Each step was constant and with confidence. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her walk over and sit on the table with my knives. Turning slightly toward her, I lifted an eyebrow in question.
“I’ll just be here. The package is safe for now.” She picked up one of the knives and flipped it over and over in her hand, catching it by the handle each time. The way she held her shoulders and body was all dominance. My Goddess was present. There was a chilling smile on her lips. “Let me know if you need anything.”
The wicked gleam that matched her smile had me hard in a second. She wasn’t fucking around anymore. My Goddess was pissed and was playing the game with me. To the heavens, I loved this woman and couldn’t wait to prove to her how fucking much.
“Thank you, Goddess.” Turning my full attention to the sack of shit in front of me, I encouraged him to keep talking with a slow sawing motion above his knee. “Continue.”
Air hissed between his teeth as his eyes flicked to where she was behind me. “Eyes on me, fucker.”
"Says . . . if he controls her . . . he controls you."
I kept my expression neutral despite the rage building inside me. "Come on, use your words. Tell me everything."
"He wants . . . to break the alliance. Your sister . . . is just the beginning."
As I had suspected, Juarez was making a power play. Not just for territory or business, but for control of the Azzaro family itself, starting with Rhea then targeting Elin to manipulate me. The question was whether my father was complicit or simply blind to Juarez's true intentions.
"What's the plan for Elin?" I pressed, bringing the serrated blade to his cheek.
His eyes widened. "Please . . . I just follow orders."
"Then follow mine." I dragged the serrated knife across his cheek, sawing slowly through the layers of skin until I hit the muscle beneath. His scream caught in his throat as I twisted the blade, carving a ragged line that wept crimson down his jaw and neck. The metallic scent of fresh blood filled my nostrils as I leaned in closer, watching his eyes roll back in agony. "Tell me."
"Abduction," he blurted.
I let the silence stretch between us, twisting the blade so it caught the light. When he didn't speak, I drove the knife intohis thigh, the steel parting flesh with a wet sound that sent heat rushing through my veins.
"Tonight," he finally screamed, voice breaking as I yanked the blade free. Blood spurted in rhythmic pulses. "During peak hours. We stage it—make it look like some jealous client of hers. Then take her to the Oakland warehouse, ship her out as a bride to somewhere overseas."
My stomach clenched with rage. I sliced a shallow line across his chest, savoring his whimper. "Manpower?"
"Six men. Two teams." Harley pushed off the wall, our eyes meeting. The fury I saw there mirrored the inferno burning inside me. "When?"
"Midnight." Blood bubbled between his teeth, pink froth spilling down his chin. "Christ, I swear that's all."
"One last thing." I grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into the wound I'd carved earlier. His terror smelled like copper and piss. "My father. Does he know?"
A flicker crossed his face—barely perceptible but enough. My heart turned to ice. "Don Azzaro authorized it," he whispered. "Said the Perkins woman was . . . compromising your judgment. That she needed to be . . . eliminated."
Cold fury washed through me. My own father had sanctioned the attack on Elin. Had authorized Juarez to abduct and likely kill the woman I loved, all to ensure my compliance, my loyalty to the family business.
Fuck him.
In that moment, the last thread of loyalty I felt toward my father snapped, clean and irreversible.
I stepped back, regarding the hanging man dispassionately. "Thank you for your cooperation."
Relief flooded his features. "You'll let me go?"
I nodded to Harley. "I'm afraid not."
"Wait." Elin's voice sliced through the air. Harley froze mid-step. She slid off the table, palm already extended. "Give me the knife, Azzaro."
The look in her eyes stopped any protest I might have made. I placed the serrated blade in her waiting hand, watching as her fingers curled around the handle with practiced ease.
"You've been very helpful," she told the man, her voice eerily calm as she approached him. "But we can't have loose ends."
"Wait—" His plea died as she drove the blade into his abdomen with such force that the blade slammed against the chair on the other side. She twisted, yanked it free, then plunged it in again. And again. Each strike precise yet brutal—the same economical movements I'd seen Joel use years ago. Blood sprayed across her face, her chest, but she didn't stop, even when the man had long stopped twitching. Her arm rose and fell in a rhythm of pure hatred, her breath coming in sharp pants.
