It's Riviera.
I haven't spoken to him since I had him track Sara months ago—back when I needed to know her routines, her habits and before I accept the call, I spot him walking toward us, phone to his ear. He's in tactical gear, part of Mateo's team tonight.
“Liam,” he says, ending the call as he approaches. “Was trying to reach you.”
"Riviera." I nod, sizing him up. “Didn't know you were on this operation.”
He shrugs, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Mateo called in a favor. I have certain... skills that come in handy for surveillance.”
I cut through the pleasantries. “Actually, you’ve got perfect timing too. I need you to find Sara for me.”
Riviera's eyes flick toward the Velastra, then back to me. “That's the thing, I don't need to find her.”
“What are you talking about?” My voice drops dangerously low.
“She's already here.” He tilts his head toward the gleaming yacht. “She boarded the Velastra about an hour ago. Wearing a black dress, looking...” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “That’s why I was calling you.”
Something primal ruptures inside me. The world narrows to a pinpoint, blood roaring in my ears. My vision literally tints red at the edges, like I'm seeing through a filter of pure fucking rage.
“She's what?” The words come out as a feral growl.
Damien grabs my arm. “Liam, think for a—”
I wrench free with enough force to make him stumble. I pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply as my chest threatens to explode.
When I look up at Damien, Mateo, and Riviera, my voice comes out dangerously quiet.
“Do I need to fucking spell this out for you? What exactly do you think I'm about to do?”
My words slice through the air between us. “I will burn this entire goddamn dock to the ground if anything happens to her. There won’t be a single boat left floating. Are we clear?”
Riviera shifts his weight, exchanging a glance with Mateo, “Liam, we need to be smart about—”
“Smart?” I laugh, the sound hollow and threatening. “Smart was five minutes ago. We're way past smart now. Smart would’ve been your dumb ass not letting her get on the fucking boat in the first place.”
“And what, Liam? Abduct her? Be reasonable,” Riviera says talking with his hands.
Damien steps closer, his eyes meeting mine without flinching. “You go in there guns blazing, you put her in more danger, not less. We should approach this strategically. Storming a yacht full of rich assholes with armed security—”
“I don't give a fuck if it's guarded by the entire French military,” I snarl. “Sara is on that boat and what armed security?Look at those losers. They’re just wearing a security T-shirt. I'll make them choke on it faster than they remember where their fucking guns are.”
Mateo steps forward, physically inserting himself between me, Damien, Riviera and the pier leading to the yacht. He pulls something from his tactical vest and thrusts it into my hands.
Binoculars.
“Liam, listen to me,” he says, his voice low and steady, he points to the main restaurant’s terrace on the port, about hundred feet from us.
“There's a better way. Café De Paris has one balcony on the second floor facing the yachts. It’s high enough, you'll have a perfect view of the Velastra’s deck. You can confirm she's there, assess the situation. Nothing is going to happen, and if the boat leaves, I have the Cigarette boat docked right over there.” He extends his arm over his shoulder, and I spot his boat, Artemis's grandfather’s company. “It’s ten times faster. We’d have plenty of time to get to her. We’re good. Breathe.”
I grip the binoculars so tightly that the metal edges dig into my palms. “She’s there, that’s established. How do you expect me to just sit around and watch?”
“Because rushing in blind is stupid,” Mateo says bluntly. “Ten minutes. Give me ten minutes to set up a perimeter while you get eyes on her.”
I stare at Mateo, my vision blurring with fury.Ten minutes. He wants me to wait ten fucking minutes while Sara is with God knows who, doing God knows what on a yacht that points to be trafficking women. My hands shake and I bite my lower lip, looking at the ground for a second of lucidity that I can’t reach.
“Fine,” I growl through clenched teeth. “Ten minutes. Not a minute more.”
The click of a lighter cuts through the tension, catching my attention. Damien stands off to the side, cigarette danglingbetween his lips as he cups his hand around the flame. He takes a long drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifts between us, his expression infuriatingly casual.
