Page 64 of Stricken

"That's all for now. We'll take it from here," Vlad says. His controlled voice is the opposite of what's happening in my mind right now.

As the door clicks shut behind Hector, the tension in the room ratchets up. I close the distance between Vlad and me. The disbelief of betrayal is still raw but somehow not unexpected. Salvatore has always been a lying sack of shit.

"I'm sorry," Vlad murmurs, his gaze softening for a moment.

I chuckle bitterly, thinking. My feet begin moving on their own accord, pacing small circles in front of Vlad.

"I can have Hector continue following your cousin," he offers.

"Why? It's clear that he's doing some unauthorized transactions behind Uncle's back. He's not part of the family operations. He's managing legal assets only. Even if the drugs aren't Brazilian, he's not supposed to have a truck of coke, anyway."

"Okay. It's your family, your business. If you don't want my help any further, that's fine."

I halt for a second and draw a deep breath, trying to think what my next step should be. But I've never been in this situation before. This is a dangerous game we're talking about now.

"I need to talk to Sal about this," I finally state, convinced this is the best solution to this fuck-up. "There has to be some explanation." I don't know if I believe it, though.

Vlad's steely eyes bore into me as I look in his direction. "Salvatore doesn't strike me as the type to listen to reason or answer questions, Nico. Especially when you're involved."

Vlad's right. Sal is a snake. He will deny everything. "Then what do you suggest?"

"We need to confirm Hector's intel first. Make sure the shipment they have is a stolen one."

"How?"

"We'll go check it out ourselves."

"Are you serious?" I demand as I resume pacing the small office like a caged animal. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise. I've never done... field work."

A ghost of a smile plays on Vlad's lips as he steps closer, his commanding voice dropping to a secretive whisper. "You've never buried a body in the desert with another man either. Yet here we are."

My stomach lurches. And I don't know if it's the dread or the excitement of his proximity.

Vlad's expression hardens. "I have an idea what we're dealing with based on Hector's report. And I have a plan."

"Of course, you do, Hot Shot," I murmur right back at him, allowing myself to place my palm over his chest. He grabs it and brings it to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. And somehow I don't give a fuck if someone walks in.

* * *

The desert landscape—the dusty watercolor painting—rushes past as I navigate Vlad's Audi down the highway. The gravelly vibrato hums beneath the tires like an unsettling soundtrack. My palms are sweating around the leather of the steering wheel, my mind full of conflicting emotions.

Beside me, Vlad is intensity personified. He speaks rapidly into his phone, his Russian flowing like a dark river. I catch snippets—warehouse, security, extraction—each word driving home the surreal nature of our mission.

Everything's been a blur since our conversation with Hector. We hurried downstairs and outside, then down the alley and into a warehouse hidden strategically behind the club. The place felt alive with urgency. Vehicles stood in line like knights ready for battle. There was no quiet deliberation—just thrumming anticipation and rising adrenaline. In a heartbeat we were in motion, changing clothes in the bathroom with curt efficiency before heading back out.

Vlad flicked keys toward me offhandedly while engaging in another call and said driving was my job now—whatever lay ahead simmered quietly beyond his dark gaze focused elsewhere, intently yet momentarily distant from mine.

It's only now the reality of the situation is finally settling in. My own blood is double-crossing me and the rest of the Morelli family.

Immediately, Salvatore's face enters my mind—someone I grew up with, someone I thought would at least be loyal to our family name. What's his angle?

"We're doing this alone?" I ask as Vlad ends another call.

"Less chance of tipping anyone off. We confirm what we need to confirm, then you can decide the next move."

I swallow hard. "You know I went to Stanford, right?"

"I'm aware."

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