Page 76 of Cat and Mouse

I stay quiet, staring out the window.

Matteo sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know you don't trust me, but can we not get killed today?"

When I don't answer, he pops open the glove compartment and pulls out a gun. He hands it to me, glancing at me sideways. "It's one of Leo's. You'll need it for whatever suicide mission you're dragging me into."

I take it without a word, sliding it into my jacket. After I tell him where to go, we drive in silence for a while, tension thick in the air.

Matteo's foot hits the brakes, and the car jerks to a stop outside the warehouse. The place looks like it's been abandoned for years—rusted metal siding, boarded-up windows. It reeks of something wrong.

He turns to me, brow raised, like he's waiting for some explanation.

"Where the hell are we?" Matteo asks, suspicion clear in his voice.

Before I can answer, a truck barrels down the dirt road behind us, kicking up clouds of dust. The truck's brakes squeal as it stops, and out steps Mike. My chest tightens, but I play it cool, stepping out of the car, Matteo right behind me.

Mike walks toward us, eyeing Matteo like he's a stray mutt. "I told you to come alone, Elizabeth."

"Matteo's harmless," I say quickly, waving a hand like it's no big deal. But the second I say it, Mike pulls a gun. No hesitation, no warning. Bang.

Matteo drops to the ground, a grunt tearing from his throat as blood spreads over his chest. I scream his name, rushing to his side. My hands press down on the wound, but there's so much blood. Too much. He's breathing, but just barely.

"What the fuck did you do?!" My voice cracks as I glare up at Mike.

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "I needed to know if you were desperate enough to leave Leo's protection. Seems you are." He smiles like he's pleased with himself. Sick bastard.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force my words out. "What does Marco have on you, Mike?"

Mike's grin fades, replaced by something dark. "Marco? Nothing. I'm on his payroll, sweetheart." He gives me this cocky little smirk, like he's won some game I didn't know we were playing. "And people think you're a better detective than me."

My stomach churns. He was never being blackmailed. He wasalwaysin on it. How did I not see this?

A low rumble in the distance catches my attention. Another car pulls up, a sleek black sedan, the kind you'd see in some mobster movie. My heart sinks as four men step out, followed by the last person I want to see right now—Marco Rossiani himself.

"Hello, Elizabeth," he says smoothly, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face. It's like he's been waiting for this moment for a long time.

"Fuck you, Marco," I spit, trying to steady my voice. "You're a fool if you think I'm worth anything to Leo."

Marco laughs, slow and cruel. "Oh, you're his weakness, Elizabeth. The Phantom's Achilles' heel. I'm surprised you haven't figured that out by now."

I want to tell him he's wrong, that I mean nothing to Leo. But the truth tastes bitter in my mouth.

He steps closer, his dark eyes roaming over me like he's appraising property. "I liked you better as a blonde," he says,and before I can even process what he means, his hand flies out, smacking me hard across the face.

White-hot pain explodes in my skull, and my ears ring as I hit the ground. The world tilts, and I taste blood on my lips. For a second, everything goes blurry, but Marco's voice slices through the fog.

"Mike, grab her. We're taking her inside."

"No—please," I beg, my voice cracking. "Matteo... he's bleeding out, you don't have to do this!" My hands scramble to Matteo's side, but I can't stop the blood.

They don't listen. They don't care. Mike grabs me by the arm, yanking me to my feet. I struggle, kicking, screaming, but it's no use. Marco's men move toward Matteo, but they don't touch him. They just watch, like they're waiting for him to die.

"Don't do this!" I scream, my voice raw as Mike drags me toward the warehouse. "Marco, please—he'll die! You'll have blood on your hands!"

Marco doesn't even flinch. He lights a cigarette, watching me with cold detachment. "Leo's not here to save you this time, Elizabeth. You should've stayed under his wing. Now... well, now you're mine."

Inside the warehouse, it's even worse than I imagined—dark, damp, the air thick with the smell of mildew and old motor oil. Mike shoves me toward a metal chair in the middle of the room. My wrists are tied down with cold biting rope, and I can't help but feel the panic rise in my chest. I look at Mike, pleading, but all I get back is that same smug grin.

"Why are you doing this, Mike? You could've just walked away. We could've found a way out."

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