Page 243 of Safe Word

I gritted my teeth as I eyed the scaffolding that came into view with each shift of the gear stick.

I’d trusted the system once. Trusted mercy.

Should’ve snapped his neck sooner.

That was on me.

Now she was paying for it.

The streetlamps had stayed behind long ago. The darkness swallowed us. Like the one that took over my penthouse after he’d lit it up, wiping out the last remnants of who I’d been. And still, the heat inside me only burned hotter – not even as an outline of grief, nor loss, just vengeance clawing its way out. Tenfold stronger than it used to be.

Beside me, Matteo’s hands gripped the wheel tighter as his eyes scanned the surroundings, slowing down. Like a fucking Doberman.

It hit me then – for the first time in years – apart from Vinnie’s – I didn’t shove the help away. Because this time, I needed a family more than a weapon.

Because if I found her—

No!

When I found her, she might never come back the same. She might never come back to me.

And that would have to be enough as long as she came back. As long as she had a bed in Alessio’s house, surrounded by fucking guns and knives and shit her cousins kept in backpacks.

Matt and I launched out of the car the moment he yanked the handbrake.

‘I’ve got the perimeter,’ he called over his shoulder to Alessio, who stepped out of his Range like a man made of war – trench coat flaring, shotgun already racked with a click that echoed across the gravel.

Matt caught something Gianna threw at him – goggles. Night vision, probably.

Crazy fucking family.

I didn’t wait for the plan. Didn’t need it. The second my soles hit the ground, I was gone – tunnel-visioned, blood pumping in the rhythm of her name.

‘Hey! Hollywood! Where the fuck you goin’?’ Matt shouted after me.

‘Gianna and I will take the top floors,’ Alessio barked behind me. The sharp clack-clack of shells sliding into the chambers of his shotgun followed. Then Gianna: ‘We’ll start from the ladders and work our way down.’

I noticed them myself, now that I was closer to the thick walls. Several leaned against the concrete, leading up to the hollows that would soon become windows or doors.

I heard them scattering like ghosts behind me.

Sticking close to the outer wall, my shoulder brushed the cold surface. My hand went to the Bowie at my ankle, and yanked it free. Its weight felt right. Ready.

There was no sound from inside. No light. Just the hollow breath of a place expecting to be torn apart.

And I stepped through the breach, ready to burn the world down.

The air inside was spiced with dust. Every step crunched over sand and gravel brought in by busy soles. Exposed beams cast long shadows across the floor as I moved low and silent, blade angled ahead, every sense locked on the dark. A pipe somewhere dripped steadily, echoing like a heartbeat through the empty space.

Then I heard it—

A slap.

Sharp. Followed by another.

The sound was barely audible, but it cracked through the silence and turned the breath in my chest to fucking fire.

I broke into a run, chasing the echoes down the stairwell that drifted from the pitch-black basement.