Page 28 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

I step forward. “You don’t take this seriously. You flirt like this is a fucking game. And I don’t have time for games.” My voice lowers, rough with conviction. “She wouldn’t like it.”

Understanding flashes in her eyes. Not shock—Valeria isn’t the type to be shocked—but an awareness close to recognition.

She breathes out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “So that’s how it is.” Valeria’s smirk falters, just slightly, before she squares her shoulders. “You’re serious.”

I stare at her blankly.

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “You’re firing me because some fragile little girl wouldn’t like the way I talk to you? Since when do you give a damn about anyone’s opinion,jefe?”

My jaw flexes. “Watch it.”

But she doesn’t. She steps forward instead, heels clicking against the floor “You really think she’s going to love you for this? That cutting me loose is going to make you a better man in her eyes?” Her smug look returns, slow and knowing. “You’re stillyou, Señor Castillo. And you and I both know she won’t survive in your world.”

I close the distance between us in a single step, towering over her, my voice ice-cold. “Get. The. Guys.”

I let my next words land like a warning. “And if you’re not gone by the time this meeting is over, I’ll make sure you don’t take another breath in this city, fuck with me some more and I’ll make sure you’re dead by sunrise.”

That gets her. Just a flicker in her expression—surprise, irritation, something dark and sharp. But she masks it quickly, rolling her shoulders back with a low, bitter chuckle.

“Fine.” She walks out slamming the door behind her and I throw my glass of whiskey against the wall.

The moment Vincent and Damien step into the room, I slam the envelope down in front of them, watching as they both take in the photo of Willow at the funeral.

Vincent picks up the photo first, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the image. “Who the fuck sent this?” he asks, his voice tense.

“I don’t know.” I growl, pouring myself another glass of whiskey.

Damien simply leans forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the photo, his gaze cold and calculating as his jaw clicks. “Why the fuck is Willow partially dressed and you’re naked?”

“What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know?” Vincent hisses, ignoring Damien’s narrowed eyes.

"Vincent," I snap, pulling his attention back to me. "I need you to track down the sender.”

"Right. I'll get to it." But his voice is distant, almost like he’s not fully present.

Damien, however, is unfazed by the tension in the room. His eyes don’t leave the photo, his mind already working. "You know," he starts in his usual cool tone, "this has the Italian mob’s fingerprints all over it."

I don’t need to ask what he means. Damien’s gut is rarely wrong, and he has a way of seeing things for what they really are.

“You think it’s them, Cast?” Vincent asks, his voice quieter than usual.

Damien's eyes flick to him, a faint snarl on his lips. "You’re not paying attention, Vincent. This is their signature. They want war. And I say we give it to them."

The image of Willow—vulnerable, exposed—keeps burning in my mind. No one touches her. No one.

I step closer to the desk, my voice colder than I’ve ever let it be. I turn toward the phone, picking it up with a calmness that contrasts with the fury boiling inside me.

“Get the team on this. Full scale. No half-measures. We’re starting a fucking war. If they think they can touch her, I’ll burn their entire empire to the ground.”

I turn to Damien. “And go get our girl.”

13

WILLOW

“You think you can stop me?”he sneers, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “You’re nothing, Willow. You’ll always be nothing.”

I want to scream, to run, to fight back. But I can’t. My feet are glued to the floor, my hands shaking, my body frozen in place.

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