Page 93 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

Damn right we were.I swung the Bugatti around, tires screeching as I headed toward the coordinates Gio texted to Marco’s phone.

Toward Kit.

Toward the bastards who’d dared to take what was ours.

“We’re on our way, D,” Marco promised as the sound of D racking a slide came through the line.

“Good. Marco, call in every fucking favor we have—I want the sheriff on the phone, I want every goddamn cop in this city locking down every exit off the east grid in case he decides to move her. Tommy—notify our FBI liaison.Now. Rocco is already on their shit list, and we could use all the fucking help we can get to take him and his family down once and for all.”

“We’re on it,” Marco snapped, already scrolling through his contacts. “They’ll know she’s missing in sixty seconds.” He hung up, dialing another contact instantly.

I grabbed my own phone, heart pounding as I scrolled to find Agent Ramirez’s number as fast as I could while keeping the car on the road. The fear in our bond was morphing into something even fucking worse—pain.

Kit was hurt.

The thought made me want to shatter something, preferably Enzo’s face.

I floored it, jaw clenched, putting the Bugatti through its paces while every cell in my body screamed one truth louder than anything else—

I was going tokill him.

GIOVANNI

Chaos reigned. I yanked on my tactical pants with one hand, strapped a shoulder holster with the other. Dimitri ripped through our weapons cache, shoving guns into every holster he wore, loading up on extra ammo, prepared to go to war.

His face was a stone mask, but I could feel the rage coming off him in waves, matching the fury boiling in my own blood.

Our new, expanded security feed had shown it all—Enzo’s casual suggestion about taking Beretta for a walk, leaving the building, rounding the corner and feeding our dog something that obviously made him sick, and then putting on the performance of a lifetime as he convinced Kit that it was a life or death situation. He’d gotten her out of the penthouse while we had our backs turned for one fucking second. Something only someone in our closest inner circle could’ve done.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it, but now wasn’t the time for processing shit. It was time foraction.

I finished dressing in record time, moving on autopilot as I loaded a magazine into my Glock. My hands were steady despite the storm of rage inside me. We’d trained for this. Prepared for this.

But nothing could prepare me for the feeling of Kit’s terror pulsing through our bond.

The strength of our connection was fading by the minute, growing fainter and harder to track. I kept my eyes glued to the tracking app on my phone, staring at the pulsing little red dot that indicated Kit’s location.

We took the elevator down to the garage where our detail was assembling—loyal men, all of them, ready to follow orders without question. In record time, weapons were distributed. Bulletproof vests strapped on. Comms checked.

Dimitri threw the rest of the loaded weapons into his bag, zipped it shut, and turned toward the team.

“W'e’re making a move against Rocco—” he began, fury sharpening each word as he quickly gave them a rundown of what the fuck was happening.

A buzz interrupted him. My phone vibrated against my hip at the exact moment D’s went off. We locked eyes for a split second before checking the screens.

It was a picture.

Kit.

Her delicate face was bloody, one eye swollen, lip split. She was conscious, eyes wide with fear, tears tracking down her bruised cheeks. A gloved hand gripped her hair, yanking her head back to make sure her face caught the light, just enough to highlight the damage he’d done.

Time froze.

And then Dimitri roared.

Not a shout. Not a scream. Aroar. Primal. Violent. A sound that shook the goddamn walls and reverberated in my chest.

It matched the white-hot fury ripping through me, the need to tear apart everyone who dared touch our mate.

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