Page 64 of Conall's Reign

Finn let out a sharp laugh while reloading. “They truly believed this would be easy."

A figure emerged from the haze—one of Vallone’s top enforcers, a towering man with a cruel sneer etched across his face. He locked eyes with me and raised his weapon, but I was quicker. My shot struck him in the shoulder, sending him staggering back. He roared in pain but didn’t fall.

Ilias seized the opportunity, moving with brutal efficiency and putting two bullets into the enforcer’s chest. The man collapsed, gurgling, his sneer frozen in place.

"Move!" Maxim barked, pointing to the secondary exit. “We’re not waiting for the others to pile in."

We pressed forward, slicing through Vallone’s men like a knife through flesh. This wasn’t merely another skirmish. This was war.

By the time we reached the alley, the gunfire had subsided. Vallone’s men had either been eliminated or scattered. I took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from my brow, with my ears still ringing from the relentless barrage of bullets. We were all remarkably unscathed, aside from a few scratches here and there.

“Is everyone okay?” Ilias asked, wiping a blade on his two-thousand-dollar slacks with a grin.

“You’re a scary motherfucker, you know that?” Lev, Maxim’s second-in-command, gave him a sidelong glance. “If I think that, I assure you.” He swung his gun in a circle that included all of us. “We all think that.” He wasn’t wrong, and we all managed to burst out laughing.

Finn was already reaching for his phone. "I’ll check in with Sean."

I nodded, scanning our surroundings. The street was eerily quiet, with the distant wail of sirens barely registering. I watched as Finn frowned, pressing the phone tighter against his ear.

"He’s not answering," Finn muttered as he dialed again. "Shit."

Dread coiled in my stomach. "Try Francesca."

Finn hesitated for a second before nodding and calling her number. When he looked up, his expression was grim. "She’s not answering either."

A sharp breath hissed between my teeth. Angelo stepped closer, his jaw tightening. "You think?—"

"It was a fucking trap," I growled. My grip on my gun tightened as a cold, violent certainty settled over me. Francesca was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

francesca

The first thingI felt was the pounding in my skull, a relentless, rhythmic throb that made me want to curl in on myself. The second was the sharp bite of plastic cutting into my wrists. My fingers twitched, but I could barely move them. I tried to make sense of the events that led to my precarious position, and I came to the shocking realization that I was in big trouble.

The cold seeped through my thin dress, offering little protection from the chill in the air. I attempted to lift my head, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain rolling through me, causing my stomach to lurch. I blinked slowly, my vision swirling until it sharpened enough to take in my surroundings.

A warehouse. The high ceilings stretched above me, metal beams crisscrossing like ribs in the belly of a great, hollow beast. The air was thick with the scent of motor oil, damp concrete, and something coppery—something that twisted my stomach in recognition before I even turned my head.

Sean.

He lay on the ground, his broad frame still as a dark pool spread beneath him. His face was bloodied, one eye swollen shut, and his lip split. His chest was barely moving. My breath caught in my throat.

No, no, no?—

I jerked against the restraints, the zip ties biting deeper. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic clawing at my throat as I willed him to move, to groan, to do anything that proved he was still alive. But he didn’t.

“Finally awake.”

The voice was smooth and rich with amusement, and when I raised my gaze, I saw him.

Cosimo Oliveto.

He lounged in front of me, his suit impeccable despite the grim surroundings. His dark hair was slicked back. His mouth curved into something that might have passed for a smile if his eyes weren’t so cold. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the tip flaring as he took a drag and exhaled a plume of smoke into the air.

“I thought we might’ve hit you too hard,” he mused, flicking ash onto the concrete. “I have questions.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the men surrounding him.

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