Page 74 of Dangerous Devotion

“I’m on my way.” I ended the call, took one swift look at the traitor. “Kill him,” I ordered my men, turned, and was out of the room and halfway up the stairs before I took my next breath.

My mind raced as Hero and I sprinted up the stairs. Was this all an elaborate ploy? Had the poisoning been a calculated move to flush us out, creating the perfect opportunity for a real attack?

The pieces were falling into place with sickening clarity.

We burst into the main hall where Peaches, Goofy, and Michele were already waiting, their faces grim.

“What’s the latest?” I barked, struggling to keep my voice steady.

Peaches shook his head. “No change. They’re still not moving. We’ve got eyes on the scene, but…”

“But what?” I growled, my patience wearing thin.

“It’s too quiet,” Goofy finished, his usually jovial face etched with concern. “No signs of a struggle, no blood. It’s like they just…fell asleep. It looks like a trap. You should stay here—let us check it out.”

I lifted one brow and stared at him. As if anything or anyone could keep me from going. I didn’t care if it was a trap, didn’t care if I lived or died. It was my family out there. The only people I loved—the people I vowed to protect. The only reason being alive made any sense.

Goofy sighed, shook his head. Michele thrust a duffel bag at us. “Gear up,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I grabbed a Glock and extra magazines, my hands moving on autopilot as I shut down my mind and focused on the task at hand. I checked the weapon, and Hero did the same, hismovements mirroring mine with practiced efficiency. We both put on the bulletproof vests, as well. “Let’s move,” I ordered, already running toward the garage.

We piled into an open Jeep, Michele behind the wheel, Hero and Peaches in the back, and Goofy and one of my men on the truckbed. The engine roared to life, and we tore out of the property, gravel spraying in our wake.

As we sped toward the convoy’s last known location, I gripped the door handle, my knuckles white.

Every second felt like an eternity. Jemma’s face flashed in my mind—the way she looked at me before I sent her away—her huge green eyes full of sorrow.

I shook my head to dislodge the image. I couldn’t let emotion cloud my judgment. Not now.

“ETA fifteen seconds,” Peaches called over the wind rushing past us. “There’s still no movement, but there’s trees to both sides, so it’s the perfect location for a trap.”

I nodded, my jaw clenched so tight it ached.

I was ready. Whatever would happen, would happen.

But if I came out of this alive, I would make sure whoever was behind this would pay. And pay dearly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ifought to stay conscious as waves of nausea coursed through my body, but the darkness was still too strong, pulling me under like a violent current.

When I came to again, I was in the back of a moving van. It was dark, and the acrid smell of gasoline mixed with laundry detergent filled my nostrils.

Weird combination.

I moved my head—not a good idea. It felt like my head was split open. I closed my eyes again and focused on my breathing.

After a while, the excruciating pain lessened to a dull throbbing, and I opened them again. It took me a while to make sense of what I was seeing right before my eyes until I realized it was the back of someone’s head.

I pulled back a little, then tried to sit up—but failed. My hands were bound behind my back.

I tried to breathe deeply, but panic clawed at my chest. The van’s movement, the darkness, the smell—it all triggeredmemories I’d fought so hard to bury. Suddenly, I wasn’t in this van anymore. I was back in Italy, trapped in that dark basement with my sisters, terrified and helpless.

The walls seemed to close in around me. I could hear Cara’s muffled sobs, the smell, the musty air of our prison. My heart raced, threatening to burst from my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the flashback to end, but it only intensified.

No. I couldn’t lose it. Not now. I needed to stay alert, to find a way out. For myself and for the others.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on my breathing. In for four counts, hold for four, out for four, hold for four—just like my therapist taught me. I repeated the pattern, concentrating on the numbers, on the steady rhythm of my breath on the box I visualized.

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