Gabriel smirks. “Let’s burn the warehouses. Use it as a message.”
Johnny counters immediately. “Too obvious.”
“Then we hit his money,” Troy says. “Eighty-five percent of his product flows through the southern docks. I’ve got the connections… we choke his docks, we choke him.”
Collin leans forward, predatory glint in his eye. “Let’s just kill everybody.”
“I’m with Col. An eye for an eye, C.” Trent’s voice is raw. “No one defies the Irish Fist and lives.”
I let them voice their opinions, as my mind calculates our next play. Lorenzo expects retaliation; he’ll be waiting. Instead we’ll send him the thing he’ll never see coming. “Lads, here’s the plan. Lorenzo wants bullets. He wants a bloodbath. He expects us to storm him. But we will not give that to him.” I lean back. “Not yet.” All eyes lock on me as the table falls into absolute silence. “We drown him in problems, we suffocate him, hit everything he relies on. Choke his supply lines, his legitimate money, his contacts, his politicians and his offshore accounts. We destroy every piece of his empire until he can’t fucking breathe.”
Jake nods. “I’ll continue to gut his financial network. Offshore accounts, shell companies…I’m already inside.”
“Good.” I turn to Troy. “Customs crew is yours. Seize his shipments. Nothing gets through. Bleed him dry.”
Collin cut in, voice dry. “And Lorenzo’s men?”
“You’re off the leash, Col. Pick them off one by one. Be discreet. No messages, no signatures, just disappearances. Let paranoia kill him before we do.”
Liam’s voice is deadly calm. “We make them fear shadows.”
Trent cracks his knuckles. “Exactly.”
Gabriel laughs under his breath. “I like it. Let’s make him think the fucking devil is hunting him.”
My palm slams down on the table. “Lorenzo started this, but we’ll finish it.” A chorus of agreement rumbles from the Fist.
Troy leans back. “This is why you’re the brains of this outfit, C.”
Thomas smirks. “Smart move. Cyan’s always been playing chess while Lorenzo’s still figuring out checkers.”
A bitter half-smile pulls at my lips. “Now that a plan is settled, lads. In two days, we make our first move.”
Their heads nod in unison, predators ready to hunt. This isn’t just revenge. It’s war, and we are the shadows that will swallow Lorenzo and his empire whole.
But as we discuss and the plan solidifies, Aria’s face flickers in my mind.Her fear, her grief and her trembling hands as she held the whisky glass. She’s the reason I can’t lose. She’s now the reason I’ll burn Lorenzo’s world to ash.
Twenty- Six
“A gilded cage is still a prison, no matter how sweet the perfume or how soft the sheets.” – Aria Boschett.
Iwake to warmth that isn’t mine. The room smells of him. Whiskey, smoke, and the soft spice of his cologne. Reality hits me like a fist to the sternum.Yesterday wasn’t a dream.
My head throbs. My limbs feel underwater thick from too much whiskey, but the memory still slices clean through my mind, Chester’s smile. Then gunfire; his body crumpled as crimson spread across the pavement. I push upright, swallowing down a wave of nausea. My bare feet sink into the rug. I glance out the window to the sea, and my pulse stutters. This is his home, his fortress, and my cage. I inhale slowly, gripping the edge of the bed until the room steadies.Then I search the nightstands. They’re empty, no phone, no weapon. I jerk open drawers. A watch, cufflinks, nothing that belongs to me. I whirl toward the open door; it is a massive walk-in closet.
I rush inside, fingers skimming over expensive suits, shirts folded with military precision. Walking to the other side of the closet, I freeze when I see a familiar lavender blouse, my old jeans. Even my favorite hoodie with the tiny bleach stain. My clothes hang beside the new ones, stitching my life into his world and trapping me here. My freedom is gone. Panic licks up my throat. I shove it down, bolt out of the closet and, crossing the room, press my ear to the door. Hearing nothing, I turn the knob locked.Of course it’s locked;my throat tightens. I pivot to the windows. Floor-to-ceiling glass shows the cliffs, the vast blue ocean, the rocks far below. Paradise wrapped in steel bars. The balcony doors don’t budge. A hollow laugh escapes me. “Of course.”
My hands tremble. I press them to my head, squeezing my eyes shut as Nonna’s face flashes behind my eyelids. Fear winds tight around my ribs, threatening to crush me. “Move, think, Aria.” I refuse to let him win, so I force my legs to move. I stumble into the bathroom, yanking drawers open, tossing everything aside. Razors, bottles, cologne, an electric shaver hitting the marble with a crack. Anything I can use. Anything at all. A prickle crawls up my spine. Someone’s watching me. I whirl around and freeze. Cyan stands in the doorway, gaze sweeping the chaos on the floor. His presence fills the room.
“What are you looking for, Dove?” Which version is this? The man who saved me? Or the one who cages me? “Aria?” he presses.
I lift my chin. Force myself to breathe and fight the pull. “Give me my Nonna and let me go, Cyan… Please.” I don’t care how it sounds. I don’t care if begging makes me weak. Chester was smiling one minute. Dead the next. I won’t let my grandmother become another name carved into Cyan’s world of bullets and blood.
“No, but I can tell you she’s safe.” He’s words lands like a hammer; his blue-green eyes pin me, burning with a force that steals the air from my lungs. “You’re mine, Aria. I take care of what’s mine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Your Nonna is being cared for.”
