LOGINRicardo’s POVShe thinks she hides it well: the defiance, the fire in her eyes, the little tightness of her jaw. She wears it like a sleeve, like a shield she can wrap around her trembling body. But I see through it.She’s breaking inside, like a fragile thing cracking under the weight of her own foolish choices. I can see it especially when I told her I was going to kill her. That was when the sleeve slipped, even if it was only for a moment. I soak it all in.I think I’m done with her until I remember what Angelo told me; the plan we just hatched. I need to get moving.I lean down to her level, watching her skin prickle under my gaze. “You walked in here with your phone. Where is it?”She blinks at me, startled. Then she tries to steady her voice, but I hear the tremor anyway. “Your men took it. They put it in a paper bag. Over there.” She jerks her chin towards the window.I stroll over, enjoying the way her eyes follow me. Just before I reach the bag, she asks, “What do you need i
Alma’s POVMy head hangs forward with my chin pressed against my chest. Sleep must have stolen me for a while, but it isn’t restful. When I blink awake, it’s early morning.The warehouse reeks of oil and rust. My wrists ache from the ropes bound to them, my ankles are also bound to the chair. The air is so cold and it bites through my skin.I lift my head slowly and painfully. Three of Ricardo’s men sit at a distance from me, but none are looking in my direction. They laugh among themselves, maybe at some private joke, or maybe at me.My gaze drops to my legs. They are still throbbing with pain from the gunshot. It was just a graze, but it hurts like a bitch. Every little shift sends pain through me.And my throat, my throat is dry as sandpaper. My tongue feels swollen, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I need water. The thing is, I don’t know if these men are kind enough to help me. I have to try.“Hey,” I rasp. “Please. I need water.”They don’t move. They don’t even acknowledge me.I
Charles’ POVAlma still hasn’t come back.I check the clock again even though I’ve already checked it like a hundred times. I am filled with dread with every passing minute. She should’ve been back hours ago. What was supposed to take an hour, maybe two has taken forever.I’ve already left her five missed calls with no answers. I grip my phone, staring at the screen like maybe it’ll buzz, maybe her name will flash across it, maybe I’ll finally hear her voice telling me she’s fine. But nothing comes.Fuck!Did it all go wrong? Was it an ambush? My mind races with possibilities I don’t want to consider. I don’t have Heather’s number. I don’t even have the address where Alma was supposed to pick up the recording. Every detail was kept on her end, and now she’s vanished.What if Ricardo has her?The thought makes my blood boil. If Borrelli got his hands on Alma, he’d make an example of her. She’d be screaming somewhere in a warehouse while I’m here pacing like a useless idiot.I rake my h
Lana’s POVThe clock ticks past seven when I see headlights through the window. My heart skips, races, then stumbles like it always does whenever Ricardo returns.I peek through the curtains. There he is, climbing out of the car. He looks dark, commanding and dangerous. Just the sight of him makes my nipples harden against the fabric of my blouse.I hate how much I missed him today. Not the fear, not the chaos, not even the whiplash of never knowing which Ricardo will walk through the door, but him. Just him.The man who calls me his holy grail. The man who also breaks me, piece by piece.When he walks in, I force a smile. I try to catch him softly. “Just in time,” I say lightly. “I made dinner. Are you staying the night?”He doesn’t even glance at the table. His eyes are colds and hard as stone, and his voice is blunt.“No. I just came to fuck and leave. It’s been a stressful day. I need release.”I am taken aback by his bluntness, but I try to compose myself and swallow the hurt. Th
Ricardo’s POVThe recording ends, and I lean back with the glass of whiskey in my hand and my eyes on Angelo. His jaw tightens, then he stands so fast and shouts,“Fuck! That fucking golden prick!”The rage on his face is a pure and beautiful thing to see, why? Because I hardly ever see Angelo get this angry if it’s not over something I caused.“Calm down, brother,” I mutter.Angelo whirls on me with blazing eyes. “No, no, Ric, you don’t understand. He’s poisoned her. He’s poisoned Antonella’s fucking mind!” He rakes his hands through his hair, pacing like a caged beast. “She knows now. She knows you’ve been covering for me. He told her about fucking Mexico. Don’t you get it?”I swirl my whiskey. “There’s worse to worry about, brother. Much worse. I promise you.”He stops and glares at me like I’ve just spoken blasphemy. “Yeah? Enlighten me, Ric. Please, tell me what could be worse than Antonella Inzaghi thinking we played her for fools?”I stand and set the glass down hard. “Golden C
Charles POVI pull into the driveway of my condo, kill the engine, and sit there for a moment. I shake off the feeling of being watched. In seconds, that man in the black car is gone from my mind. I exhale and step inside.“Alma?” I call out as soon as I’m through the door. But there’s no answer.I try again, louder this time. “Alma!”There’s still no answer. I realize her car isn’t in the lot as I walk to the window.My brow creases. What she was supposed to do shouldn’t have taken long. Quick in and out. No reason to disappear. Unless she’s still with Heather, maybe talking longer than expected. Or maybe she stopped somewhere else. Alma can be impulsive, but never careless.I drop onto the sofa, rub my temples, and tell myself to relax. Don’t spiral.There’s time. Of course there’s still time. The plan with Antonella is ironclad. For once, everything feels like it’s falling into place. Ricardo Borrelli; the untouchable and invincible kingpin, the man who ruined lives with a smile, f







