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PROLOGUE
Toro strodeinto a musty art gallery in downtown Brooklyn, side by side with his uncle, Daniel Nieto,. Stavros Konstantinou was missing. The Greek, who headed up a company of international killers—or mercenaries, as Stavros called them—was a lot of things, but most importantly, he was the man Daniel loved. Someone had taken him, they were sure of it, and they were in a race against time to get him back.
So far, no matter how many leads they’d chased down, nothing panned out. Daniel said coming here was a last resort.
Toro didn’t understand why until he spotted Seraphina Cook waiting for them. Bald and statuesque, she was a boss in her own right, scary with a reputation to match as the leader of a massive gun and drug operation. An indulgent smile played on red lips that contrasted against smooth rich brown skin. Dressed in a white blouse that crisscrossed over her upper half, black pants with wide legs, and black heels, she stood in front of a painting of red and black splotches against a white backdrop. She gave off the most expensive yet untouchable vibes.
He had to catch himself before stumbling over his own feet as he stared at her. This wasn’t the first time Toro had seen her, but every time he laid eyes on her, it was as if his brain short-circuited. As dangerous as she was beautiful, she did something to him. The first time he’d ever seen her, at an airport, he’d been too stunned to speak. But she’d stared him in the eyes as she’d prowled past him and it’d felt like a caress of ice and fire. He’d instantly needed more.
The second time they’d been in each other’s company he’d found the courage to talk. To tell her his name. She’d cut him off, tone dismissive, even as her gaze had raked over him. She knew who he was, she’d told him. And that was it. But they’d been in close proximity on numerous occasions since then, her attitude pushing him away even as her eyes told him something else.
She wanted him.
But on her terms.
He wanted her, badly, but he refused to be played.
Now, as they stood in front of her, she gave them her back, gesturing at the painting. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Makes you think, right? Makes you question things.”
Daniel grunted.
“We’re not here to discuss art,” Toro hissed.
Seraphina stiffened before angling her bald head to the side, still not looking at either of them. “Why are you here, Daniel?”
“My nephew and I—”
“I don’t give a fuck about your nephew.” She spun around then, a slick smile curving her lips. She ignored Toro, her cunning gaze locked on Daniel’s.
Maybe coming to her wasn’t the right move, not then. How could she help?
“Stavros is missing,” Daniel told her.
She cocked her head, her smile getting bigger. “Have you checked hell?”
Toro made a disbelieving sound. She and Stavros had bad blood between them, Toro knew that, but now wasn’t the time for her bullshit.
“I need your help,” his uncle continued calmly. “You must have heard things.”
She pivoted, walking away slowly. Daniel kept stride with her, Toro trailing behind them.
“I hear things.” She flashed a smug grin. “I see even more.”
“Just tell us what you know,” Toro demanded. They were wasting time, and being close to her was hell on his self-control. “Or are you enjoying this?”
“You will owe me,” she addressed Daniel, who nodded.
“Sí.”
“I’m not talking a favor sometime down the line,” she told him with a lift of her chin. “I’m talking right this second. What do I get in exchange for helping you?”
“Fuck.” Toro shook his head even though he should have expected this from her. She was nothing if not mercurial.
Daniel quieted Toro with a hand on his nape. “What is it that you want?”
“Your nephew.” She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her expression had gone serious.
Toro went ramrod straight. “What?” Had he heard correctly? She wanted him? He scowled at her. What the fuck did that mean?
