had to be something.
I was examining the door hinges, looking for weak points, when I heard it.
A sound so faint I almost missed it. A crack, sharp and distant.
Then another.
Was that gunfire?
