“Wha—uh… no?” Confusion colors his tone.
“Course he does. It’s why it’s a saying, like British police officers, or bobbies. You can ask to take a leak in their helmets, and they have to say yes.”
Chace snorts. “Man, your meds are really fucking with you, huh?”
“Look it up.”
“Bro, if that shit’s on Wikipedia, it just means some lunatic like you wrote it. Doesn’t mean it’s true. Also, why are both things about hats? Got a new obsession?”
“We’ll agree to disagree,” I growl. “Where are the others? I thought you were coming with Mac and the guys this afternoon?”
“Well…family drama cropped up. I had to keep them in place. I’m just waiting on a—”
His phone rings, slicing through the tension. Chace glances at me, then steps back, answering. “I’m with him now. Hold on—I’ll put you on speaker.”
Every muscle in me locks as a calm, rough Russian accent fills the room.
“I have eyes on the girl.”
Girl…Seraphina?
My chest stutters, my stomach tightening.
“Secured video takes time…horrid, backwater country,” the voice continues.
“Thank you, uncle. I’m signing in now,” Chace says, minimizing the call and opening an app I’ve never seen before.
The video begins to load, and Chace’s uncle continues.
“As you will see, our hunch was correct. The girl was reported at a casino in Las Vegas with Mr. Baker’s father and his colleagues yesterday. She appears unharmed. Her location is secure, most importantly, static at the moment. I have men posted inside, outside, on the roof, and in the building opposite.”
“Static is bad, right?” I ask, my throat tightening.
“On the contrary, Mr. Baker. It means she hasn’t moved from the location.”
Seraphina’s okay—and at a casino of all places.Why the fuck has he taken her there?
“About the casino…” Chace steps toward me, concern written across his face. “That’s public. How do you plan on doing that without starting a war?”
A short, humorless huff precedes the answer.
“The plan is simple. I walk in, plemmyanik. Johnathon Baker might think he’s safe under his boss—but his boss answers to me.”
“Could you not move in without me? I want to be there to—”
“Mr. Baker—” Chace’s uncle cuts in.
“That’s my fucking wife. I’m coming to take her back.” Chace pales slightly, eyes widening, until his uncle lets out a small, tired snort.
“I thought this might be how you felt,” he says. “Rest assured, Mr. Baker, transport is waiting. Valentino, you know where to go.”
The call ends. Chace taps his screen and pulls up the video. I step closer. The footage is grainy, but it doesn’t matter. Las Vegas, neon, crowds, motion…and there she is. My wife. My Dove. She walks beside my father, posture composed, face calm, but I see every detail—the tension in her shoulders, the way our dogs flank her, alert and ready. Then my father’s hand settles at the small of her back.
Possessive.
Get your fucking hand off my wife.
Something inside me snaps. The room shrinks, the air thickens, my pulse roaring louder than my own breath. I don’t blink. I don’t breathe. I don’t speak. But beneath the stillness, beneath the control carved into my bones, something vast, merciless, and untamed rises.
