The line goes dead.
For one frozen second, silence reigns. Then all hell breaks loose. Damiano roars, pure, unrestrained fury, flipping the table's edge with a violent shove before he catches himself and slams both hands into it like he's trying to break the world apart. Massimo is already on his feet, cold and controlled, barking rapid-fire orders into his phone; his voice is lethal in its precision. Enzo moves like a shadow toward the door, already pulling weapons, his expression carved from stone. He, too, has his phone pressed to his ear, giving orders. Chairs scrape. Glass shatters somewhere behind me. The room fractures into motion.
I don't move for half a second. Because he knew. He knew exactly where we were. What we were saying. How we'd react. He's not just watching. He's inside.
Rage hits next. Cold. Focused. I grab my phone, dialing Kale with one hand while the other reaches for the gun I left on the side table. "Tell me you've got eyes on Alessio," I snap the second the line connects.
Because if the Collector already has him, then this isn't a threat.
It's a countdown.
My mind is a storm. The Collector has Alessio. He has Damiano's woman and child. He is coming for all of us. But the only thing that matters to me in this moment is the woman I just married and the two lives growing inside her. I turn to the room, my voice cuts through the chaos like a blade.
"Lock it down. Every safe house. Every family member. Nobody moves alone. We find Alessio. We find the kid. We find Nicci. And when we have them…" My eyes meet Damiano's, then Massimo's. "We end the Collector. Permanently."
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from an unknown number. A single line of text:
Unknown Number:
Tick tock, Gabe. Your wife looks peaceful when she sleeps.
Rage explodes behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I am going to rip El Recaudador apart with my bare hands. But first, I have to get back to my wife. Because if the Collector thinks he can threaten what is mine… he's about to learn exactly why they call me the devil of Vegas.
It only takes a few minutes to get back to my casino, but I'm not wasting time. I call the guards, who report they haven't seen or heard anything suspicious, but to be sure, I send three of them inside. To check on Audra. She's fine, they assure me.
I don't believe them until I push open the bedroom door as quietly as I can. Audra is still asleep, curled on her side, one bandaged hand resting protectively over her stomach. The sight of her hits me like it always does, love so fierce it borders on violence, possessiveness so deep it feels like religion. I kick off my shoes, strip down, and slide into bed behind her, pulling her gently against my chest. She makes a small, contented sound in her sleep and nestles closer. My hand settles over hers on her belly, covering the place where our twins are growing.
I press my lips to the back of her neck and whisper against her skin, too low for her to hear, "You're mine now, wife. All three of you. No one is ever taking you from me again."
Sleep pulls at me, but my phone vibrates once on the nightstand, a single message from an unknown number. I open it. A photo fills the screen. Alessio, beaten and bound to a chair, blood on his face, eyes defiant even now.
Below it, one line of text:
Unknown Number:
Tick tock, Gabe. Your brother is next.
Rage and ice flood my veins at the same time. The Collector just declared war. And I will end it. But tonight… tonight I hold my wife and our unborn children while I still can. Because tomorrow, the devil of Vegas is going hunting.
The phone rings in the middle of the night. Mauro.
"What?" I groan.
"Ezara is here. Racking up a bill?—"
Ezara! My blood boils. That bastard has some nerve. Now that I know Catarina broke it off with him months before she disappeared, I don't feel any kind of responsibility for him anylonger and cut Mauro off. "Get him out of the casino and take care of him."
This is one headache I don't need any longer.
Mauro's silence on the other end for a breath is telling. Everybody knows that I held a soft spot for Ezara for years.
When he finally acknowledges my order, there is amusement in his voice. "It'll be my pleasure, boss."
I hang up. But I don't close the phone right away, instead I go to my image gallery and scroll until I find the photo I'm looking for. A picture of Catarina and me. Taken at some grand party at the Manetti mansion outside Vegas. The one we burned down with its occupants.
Catarina smiles beautifully at me in the image, with that mischievous look that always made her eyes glisten like crystals. I remember her bumping her shoulder into mine just before the shot.
"You know," she murmured, "one day, I'm going to find someone who scares you."
