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“Abruzzo.”
I bark his name into the darkness. It bounces between the dust particles. There’s a groan of a floorboard. Then another one. It’s instinctive to tighten my grip on my girl.
Suddenly, the factory floor lights up. The yellow strip lights above our heads turn on, some blinking, others humming. Abruzzo is standing on the other side of the space, close to an exit. I’m surprised to see he’s alone.
Fucking amateur.
When my eyes adjust, I realize the expression smeared on his face isn’t one I was expecting.
Relief.
I harden my jaw and say, “I have the girl.”
He breathes out and runs a hand through his hair. “Thank god.”
Whatever else he mutters under his breath gets lost in the vast space. When he walks closer to us, boots crunching over broken glass and bits of abandoned machinery, I grip onto Dahlia a little tighter, instinctively pulling her backward and taking a step in front of her.
Abruzzo stops. Looks up at me with a frown.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that.
“You must not know how this works,” I say evenly. “Need to see money upfront.”
It’s a lie. I don’t even deal with cash. My clients wire payment straight to my offshore account in the Cayman Islands. And if they don’t, they become my next hit.
“R-right, sure,” he says, fumbling in his pocket and tugging out his cell. Taps on the screen then holds it up to me. “See? I’ve paid.”
The numbers swim in front of my eyes but I nod anyway. Grinding my molars, I unwind my fist from Dahlia’s hair, nudging her forward. “Go.”
Abruzzo grabs hold of her, yanking her towards him, hard. I stifle a growl. I force myself to unclench my fists.
“Here she is, my pretty little Dahlia Rose,” he coos, a shit-eating grin splitting his face in half. She twists away from him as he runs a grubby finger over her cheek. “I told you, you could never get away from me.”
My breathing is ragged, my mind racing. A quick scan of all four corners of the factory to check he doesn’t have backup lurking in the shadows. There’s no one.
He can’t be that dumb, surely?
As Dahlia withers away from him, I brush my hand over the grip of my gun.
I don’t need the Quinns. All I need is a clear view and one bullet.
But just as I make up my mind, the door crashes open, and three figures pile in.
Shit.
I recognize the men immediately. The one with the shaved head is who I suspected to be Abruzzo’s second-in-command at the factory. He stalks over to Abruzzo’s side immediately. The other two were at the factory that day too.
Santiago Vargas and his son.
What the fuck are they doing here?
“Santiago and Jeronimo,” Abruzzo says, taking a deliberate step away from Dahlia. “Just in time.”
What the fuck are they doing here?
I’m just about to demand an answer from Abruzzo when a sickening noise fills the space. It echoes off the ceiling beams and dances off the brickwork. There’s a moment of confusion. Then I realize—
The noise is coming from Dahlia. Her scream pierces my ears and wrenches my heart at the same time. She turns, running towards me, sheer fear contorting her beautiful features.
