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“She isn’t in there.”
“Fuck.” The word comes out as a growl.
I don’t bother with stealth as I stride back to the room where the meeting was held. Leone’s still inside. His father and the others watch me carefully. Leone’s eyes meet mine, reading the silent alarm on my face.
“Problem?” he asks, though it’s not a question. He can tell from my expression that there’s a problem, alright.
“Fallon’s missing.”
Leone’s sharp glance slices through the tension in the room like a well-honed blade. With swift, precise movements, I cross to Leone’s laptop, perched on the mahogany desk. My fingers fly over the keyboard, pulling up the security feeds and scanning for any sign of Fallon. The uneasy churn of my stomach tells me something’s off. It’s not like her to disappear without a trace. I thought we were past her escape plans. It’s been two months without incident from her.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath as the feeds show no sign of her. Leone moves closer, his presence looming like a thundercloud ready to burst. His eyes are dark pools of fury, reflecting a storm that could tear the very foundations of our world apart.
“Rewind,” Leone commands, his voice deceptively calm. He knows better than anyone that time is slipping away from us and that every second counts.
I comply, dragging the timeline back, and there it is—the image that sets my blood on fire. Marcus, our trusted dealer, sneaking into the restrooms mere moments after Fallon. I don’t need to spell out what we’re both thinking; the betrayal hangs heavy in the air.
“What is it?” Leone asks, even though the question is unnecessary. He sees it, the same damning evidence I do.
“Marcus went in after her,” I report, my voice flat. “Not a coincidence.”
I can’t help but grit my teeth, bracing for the typhoon that is about to be unleashed.
Leone’s hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around the laptop and swinging it toward him with such force it seems to scream in protest. His other fist comes down on the desk.
“Cancel the meeting,” Leone commands, his voice a low growl that doesn’t betray the chaos brewing inside him. Sensing the gathering storm, the two Mexican gentlemen exchange quick glances before slipping out of the room without protest.
“What’s going on, Leone,” his father says, slicing through the silence with a nod before turning on his heel and exiting the room, leaving us alone with the weight of the betrayal closing in around us.
“Marcus took Fallon,” I answer when Leone doesn’t as he pulls his phone from his pocket logging into the app linked to the tracker in her neck.
Vittorio’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, his question sharp and urgent. “Marcus, isn’t that one of Dr. Stevens’s guys?”
Leone doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes glinting with a dangerous calm. “Yes,” he confirms, his tone cool and even. “He sometimes works from here when scouting.”
I feel my pulse hammer in my ears as I watch Leone’s face – it’s like watching a storm brew on the horizon, dark and inevitable. There’s a coiled readiness in his stance that tells me he’s prepared to unleash hell itself.
“Wait,” Vittorio’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “He has kidnapped your wife for fucking organ harvesting?”
We don’t correct him, letting Vittorio make his own assumptions because I know for Fallon to have gone quietly meant she didn’t put up a fight or Rocco would have gone running for her. She must have had this planned. But how? The words hang heavy in the air, but Leone doesn’t flinch and doesn’t bother to correct his father’s assumption. His thumb moves with practiced ease, tapping the screen, bringing up an app that I know too well. It’s the tracker - his own personal leash he’s fastened onto Fallon since she became his.
His eyes narrow as the signal pings back to us. There’s no shock on his face, just a cold, calculating fury that makes even the air around us seem to freeze.
“Where is she?” I demand, straining to peer over his shoulder at the tiny blip on the map.
“Out of the city,” Leone growls, his fingers pinching and zooming on the digital map, honing in on the rapidly moving dot representing his wife... our property.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter under my breath, already piecing together the betrayal, the implications, the punishment that will surely follow.
“Someone call Stevens now and find out where the fuck he’d take her!” Leone’s command slices through the tension like a knife.
“I will. Go find your wife. I will see what information I can get,” Vittorio answers, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“Get the cars,” Leone orders, already moving, a predator poised to strike. His command is my directive—I’m already reaching for my keys, my mind racing ahead to the chase.
“Bring her back,” he adds, each word punctuated with the threat of violence.
We barrel through the maze of corridors, our footsteps echoing off the walls, a drumbeat heralding war. I know that there will be hell to pay when we find them. Reaching the car, I toss the keys to Milo, and we climb in. Milo takes off the wheels, squealing as we tear out of the place.
