Page 63 of His Ruthless Obsession

"At midnight," Elliott confirms. "Some warehouse on the south side. I've got the address."

"Then we go tonight," I say. "We show them that they cannot get ahead of us."

"You sure about this?" Marco leans against my desk, arms crossed. "We're putting a lot of pressure on them. Could push Mantione over the edge."

"What's the alternative?" I reach into my desk for my shoulder holster, slipping it on and checking the clip in my Glock. "Let them hit The Vault? Let them think they can fuck with us?"

"No, but-"

"Then we move tonight." This time, I make sure my tone brokers no argument. The leather of my holster creaks as I adjust the straps. "Get the guys ready. Full tactical gear. I want this clean and quiet."

Elliott starts packing up his equipment. "I'll keep monitoring their communications. If anything changes, you'll know immediately."

I nod, pulling on my suit jacket. The weight of the gun settles against my ribs, familiar and reassuring. But something else weighs on me — the image of Jazz behind the bar at The Vault, completely unaware of what's brewing.

She's safe there, I tell myself. The club's security is tight, and this is just an ambush. We'll handle it before it becomes a real threat.

But as I check my phone — no messages from her — an uneasy feeling crawls up my spine.

Marco must catch something in my expression. "The club's locked down tight, boss. Nothing's getting through those doors without us knowing."

"I know." I grab my keys. "Call Ray and Tony. Tell them to bring the heavy artillery. And Marco?"

He pauses at the door.

"Make sure everyone understands — we're sending a message tonight. No survivors."

The weight in my chest doesn't lift as I head for the elevator. Jazz is fine. The Vault is secure. But this gnawing feeling...

I shake it off. Focus. There's work to be done.

25

JAZZ

The night air hits my face as I push through The Vault's back door, my feet aching after hours in heels. All I can think about is getting home and taking a nice, hot shower.

But that's when I see that the usual black SUV isn't in its spot. I pull out my phone, checking the text I sent Marco hours ago about tonight's pickup.

No response.

That's odd. Normally, I leave around the same time, and since Nerio insisted on having me driven, I have to tell Marco when I'm ready to go. But he always answers immediately.

Is there something wrong?

A rustle behind the dumpster draws my attention. "Hello?"

Three shadows emerge from behind the building. The streetlight catches their faces — no one I recognize, but the way they move sets off every alarm bell in my head.

Where is the security? The guards? Nerio usually has at least two guys in the back, just in case. But I'm realizing for the first time I'm all alone.

"Well, look who we found." The tallest one's lips curl into a cruel smile.

I drop my purse and phone, shifting into a defensive stance like Nerio taught me. I didn’t want to feel defenseless again – not after Leo – so I’ve taken classes before to help with situations like that.

But it doesn’t stop the tremor of unease rushing through me. "Back off."

"Oh, the bitch has got claws." Another one laughs, circling to my left.

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