Page 97 of Loco

After that, I walked them through everything I could remember about the man who called himself Vincent Russo. I didn’t hold back. I described his build as tall and lean but not wiry, like someone who knew how to move and command space without raising his voice. His hair had been dark, just starting to grey at the temples, and he was clean-shaven. He’d also had sharp eyes, cold but calculated, and wore confidence like a uniform.

“And the mayor?” Keir asked gently.

I nodded. “He was there, I saw him. He didn’t speak much to me, but he wasn’t just some passive bystander. He was in it fully.”

There was a moment of exchanged glances before Judd opened a laptop and spun it toward me. The screen showed a grid of faces—twelve, maybe fifteen headshots, all men of different ages, ethnicities, and hair lengths.

“We want you to pick him out,” Judd explained. “If he’s here.”

I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even give them a chance to blink.

“That’s him.” I tapped the screen with the flat of my finger. “Right there.”

I half-expected to feel uncertain and to question myself, but there was no doubt in my mind. His face was burned into my memory like it’d been branded there.

“You’re sure?” Roque checked gently.

I looked at him, eyes steady. “I couldn’t be more sure.”

I would’ve thought I’d forget things under that kind of fear. That adrenaline and panic would’ve blurred the details and made everything hazy.

But instead, it was like everything had sharpened. Every expression, every word, every flicker of movement—I remembered it all in vivid, uncomfortable clarity. My fear hadn’t dulled my senses, it had honed them.

“I was scared,” I admitted, “but somehow, that made me notice everything even more.”

Roque’s hand brushed mine gently where it rested on my knee, grounding me in the moment, and I took a deep breath, letting the air settle in my lungs.

We weren’t even close to being done, but at least they were listening

Chapter 31

Roque

That night, we agreed to stay at Imogen’s.

It wasn’t just convenience, it was about protection. The house looked like any other tucked-away, older property on the edge of town, but it was a fortress under the skin. Imogen had an insane security system—better than the one I’d installed in my place. Facial recognition, reinforced locks, and motion detection tied into a system that didn’t just alert you—itanticipatedthreats.

And we weren’t alone. Kai, Judd, Keir, and Kapono were staying, too. Layered security, human and digital, was all focused on keeping Sayla and the kids safe.

Upstairs, we’d been given some spare bedrooms. Sayla and I were in one room, and the kids were just across the hall in another. We’d moved them after they fell asleep on the sofa—Kaida curled up like a kitten and Kairo still clinging to the edge of his brotherly mission. They didn’t even stir when I carried them.

Now, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, trying to make sense of the weight on my shoulders. We’d managed to get word to DB. He’d reached Sayla’s parents and told them the kids were alive, and Sayla was safe. Relief, at least, in the shadows.

But they’d been asked to keep pretending, to act like they didn’t know anything and like Sayla and the kids were still missing. It didn’t sit right with me, even though I knew it was the smartest play. The police in Piersville kept close to her parents, maintaining the illusion, and in the morning, we’d meet with Hurst and Ned.

Ned had resources, access, and connections we didn’t. If anyone could help us crack into the syndicate’s underbelly and tear it open, it was him.

The en suite door opened with a soft click, and I looked up. Sayla stepped back into the room wrapped in a towel, her skin still glistening from the shower. The light caught on the curve of her collarbone, the soft sheen along her arms and neck. Her hair was damp, tucked behind her ears, and her eyes looked clearer than they had since I’d pulled her out of that basement.

She caught me staring, and her mouth tugged into a tired, quiet smile.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice low.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure that was entirely true. “Getting there.”

She crossed the room and sat beside me, close enough that our legs touched. I reached over without thinking, brushing water off her shoulder. She leaned into the touch like it anchored her.

There were things we still hadn’t said. There might be time for them if we made it through the next few days.

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