Page 30 of Declan

I breathe deeply, the tightness in my chest loosening just a fraction. She’s alive. My fucking firecracker is alive. And now I’m going to kill her.

She’ll never see the light of day outside the mansion again, not after this.

Another guard walks in, but I barely register him.

“Sir, we found this.” He hands me a snorkel mask and tube.

A low chuckle escapes me despite the storm brewing inside. Clever little vixen. She planned this, and somehow, she slipped past everyone, even me.

“Kian, get the bikes.” My voice snaps through the room, sharp and commanding. I can’t sit here waiting for Connor to track down Carlos. There are people she trusts, people she’ll think can hide her. We’re going to visit them.

Minutes later, the roar of the engine slices through the tension in the air. My bike is ready—a sleek black monster of a machine with sharp angles and raw power. The polished surface gleams under the light, faint silver accents catching the glow like a blade. Built for speed. Built for the chase. And tonight, that’s exactly what I’ll use it for.

I swing my leg over the seat, the leather smooth under my gloves, and grip the handlebars. The vibration hums through me, a promise of the hunt ahead. Kian pulls up beside me on his bike, a twin to mine, just as dark, just as menacing.

No more waiting. She thinks she can run? Let’s see how far she gets.

We arrive at Viviana’s old apartment—the one she insisted on keeping. Maybe she thought she could come back here one day like nothing ever happened. I thought the same until now.

The lock gives way to the pick, and we push the door open. Everything looks untouched, just as I expected. She’s not dumb enough to come back here.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I answer without hesitation.

“She used a burner phone,” Connor says on the other end. “That’s why we didn’t get an alert when she called Carlos. But I’ve pinged his location; he’s at the Castor Club.” I hear the familiar sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Sending you the GPS coordinates now.”

“Good job, brother,” I mutter, barely keeping the satisfaction out of my voice before hanging up. I turn to Kian, my mind already a whirlpool of thoughts. “Let’s get out of here.”

The drive to the club is a blur. I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her. I don’t know what she’ll do when she sees me. She’ll be like a cornered animal, and those are always the most dangerous. Always the most unpredictable.

I’ve already called ahead. I don’t know the owners of this place, but that’s the luxury of being the head of the Irish Consortium. The second I mentioned my name, they made sure Carlos wouldn’t be going anywhere.

We arrive, and the older man who greets me at the door is trembling, trying to hide his fear in his voice.

“Mister Callaghan, it’s a pleasure.” His words fall flat, and I don’t believe him for a second.

I give a curt nod, keeping my eyes on him. “Where is he?”

“This way.” He leads us down a hallway to the back office.

Carlos doesn’t flinch when we enter the room. He remains seated, his eyes steady, meeting mine without hesitation. Security holds a gun on him, but he doesn’t move and doesn’t show fear.

Blood stains his shirt and jeans, but his eyes are sharp, filled with the same stubbornness that runs through Viviana.

“Where is she?” I ask, my voice barely restrained. She’s not just my wife anymore. She’s a walking target. If I don’t get to her first, the Russians will drag her into their mess. And once they do, there’s no coming back from it.

Carlos smirks—a cocky, infuriating smirk. It’s too much like hers.

My fists tighten, and before I can think, I’m swinging, my punch landing squarely on his jaw. His chair tips over, crashing to the floor with a thud. Blood splatters onto my shoes, but I barely register the mess.

“You can kill me, Declan, but I’ll protect her with my life,” Carlos spits, pushing himself up slowly, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve. That damn grin doesn’t leave his face, not for a second.

He’s tough. I already knew that. I can see it in the set of his jaw—he’s telling the truth. He will protect her until his last breath.

“You know she’ll get herself killed,” I growl, frustration boiling over in waves.

“She’s smart,” he mutters, standing up and wiping his bloody hands on his jeans. “Neither you nor Giovanni will ever find her.”

The words hit me like a slap. But it doesn’t stop me.

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