Page 71 of His Ruthless Obsession

Elliott holds up a flash drive, letting it dangle between his fingers. "Everything you're looking for is right here. Names, locations, security protocols — the whole operation laid out nice and neat." He tosses it in the air, catching it with practiced ease. "Let her go, and it's yours."

"You think you can dictate terms to me?" Mantione's voice drops dangerously low.

"I think you've got about thirty seconds before this drive gets wiped clean." Elliott's expression remains neutral behind his glasses. "Your choice."

The soldier's grip on Jazz tightens. She doesn't flinch, but I see the muscle jump in her jaw. My finger curls around the trigger.

"Clock's ticking," Elliott adds, his thumb hovering over the tablet screen. "Twenty seconds."

"Let her go." Mantione spits the words like they taste foul. He jerks his head at his men, who release their hold on Jazz.

She moves with careful grace, each step measured as she crosses the concrete floor. Her chin stays high, shoulders back, refusing to show an ounce of fear. Pride swells in my chest even as rage burns through my veins at the raw spots on her wrists.

The moment she's within reach, I pull her against me, keeping my gun trained on Mantione. Jazz's body trembles slightly against mine, but her spine remains steel-straight. I wrap my arm tighter around her waist, anchoring her to me.

"The drive." I nod to Elliott.

He tosses it in a clean arc. Mantione snatches it from the air, his meaty fingers crushing around the plastic. Pure hatred twists his features as he glares at me.

"This isn't fucking over, Bueti." His knuckles go white around the drive. "You think you can waltz in here, dictate terms-"

"Save the speech." I cut him off, watching Luca stroll across the warehouse floor like this is a Sunday picnic. Marco let him go with the drive like we discussed earlier, but damn. The kid's got balls, I'll give him that. His father's face darkens further at his casual demeanor.

"It better be over." My voice carries clear across the space between us. "We need a truce, Mantione. Your pride isn't worth starting a war neither of us can afford."

Jazz's fingers dig into my side as Mantione takes a menacing step forward. I angle my body, keeping her partially shielded behind me while maintaining my aim.

"A truce?" Mantione barks out a harsh laugh. "After this shit show?"

"Exactly because of this." I keep my tone level. "Next time it won't end with just a trade."

Luca reaches his father's side, hands in his pockets like we're at a business lunch. Mantione's jaw clenches so hard I can hear his teeth grind from here.

He stares at the flash drive in his meaty fist, calculating. His eyes dart around the warehouse, taking in his men's positions, probably counting odds I'd rather he didn't think of.

Elliott taps his tablet screen with deliberate slowness. "Just so we're clear — I'm still connected to that drive. One wrong move and everything on it becomes digital confetti."

"You little shit-" Mantione takes a step forward, but Luca's hand shoots out, gripping his father's arm.

"He's right." Luca's voice carries authority despite his age. "We need this intel. And they're offering a clean slate."

I keep Jazz pressed against my side, my gun unwavering. Her breathing has steadied, but tension radiates through her body where it meets mine.

Mantione's nostrils flare. "A truce. Just like that?"

"Just like that." I lock eyes with him. "Unless you prefer body bags to business deals."

"Think about it." Luca's grip tightens on his father's arm. It's not lost on me that there's more warmth between me and my inner circle than there is between the father and son I'm watching. "War's bad for profits."

The warehouse falls silent except for the hum of distant machinery. I count Mantione's breaths, watching the calculation play across his face.

Finally, he jerks his chin in a sharp nod. "Fine. Truce holds. But step out of line once-"

"Same goes for you. I’ll even let Sal go." I cut him off, already backing toward our exit. The surprise on his face makes me smirk, but I am a man of my word. I’ll let his guy go. "Marco, Tony – flanks."

My men move with practiced efficiency, forming a protective circle around Jazz and me. Elliott falls in behind us, still tapping away at his tablet.

"Data's locked down tight now." Elliott's voice carries just enough to reach Mantione. "Try anything cute with that drive and it'll fry itself."

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