LOGINI was told to prove my loyalty. Instead, they left me to burn. My name’s Calistra Ford—Cali, to the idiots who think they know me. I was born to the mafia—wrapped in elegance, forged in blood under a kingpin who calls himself my father. He gave me one shot to earn my place: infiltrate enemy territory, steal something priceless, and survive. I did it. Bruised, bleeding, victorious. And just as I ran for freedom, my brothers—my own family—locked the car doors and drove off without me. They handed me the gun, but turns out I was the target all along. Now, I’m a prisoner to our enemy. And Hale “Hellbringer” Holt is the one holding the chains. He’s cold. Lethal. Unreadable. Everything I should hate. He should’ve killed me. But instead… he married me. Bound by a contract and shackled in silk. Tied to his empire by blood and silence. I was raised to bleed for my people—now, my loyalty is dead. They offered me up as bait. All except my sister, Belle—still trapped in their den of evil. And if I have to set the world on fire to save her, I will. Starting with the family that betrayed me. And I’m dragging Hellbringer into the flames with me.
View MoreCali’s pov.The house was too quiet for what we were planning. Not the kind of quiet that offered peace—but the kind that felt like the calm before something ancient cracked open and swallowed you whole.I stood outside Belle’s door for a full minute before I knocked.Not because I didn’t want to see her.But because I didn’t know how to say goodbye.Not this time.Not when we both knew where I was going.And who I might have to kill to make it back.“Come in,” she called softly, her voice thinner than usual.I stepped inside, trying not to show how hard it hit me.She was curled on the small settee near the window, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her legs tucked up underneath her. A tray of untouched food sat beside her. Some steaming herbal tea. A slice of something Hale’s chef had probably handmade like a saint.She hadn’t touched it.Her skin was pale again. Too pale. Like she was fading from the inside out.“Rosalita’s hovering,” Belle said, offering a ghost of a smile. “I told
Cali’s pov. I didn’t sleep that night.Not because of the adrenaline still crawling under my skin, or because of the shot I fired in that clearing. Not even because of the dead man’s face burned into the back of my eyelids.I didn’t sleep because something was wrong.Not just wrong in the way it always is when Ryker’s involved. Not in the way the world has always felt tilted since the day my mother bled out beside a piano bench.No. This was different.This was the kind of wrong that comes with silence. The kind that whispers instead of screams.Hale had gone downstairs hours ago. He told me to rest. Said I’d done enough for one day.But even as he said it, I knew he wasn’t going to rest. Not with Ryker back in the picture. Not with blood spilled and no answers to show for it.So I sat by the window. Legs pulled up. Face turned to the wind.And waited for something I didn’t have a name for.It came just after three a.m.Not a sound. Not a scream.A flash.A flicker in the surveillanc
Ryker’s pov. There was blood on his gloves again.Not fresh. Not warm. But dried and flaking in a way that left a reddish dust on everything he touched. It didn’t bother Ryker. He didn’t even notice it anymore.The safehouse was quiet, save for the hum of the generators two floors down and the faint whimpering of the idiot who thought tailing a Holt van alone was a good idea. He was duct-taped to a chair now, head lolling, one eye already swollen shut.Ryker didn’t care about his name. Never asked. He wasn’t here for confessions.Only confirmation.“You followed the car,” he said simply, voice flat, even. “Tell me what you saw.”The man tried to speak, lips sticky with blood.Ryker crouched, gloved fingers lifting the man’s chin.“Don’t make me ask twice.”“…a girl…” the man rasped. “Brunette. Thin. Looked like… like Ford’s daughter.”Ryker’s jaw twitched. “Which one?”“I— I don’t know—”“Was she limping?”The man blinked slowly. “Didn’t notice. She didn’t see me. I think— I think sh
Hale’s pov.The sun hadn’t yet broken through the forest line when I saw her silhouette move through the clearing.Cali walked like a shadow sharpened to a point—precise, quiet, no wasted motion. She kept her head low beneath the scarf, hands gloved, phone already preloaded and tucked against her ribs like it was worth more than her own pulse.And maybe it was.This whole operation hinged on her slipping in and out without being seen, without being recognized. Without being shot.I watched from the northeast slope, crouched beneath the rusted ruins of a derailed transport train. My men were stationed in the brush, two hundred meters out. Far enough not to draw attention. Close enough to strike on command.Through the scope, I tracked Cali’s every step. Her boots pressed into cold, brittle gravel. Her jacket billowed lightly in the breeze. The moment she hit the center of the clearing, she dropped to one knee and placed the burner phone just beneath a broken slab of concrete, exactly w






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