Dante Caruso would get death because he'd earned it. Because he was a predator. Because he'd tried to take Julian's choice. Because he'd terrorized the person I loved.
I'd shown mercy when appropriate. Now I'd deliver violence when necessary.
That was the balance. That was who I was. Human enough to be merciful. Monster enough to protect what was mine.
"Ready?" Matteo asked.
I looked at the house where Julian was being held. Where Dante thought he was safe. Where he thought he could keep what he'd stolen.
"Ready. Let's get Julian back. And let's make sure Dante Caruso never threatens anyone again."
We moved toward the house. Silent. Professional. Lethal.
I was coming for Julian. And God help anyone who got in my way.
CHAPTER 19: JULIAN
CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED SLOWLY. Reluctantly. Like swimming up through dark water toward distant light.
My head pounded. My mouth was dry, tasted like chemicals and cotton. My vision was blurry. Everything hurt.
I tried to move. Couldn't. My hands were restrained behind me. Zip ties cutting into my wrists. I was sitting in a chair. Hard wood pressing against my spine.
Where was I?
Memory came back in fragments. Coffee shop. Stefan going inside. Standing outside in the sun. Men approaching. Tranquilizer dart. Sting in my neck. Falling. Darkness.
I'd been taken. Kidnapped. Drugged.
Terror spiked through me. I forced it down. Tried to think. To assess. To use everything Elio had taught me about staying calm in crisis.
Breathe. Look around. Gather information.
The room was small. Basement, maybe. Concrete walls. One small window high up showing darkness outside. How long had I been unconscious? Hours? A day?
Single door. Closed. Locked, probably.
My hands were zip-tied to the chair back. My ankles were free but what good did that do with my hands secured?
I tested the restraints carefully. Tight. Professional. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing.
The chair was bolted to the floor. I couldn't tip it. Couldn't move it.
Trapped. I was completely trapped.
Stay calm. Elio's voice in my head.Panic makes you stupid. Think. Assess. Plan.
Okay. I was alive. Conscious. Not seriously injured that I could tell. Just restrained. That meant whoever took me wanted me alive. Wanted me for something.
Who? Who would—
The door opened.
A man stepped through. Mid-thirties. Fit. Handsome in a way that made my skin crawl. Dark hair. Sharp features. Expensive suit.
I knew him immediately even though it had been five years.
Dante Caruso.
