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Not yet.

If we go in too early, Lionetti will disappear. The buyers will scatter. And we'll lose any chance of taking them all down and finding Becca.

I have to be strategic.

"Jace," I say, my voice tight. "I need to see everyone they have trapped in there."

I grab my jacket, head for the door.

"I'm headed to the city," I tell him. "Send everything to my phone. Now."

Jace doesn't try to stop me this time.

I get in the car—still parked outside Becca's house—and connect to the line with Jace through the dashboard.

"Call everyone we have," I say. "From here to Philly. Get them to my office."

There's a beat of silence.

Then Jace's voice comes through, quieter than before.

"Boss. You're goingto want to see this."

I glance at my phone.

A live feed comes through.

And my heart stops.

It's her.

Becca.

She's drugged. Barely coherent. Two men are holding her up, dragging her through a doorway behind the stage.

"Becca," I breathe.

My hands grip the wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.

I floor it.

The speedometer climbs—70, 80, 90. The roads blurs past me.

"JACE!" I shout into the line. "I need you to find a way to interrupt the fucking sales. Do something. Anything. Till I get there."

"On it, boss."

There's a pause.

Then, quieter: "Hey. We're going to save her, boss."

I don't answer.

Because all I can see is her face on that screen. Drugged. Helpless.

And all I can think isI should've been there.

Ishould've told her the truth. I should've stayed closer. I should've—