Jace hits audio.
Jenna’s voice cracks as she talks — anger and desperation tangled together. She tells her father about a man who won’t obey. A man who embarrassed her. A man who refuses to leave his girlfriend.
And then she says her name.
Rebecca.
The room tilts.
Not physically — I don’t stumble, don’t react — but something inside my chest tightens hard enough to hurt. The name lands wrong. Too specific. Too familiar.
Rebecca Valentine.
My jaw locks.
Onscreen, Lionetti stands and pulls his daughter into his arms. He strokes her hair, murmuring reassurances in Italian. Calm. Controlled. Deadly.
“I’ll take care of it,” he tells her.
Jenna sniffles, nods. Gratitude softens her face as she steps back, wipes her tears, and leaves the office like she didn’t just sign someone’s death warrant.
The door closes.
I don’t realize my hands are clenched until Jace shifts beside me.
We keep watching.
Lionetti reaches for his phone.
Dials.
My pulse pounds in my ears.
“Cesario,” Lionetti says when the call connects. His voice is smooth. Casual. Like he’s ordering wine. “I need a favor.”
The screen cuts.
Minutes later, Cesario ‘Mad Dog’ Leavey walks into frame — broad shoulders, dead eyes, violence stitched into every step he takes. A man who doesn’t ask questions because he doesn’t need answers.
Lionetti leans in close.
The audio catches it.
“I need someone snatched,” Lionetti says. “A woman.”
Cesario doesn’t react.
Lionetti finishes the sentence.
“Rebecca Valentine.”
Something in me snaps into place.
Not panic. Notfear.
Purpose.
My knuckles go white. Heat spreads through my chest, sharp and controlled, the kind of anger that doesn’t scream — it calculates.
