Page 8 of Sinful Bride

Bodies. My men, who trusted me to lead them, to keep them safe. And now some of them are dead.

"I'm on my way." I end the call and finish dressing—jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket. The clothes I'm comfortable in, the clothes that fit who I really am. Not the expensive suits I wear to play pretend with the mafia elite.

The streets are mostly empty at this hour, and I take my bike to get there faster, my mind racing through possibilities. An accident? Unlikely. We're careful with our operations, especially the ones involving anything flammable or explosive.

Which means this was likely deliberate.

An attack.

The warehouse comes into view, and my worst fears are confirmed. Fire trucks are already there, their lights painting the night red and blue. The building is a smoking ruin, one wall completely collapsed, flames still licking at the debris. The smell hits me as soon as I get off my bike: burning wood, melted plastic, and underneath it all the sickly sweet smell of burned flesh.

I've smelled it before, in my old life, before Lachlan handed me this one. But it never gets easier.

Cormac meets me at the perimeter, his face streaked with soot and blood. "Boss."

"What happened?" My voice is flat. I can't afford emotion right now, or to think about the men who are dead, the families I'll have to visit, the funerals I'll have to attend.

"The explosion was in the northeast corner, where we store the—" He glances at the firefighters nearby and lowers his voice. "Where we store the product. Looks like it was rigged. Professional job."

"How many dead?"

"Two confirmed. Three more in critical condition at the hospital." His jaw tightens. "Tommy didn't make it. He was closest to the blast."

Tommy. I grit my teeth. He was engaged to be married next month. I was supposed to go to his bachelor party next week.

I close my eyes briefly, then open them. "Who was on duty tonight?"

"Tommy, Bryce, Sean, Liam, and Patrick. Bryce is dead, too. The others were outside when it went up."

"Security footage?"

"Destroyed in the blast. But—" Cormac hesitates. "We found something. Or rather, someone found something for us."

He leads me away from the firefighters, toward a cluster of my men standing near the remains of the loading dock. They part as I approach, revealing a man on his knees, his hands zip-tied behind his back and his face bloody and swollen.

"Who's this?" I ask, though I already have a suspicion.

"Caught him trying to leave the scene," one of my men says. "He was watching from across the street, looked too interested. When we approached, he ran."

I crouch down in front of the man, studying his face. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, with Italian features and an expensive watch on his wrist. Not one of ours. "Who do you work for?" I ask, my voice quiet.

He spits blood at my feet. "Fuck you."

I don't react, just stand up and nod to Cormac. "Take him somewhere private. Find out what he knows."

"Already did," Cormac says grimly, gesturing to the injuries on the man's face. "He's Capetti."

The name hits me like a punch. For a moment, I can't breathe. All I can see is Elena's face, her dark eyes looking at me with disdain.

You don't belong here.

"You're sure?" My voice is still calm, but there's a cold, dangerous edge to it now.

"He had a phone on him. Texts from a Capetti number, giving him the location and timing." Cormac pulls out a plastic bag with a phone inside. "We've got proof."

I take the bag, staring at the phone. The screen is cracked, but I can still see the messages with instructions, coordinates, and a time: 1:00 AM.

Right when I was in my bed, jerking off to fantasies about Elena Capetti, her family was murdering my men.