Page 67 of Conall's Reign

The world tilted. My ears rang, drowning out the sounds of the warehouse, the shifting men in the background, and the distant drip of water. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

Vallone studied me, his head tilted slightly, as though he found my shock amusing. “Now,” he murmured, “let’s talk about what comes next.”

I forced a breath past my lips, my voice barely stronger than a whisper. “You’re lying. “

He let out a low chuckle as he reached into his coat. I tensed, expecting another weapon. Instead, he pulled out an envelope and handed it to me—a DNA test. I couldn’t even begin to ask where he had obtained a sample of my DNA, but the test confirmed that Emilio Vallone was my biological father.

“You almost killed my husband. Was it you who hit me in the head?” Suddenly, I was furious.

“No, that was Cosimo.” He looked suddenly a little perplexed.

“I’ll tell you what’s next. You’ll give me your phone and let Sean and I go.” I’d had enough of this nonsense and surprises. My head hurt, and Sean needed medical attention.

“You’re…”

“What? I’mfuckingwhat?” I hurled the DNA test onto the floor in anger.

“Not a disappointment,” he said, handing me his phone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

conall

We had verylittle to go on. We had a video of Sean and Francesca entering the alley behind the club, and just as they were about to get to the car, they slipped out of the camera’s view. We could only see Sean moving her toward the passenger side, and then there was nothing.

The attack from Vallone had caught us off guard, but we weren’t unprepared. What surprised us was that it was a ruse. The assault at the front of the club was deliberate, serving a specific purpose. That was the premise we operated under. The alleyway was guarded, but both guards had been eliminated. Sean and Francesca had both been taken, and the vehicle was left with its doors open, idling as Sean had left it.

Remo paced, kicking chair legs and growling at the men who crossed his path. He had been on a collection run for Angelo when the attack occurred and had met us here, practically foaming at the mouth about his sister’s abduction. Eventually, Angelo attempted to speak with him, only to be met with a scowl and a reprimand. I didn’t blame him. His rage mirrored my own.

“Fuck!” I slammed my fist on the table in sheer frustration, uncaring as everything tumbled to the floor in disarray. My entire world had shattered. Nothing was helping to piece it back together. “Is there anything? Do we have anything?” The question was directed at anyone nearby. My anguish poured directly from my heart. The tracker I had given Francesca had been ripped off, either by accident or deliberately, and left in the gravel by the car. It was a lesson that something so fragile wasn’t a good idea.

We gathered at my Vinegar Hill place, along with my friends and their top soldiers, to determine where they had been taken. However, we had no clues to guide us, other than being certain that most of the attackers were Vallone’s men.

“Lev says he has two alive—mostly. He’ll be here shortly so we can try to get some answers,” Maxim reported. We’d already examined some of the dead at the club before we left, but we hadn’t left any alive that we knew of.

“Where did he find them?” Ilias paused his work on his laptop. He had been trying to locate properties owned by Vallone.

“Two blocks over. Wounded but hiding,” Maxim sneered.

“Okay. We’ll get them to give us something.” Remo pounded one fist into his other palm, gritting his teeth. “They’ll talk.”

They would indeed talk. I didn’t mind cutting it out of them one word at a time. They’d give us every drop of information they had.

“You think it was Vallone who took her? Or Cosimo?” Ilias asked.

“I don’t know.” My hand swept across the stubble on my chin again. “It makes more sense that it’s Cosimo. Why would Vallone snatch her? But it was Vallone’s men.” It just didn’t add up.

The phone vibrated in my palm, sharp and insistent. I barely had time to bark a command for silence before answering.

“Hello?”

"Conall—" Her voice was a whisper, but I could hear the panic and exhaustion woven through it. “Can you come get us?”

"Francesca?" My voice was hoarse and desperate, the single word catching in my throat as I turned away from the table where the others were gathered, maps and burner phones strewn before them.

A cold, vicious dread coiled in my stomach. Please let her be alright. "Where are you?”

"Warehouse by the docks. Hurry! Sean needs help. He’s been shot."

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