Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Her arms wrap around me. Warm. Real. Alive.
She’s alive.
And Rafe is dead.
My hands finally lift, slow, shaking, closing around her like I’m terrified she’ll vanish too.
Her voice vibrates against me. “Is he really . . .?”
The water keeps pouring down on us.
“Yes,” I manage, voice rough.
Victoria’s arms tighten, as a sound leaves her—small and broken.
Then she pulls back just enough to look up at me, eyes glassy but steady. “Go to Matteo,” she whispers. “He’ll help you.”
I shake my head once.
Victoria frowns. “Why?”
I swallow hard, forcing words out. “I can’t risk it,” I rasp, voice raw. “Not with the hit . . .”
Victoria’s brows knit. “But—”
“I can’t let anyone know where you are.” I cut in, harsher than I want, but I can’t risk her life. “Not until every assassin tied to that network is dead.”
Victoria’s hand slides up to my jaw, thumb brushing lightly like she’s anchoring me. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I have no choice. To protect you, I will. No matter how long it takes.”
She nods as tears fill her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath, shoulders straightening.
“Okay.”
My chest aches. “Yeah?”
Victoria nods slowly, her chin lifting. “I believe in you.”
“It won’t be too long.”
Her mouth curves faintly, sad but steady. “I trust you.”
The words land like a vow.
Like a lifeline.
And for the first time since I watched Rafe die, I feel something other than rage.
I feel fear. The fear of failing her. Of losing her.
Of becoming the kind of man who burns down the world and still can’t protect the one thing he loves.
Victoria presses her lips to my cheek. “You’re not alone,” she whispers. “I’ll always be by your side.”
I hold her tighter under the water, pretending everything will be alright for her sake, but in my head, where the monster lives, a new promise forms . . .
I will find the network.
I will tear it apart.
I will kill them all.
THE PRESENT
66
Lorenzo
Thirteen Years Later . . .
The phone vibrates again. I don’t look at it yet, but when I finally do glance down, the name on the screen tightens something in my chest.
Jaxson Price.
I answer without a greeting. “If this is about the servers being down, I already told you in the group chat that I don’t care. It’s not my problem.”
Jax’s voice laughs through the line. “You’re an asshole, but you will want to hear this.”
“Aw, look at you, Jax. You finally learned to flirt. Lay it on me.”
“You might want to sit down . . . I found him.”
The room goes very quiet. I swear I stop breathing because I don’t need him to tell me who he’s talking about. I’ve waited for this call for years.
I lean forward in my chair. “Say that again.”
Jax exhales, like he’s been holding it in for years. “The last name. The guy who went dark after you started carving up his buddies. He resurfaced three weeks ago under a different name. But I found him.”
My throat tightens. “Where?”
“He’s in Cape May. Waterfront rental. Cash paid upfront. He’s alone. And before you ask, I’m sure it’s him. I double- and triple-checked.”
I close my eyes.
Forty-two.
That’s how many names were on the list. Forty-two people were gunning to end my wife’s life.
Forty-one are gone.
Jax keeps talking, words tumbling now. “I know you said not to ask, and I didn’t, but—Lorenzo—are you ever going to tell me what this was all for? I’ve been scrubbing blood off your digital footprint for years. You don’t do this kind of cleanup for business. You do it for—”
“For survival,” I cut in. Silence. Then, softer, I say, “Soon.”
I hang up before he can push. I’ve been friends with the man for years. He’s helped us all out of so many tight binds, I don’t know why I don’t tell him the truth. I can trust him. I can trust all my friends . . .
Yet . . .
After Rafe died, I haven’t been able to bring anyone else into my mess.
I can’t lose anyone else.
I push off my chair and walk down the hall. Victoria is in the sitting room. She looks up the second I enter.
She always does.
Something in my face gives me away because her smile fades before I say a word.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I cross the room and pull her against me, burying my face in her hair. I need her. Need to inhale her. To ground myself in her presence.
She melts into me, fingers fisting in my shirt. “Lorenzo. You’re scaring me.”
“I found him,” I mumble against her neck. “The last one.”
Her breath catches, her vein throbbing against my lips.
For years, we’ve lived with this unspoken countdown ticking between us. Years of pretending nothing was wrong. Nothing except the fact that she’s lived years locked behind these gates.
We built a life for ourselves, yet . . . she’s never been free.