I try to breathe. The air barely makes it past my ribs—shallow, jagged, useless.
“Where?” Da growls, stepping forward like he might rip the answer out of the boy if he hesitates. His face is carved from thunder, every line sharpened by fury and something far worse—realisation.
Seeing him finally understand how wrong he was about Lily—seeing the truth land, undeniable and sharp—shouldfeel likevindication. It should feel like triumph. Like something earned after watching her carry blame that was never hers.
But standing here, with the clock ticking and Lily somewhere in the dark, it feels like nothing at all.
Vindication doesn’t mean a damn thing if she’s still missing.
“Warehouse Twelve-B,” the runner blurts. “Down by the cranes. Old Scots territory—before they pulled out.”
Aidan mutters a curse under his breath. Owen is already in motion—phone out, jacket half-on, barking clipped orders I can’t make out over the blood pounding in my skull.
Jonathan surveys the room and nods once. The look on his face is all cool control and resolve, the kind that only comes from a man who’s spent his life balancing blood against consequences, who knows exactly when mercy runs out, and war takes its place.
“Matt, Owen, Liam—you’re with me,” he says. “We’ll hit the warehouse. See what they left behind, what they were sloppy enough to miss.”
His gaze shifts, already thinking three steps ahead.
“Ciaran—take Declan and Aidan. Find the kid who flagged the shipment. I want every detail he remembers. Times, vehicles, faces, everything. If he blinked at the wrong moment, I want to know why.”
Da doesn’t argue. He jerks his chin at Declan and Aidan and heads for the lift without another word. He’s still furious with me—with everything that’s come out tonight—but for now he’s forcing it down, banking it for later.
It won’t stay contained for long.
And when it breaks, I can only hope Salvatore is close enough to feel the full weight of it.
Jonathan’s focus shifts to Seamus next, his tone turning colder, heavier, orders delivered like sentences that have Jack and Brennan snapping to attention in an instant.
“Lock the city down. Inner and outer perimeter. Get the women and children somewhere safe before this spills over. Anyone who can’t defend themselves is off the board.” His gaze pins them there, unyielding. “Then meet us at the docks.”
Seamus inclines his head once. Jack’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Brennan is already pulling his phone from his pocket as he strides for the lift, barking orders before the doors even close.
Jonathan turns back to me as the penthouse empties out around us, the room hollowing with every retreating footstep.
Cora lingers at the foot of the stairs as Owen presses a brief kiss to her forehead while Liam takes April from them, cooing something that makes her small fist curl into his shirt as he holds her on his hip.
The sight of it hits harder than almost anything else tonight—a sharp, brutal reminder of what I stand to lose if we’re too slow. Of everything Lily and I might never get if we don’t reach her in time.
Jonathan’s gaze follows mine for half a heartbeat before returning to my face, sharp and knowing.
“You ready?”
No.
I won’t be, not until she’s in my arms, not until I hear her voice instead of imagining her screams, not until I know she’s breathing. My chest feels too small to hold my heart. My pulse is a live wire. My hands won’t stop shaking.
But I nod anyway. The motion feels fractured, like something cracked just beneath the surface. “Let’s go.”
Hesitation isn’t an option. Because every breath feels like a countdown. Because she’s out there somewhere.
And if I don’t reach her now—
She could disappear.
And I won’t survive that.
The docks reek of rust, salt, and something rotten beneath it all. Fog rolls low across the ground, curling around our boots like it’s alive, swallowing the edges of the world until there’s nothing left but shadows and steel.
