Then straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” Tane muttered.
The feeling hit him like a blindside check—cold, instinctive, wrong. This wasn’t Jacob wandering off to look at the river or ducking into a shop for gum. This was absence. Sudden. Silent.
Tane thumbed open his messages, found Antonio’s thread—the one they used only for emergencies—and typed three words:
TANE: SOS. Waterfront. Now.
He hit send and did his best to retain a level of composure.
Tane pocketed the phone and started moving. The alley beside the restaurant was narrow, lit only by a single sodium bulb above the service door.
He rounded the corner fast, boots scraping concrete…
And then he froze.
Two men had Jacob pinned against the brick wall. One held his arms twisted behind his back. The other had a hand clamped over his mouth.
What the fuck.
They’ve got…
They’ve got my boy…
Jacob’s eyes were wide, furious, struggling against the grip. A black SUV idled at the far end of the alley, rear doors open, engine running low.
Tane didn’t think. Hecharged.
“Fucccccck offffff!” Tane roared, the element of surprise suddenly gone.
He hit the first man—the one on Jacob’s arms—like a freight train, shoulder driving into ribs. The guy grunted, staggered, lost his hold. Jacob twisted free and threw an elbow into the second man’s throat. The thug choked, stumbled back.
Tane followed through with a right hook that caught the first guy square on the jaw. Bone cracked against knuckle. The man dropped. Tane spun, caught the second by the collar, slammed him face-first into the wall. The guy’s nose burst, and blood sprayed the brick.
Jacob was already moving. He grabbed a loose metal trash-can lid like a shield, swinging it at the second man’s knee. The crack echoed. The thug howled.
Tane yanked Jacob behind him, putting his body between the kid and the SUV.
Then, the rear passenger door opened.
A third man stepped out. He was tall, gloved, pistol already raised.
“Enough,” the man said, voice flat. “Both of you. In the car.Now.”
Tane spread his arms, shielding Jacob completely. The shoulder screamed in protest—fresh pain lancing down his arm—but he didn’t move.
“You’re not taking him,” Tane said, low and certain. “You can have me. But not him.”
The gunman smiled thinly. “We’ll see about that.”
He aimed down the pistol.
But suddenly, headlights flooded the alley.
Two black SUVs screeched to a stop at the mouth of the narrow lane, blocking the exit. Doors flew open. Four men in dark coats spilled out. Cardini men, faces hard, weapons already drawn.
The gunman in front of Tane hesitated, only a fraction of a second but it was more than enough.
