The hard black metal scratches the pristine surface. I do not care. I am systematically dismantling her safe space. I am turning her beautiful sanctuary into a temporary tactical base.
Rafe paces the perimeter of the room.
His heavy combat boots crush the expensive rug with every step. He moves with restless, caged energy. The physical pat-down in her bedroom pushed him to the edge of his control. His hands flex and release at his sides. He is looking for something to hit.
Jude sits in a plush velvet armchair in the dark corner.
He holds a sleek tactical knife. A small whetstone slides against the dark steel. The rhythmic scraping fills the quiet room. Terrifying in his unbreakable calm.
We are the Trojan Horse.
Dominic Costa opened his heavy front doors and invited the monsters inside. He thinks he bought elite private security. He thinks his massive bank account ensures loyalty. He is a dead man walking.
The Broken Halos MC sent us here to do a specific job.
Dominic controls the lucrative shipping routes running through the Eastern Ridge. He uses cartel money to squeeze the club out of the city. He bribes the judges. He pays off the local cops. He chokes our legitimate businesses.
We need his master digital ledger.
We need the hidden offshore account numbers. The illegal port manifests. The encrypted blackmail files. The leverage to crush his empire and take the Eastern Ridge back for the club.
We have exactly twenty-four hours to find it.
I swipe my thumb across the primary tablet.
Lines of decrypted green code fill the screen. Jude cracked the Costa server three hours ago. He bypassed the firewall in under ten minutes. We mapped the digital security grid. We identified the physical camera blind spots. We know every inch of this sprawling compound better than the men who built it.
I tap a hidden encrypted folder. It expands.
“Look at this,” I command.
Rafe stops his pacing. He stalks toward the coffee table. Jude stands. He slides his knife into the Kydex sheath on his thigh. They flank me. They stare at the glowing screen.
I scroll down the digital document. I highlight the midnight timeline with a hard tap of my index finger. The intel from last week is confirmed in cold, hard code.
“Calix Ferraro is officially on the guest list.”
Rafe growls. The name rips from his throat. Ferraro is a literal butcher. The Leonardi boss runs the western ports with unchecked cruelty.
“The ambush is set,” I confirm. “Midnight toast. A surprise arranged marriage announcement.”
Jude leans closer. His dark eyes scan the words with surgical speed. “Dominic is selling his sister to secure a permanent port alliance. The paperwork is finalized.”
Rafe curses. He kicks the thick wooden leg of the coffee table. The glass rattles hard.
“She has no idea,” I state the brutal fact aloud.
The terrible realization sits heavy in the air between us.
Lucia walks around this compound with her chin held high. She wears her Costa arrogance like a tailored shield. She shoots back witty insults. She fights for control in the kitchen. She thinks she is a player in the game.
She is just the prize.
Dominic treats her like a piece of meat. He dresses her in expensive silk. He puts her on display. He plans to hand her over to a monster the second the clock strikes twelve. He plans to let Ferraro take her away to the western district.
A dark, possessive rage ignites in the center of my chest.
It burns hot. It burns fast. It demands blood.