FAZER LOGINALESSANDROThe SUV didn’t stop for a long time.I drifted in and out, ribs screaming every time we hit a pothole, the masked man’s shoulder a hard, silent wall beside me. I tried to keep track of turns. Left, left, right, a long straightaway. After the fourth turn, the pain took whatever was left of my focus, and I stopped trying to memorize anything at all. It didn’t matter. Even if I remembered every street, every light, I doubted I’d survive trying to run from wherever we were headed.I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t have the strength to argue if he refused to answer, and something in the way he sat, still, watchful, unreadable even behind the mask, told me he would refuse.Time stopped meaning anything. I measured the drive in breaths instead of minutes, each one shallow, careful, my ribs protesting every small movement of the vehicle beneath us. At some point I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew, gravel crunched under the tires and the world had gone qu
THIRD PERSON’S POVThe gates of the Santoro estate slammed shut behind Nico’s SUV.He sat in the back seat, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists.Blood stained the sleeve of his expensive suit, but not his blood. His men’s.The drive back had been silent. No one dared speak.Only one vehicle had made it out of Hell’s Gate with him.The rest of his men were either dead, wounded, or scattered across the surrounding woods.Nico stared through the tinted window, his reflection staring back at him.Someone had walked into Hell’s Gate and had taken Alessandro.From under the noses of his guards. Nico’s nostrils flared.He had spent years building a reputation that made grown men tremble at the mention of his name.Yet tonight, someone had made him look like a fool.The SUV stopped in front of the mansion.Nico stepped out before anyone could open the car for him.The moment his shoes touched the ground, he turned toward the remaining guards.“Inside.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet
I managed to lift my head from his shoulder and saw one of the guards rushing toward us. He was trying to reach his weapon. But the masked man was faster.Before I could even process what was happening, he carried me into the tunnel. He turned quickly and pressed a button on the wall.With a heavy metallic clang, the tunnel door began to close.The guard rushed forward, desperately trying to reach us, before he could point his gun towards us, he was already too late.The door slammed shut right in his face. And I could hear him scream out in frustration. And I understood what that shout meant… … He’s a dead man. And just like that, we disappeared into the darkness. I couldn’t see a thing. He carried me through the dark narrow passage, his footsteps echoing against the walls.I didn’t know where we were going.I didn’t know who he was.All I knew was that I was leaving Hell’s Gate.And somehow, that terrified me almost as much as staying.We emerged into the open air on the far sid
DANTE“Gone?” The word echoed in my head. “What the hell does he mean by gone?”My blood boiled as panic clawed its way through my chest. Had we been too late?No. I refused to believe the worst. “Nico took him?” Marco continued with the interrogations. “Nico…” The man coughed, eyes glassy with pain and something like dark amusement. “Nico got here ten minutes before you did. Found the same empty chair.” He looked at me. “I’ve never seen him that angry. Someone walked into Hell’s Gate, took his brother right out from under him, and disappeared through the tunnel.”My blood ran cold.So Nico knew.He knew someone else had stolen Alessandro.And now both of us were hunting the same ghost.I stared down at the bloodstained ring in my hand.Alessandro was alive.But he was in the hands of a third player—someone bold enough to steal from Nico Santoro inside his own private hell.And that someone had just declared war on both our families without saying a single word.For the first time i
“What?” Marco asked. “We’ve had routine checkpoints for five days now,” Ray said over the phone, his voice calm but alert. “And yesterday and today, a man that matches the description you just gave me was seen twice.” Marco straightened slightly in his chair. “You’re certain it was him?” “As certain as I can be without pulling him out of the vehicle,” Ray replied. “Same build, same face, same cold expression. Tall guy, dark hair. Hard to miss. He was sitting in the back of a taxi both times.” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Both times? You mean he passed two different checkpoints?” “Exactly,” Ray said. “First sighting was yesterday evening on the eastern bypass heading out of Manhattan. The second time was earlier today near the old industrial route by the docks.” Marco straightened. “You’re sure?” “Yes.” My pulse quickened. “Was he driving?” Marco asked. “No.” “Passenger?” “Yes.” “In what vehicle?” “A yellow city taxi.” Marco looked at me. Hope
** Dante **Tommy drove us straight to one of our safehouses—a quiet two-story building hidden between abandoned factories on the edge of the industrial district. Marco was already waiting when we arrived.The moment I stepped out of the car, my injured leg nearly gave out.Marco rushed forward.“Jesus Christ,” he said, grabbing my arm. “You look like you crawled out of a grave.”“Feels like I did.”Inside, we gathered around a large wooden table in the center of the room. Maps, phones, laptops, and scattered files covered the surface.Tommy poured me a glass of water while Marco stared at me with that calculating expression he always had when something serious was happening.“Start talking,” Marco said. “What happened?”I leaned back in the chair slowly.“We were ambushed,” I said. “Masked men. Organized. Professional. They weren’t random thugs.”Marco nodded.“Kidnapping Alessandro was the real objective?”“Yes.”Tommy leaned forward.“Who do you think did it?”I didn’t answer immed







