Ciro struggled once—
Then stopped.
Realizing there was no escape.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he swallowed hard.
Then—
His voice cracked.
“She’s at Ironveil Warehouse. I had her taken there.”
The words landed like a detonated charge in my chest.
Everything inside me went still.
Ice replaced blood.
“You sent a woman who’d just given birth—” my voice dropped, dangerously quiet, “—in freezing agony—to that place?”
Ironveil Warehouse.
The name alone carried weight.
Ironveil Warehouse is one of our oldest properties.
Rusted steel. Leaking roofs. Decay in every corner.
A place we used when we wanted bodies to disappear.
Not to heal. Not to survive.
To vanish.
He had lied—claiming the Spanish had taken her, when in truth he was the one who had sent her to the worst place imaginable.
“Lock him up,” I said without looking at Renzo.
My voice was flat.
“I’m going to find my wife.”
Renzo nodded once.
The guards tightened their grip on Ciro, dragging him away as his voice echoed faintly behind us—pleading, breaking, meaningless now.
I was already moving.
I tore through the hospital corridors like a force of nature.
Shoulder checking anyone who got in my way.
Orderlies shouted after me.
“Sir—slow down!”
I didn’t slow.
