Page 55 of The Eagle's Vault

I could almost forgive him. Almost. Maybe someday, but not yet.

Martina, roughly sixty and with her hair a bedraggled mess, was shaking, huddled under the grip of one of the kidnappers. Her wrists were bound in front of her, as though she were some threat to these lowlifes. A ripple of anger swept through me, churning my stomach.

“He should have fucking called us for this,” I hissed.

Rav made a hard, angry grunt of agreement.

Edoardo eased the notebook out of his jacket pocket.

“Here goes.” My heart pounded in my chest as Edoardo extended his arm, the notebook passing from husband to kidnapper.

One of the men pulled out a flashlight, bathing the notebook in a harsh, cold beam of light.

As the glow illuminated his face, I sucked in a breath. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Rav shot me a glance, lowering his binoculars.

“That’s the London guy.” Ice splintered down my spine. He’d tried to snatch the Chalcis Ring from us outside of London. “Same scar over his left cheek.”

Rav cursed, Emmett groaned in our ears, and Malcolm fell silent. The game had taken an unexpected turn, questions building on top of questions. London guy meant this wasn’t a one-off kidnapping. This was the start of a damn vendetta.

“Is that the prick who had a gun to my throat?” Malcolm’s voice was rough.

“Yep, that’s him,” I said.

“Noah’s man,” Malcolm whispered. “The one with the phoenix tattoo.”

Shit.

“So they’re with Fenix?” Rav asked, shifting to take photographs.

“That’s the asshole who did most of the damage to me,” Emmett growled, a harsh edge to his usually light-hearted tone.

In response, Rav let out a grunt, a sound as eloquent as a speech to us.

“They’re either with Fenix,” I said, my gaze never straying from the unfolding scene below, “or this is the worse fucking coincidence I’ve ever seen.”

The tension in the air was a palpable force, wrapping around us like a noose. Fenix. Noah’s man. A London escape with Scarlett bloodied and Malcolm nearly killed.

The only thing I knew for sure—we were far from the end of this mess. “Wait, does this mean Ferraro’s in bed with Fenix?”

“Why would he pay these thugs to rob himself?” Rav asked, skepticism lacing his words.

“What if more than one person owned that safe deposit box?” There were too many options. Too many threads to this spider’s web.

Rav turned to me again, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t like any of this.”

“Welcome to the club.” The sick knot in my gut constricted. We were dealing with far more than Edoardo’s double-cross. “But I’m guessing that means you were right in the van this morning. First, Fenix kidnaps Emmett to get the ring, then they rope us into this to get the notebook.”

As we played through theories, the exchange below grew heated. Even from our hidden vantage point, the body language screamed aggression.

“Will, get the drone in closer,” I said.

“On it.” He dropped the drone until I couldn’t hear the soft hum of its rotors anymore. “Can’t get too close without them hearing it.”

Tattoo Man was gesturing wildly at Edoardo, his volume loud enough to be picked up by the drone’s microphone. “We warned you not to tell anyone.”

Shit. Edoardo had confessed to us. My mind raced, throwing me back to this morning. Could they have been watching when we’d handed over the notebook?

---