Page 108 of King of Praise
“Get to the point, Tommy.”
“The point is simple. You meet with Francesca at a location I’ll text you once you agree to the terms. You come on time, you come alone, or both women die.” His voice has lost all pretense of friendly conversation now. “And Micah? The redhead will die slowly. I’ll make sure of it personally.”
The threat crystallizes my rage into cold, focused purpose. I’ve killed men for less than those words. Iwillkill Tommy Moretti for them, but not until Naomi is safe.
“When and where?” I ask.
“That’s more like it.” He sounds pleased. “I’ll text the details. One hour to prepare, not a minute more. By the way, I know you’re with Zeke right now. I know you’ve got his little crew thinking up clever solutions. Don’t bother. We’ve got eyes everywhere. We tracked you to your secret fuck cabin, we’re tracking you now. You try to bring backup, you try to set up surveillance, you tryanythingclever—they die. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good. Oh, and one more thing before I go.” The smile returns to his voice, despite the dripping malice. “The redhead is quite a find. If you’re late, I might have to sample the goods myself, see what’s got you soinvested. I hear redheads are feisty in bed.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. Probably for the best. Right now, I could shatter the phone in my grip.
Silence hangs heavy in the office for several heartbeats. I’m aware of the others watching me, gauging my reaction, waiting for direction. The leader in me knows what they’re seeing—a man pushed to his edge, a professional whose personal life has catastrophically collided with business. The question remains between us all. Can I handle this? Can I separate emotional response from tactical necessity?
“I’m going to fucking kill him.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected.
Zeke moves first, circling his desk to stand directly in front of me. “We’re going to get them back.”
The simple “we” in his statement creates a knot in my throat I struggle to swallow past.
Seb has stopped pacing, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “Sandra Hunt. Lucas’s mother? The one who’s been making noise about Naomi?”
I nod. “She must have gone digging where she shouldn’t have. Or hired the wrong people to help her. Managed to attract Barone’s attention somehow.”
“And ultimately them straight to Naomi,” Eli says from his position by the door, voicing the dark thought I’ve been trying to suppress.
“Regardless,” Zeke says, “we have a situation that needs handling. Tommy’s given us an hour. We need to use every minute.”
His matter-of-fact tone grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of emotion and into the familiar territory of strategic planning. This is what we do—solve impossible problems, navigate no-win scenarios, find paths through situations designed to trap us.
“They want me alone,” I say, thinking out loud. “Francesca’s using Naomi to draw me in. She knows I…” I hesitate, trying to navigate personal vulnerability in this professional space.
“She knows you care about her,” Zeke finishes for me, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. “We all know, Micah. It’s not exactly a state secret anymore.”
Something shifts in my chest at the simple acknowledgment—the affirmation that my feelings for Naomi aren’t just permissible but recognized and respected by these men who are the closest thing I have to family. The subtle nods from Eli and Sebastian confirm it. They know, and they don’t see it as weakness.
“This is retaliation,” I continue, regaining my analytical footing, “for Connor Gallagher. Francesca’s sending a message.”
“Likely,” Zeke agrees. “I suspect Connor was a crucial part of Nicolo’s plan. Connor was all about power. I’d bet money he was on Nicolo’s payroll. But it’s also an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?” I echo, in disbelief. “They have Naomi and Sandra hostage, they want me to walk into what’s obviously a trap, and that’s an opportunity?”
“Think strategically,” Zeke urges. “Francesca’s showing her hand. She’s desperate enough to make a move this bold, this public. That tells us something.”
Despite my emotional turmoil, I recognize the truth in his assessment. Francesca Barone has maintained a careful veneer of legitimacy throughout her rise to power. Direct kidnapping of civilians represents a significant escalation and risk. It suggests either desperation or confidence so extreme it borders on hubris.
“She’s either backed into a corner or making a play for total control,” I say, following Zeke’s reasoning.
“Exactly. And neither is sustainable long-term. Wouldn’t surprise me if Nicolo made her promises he has no intentions of keeping if she can weaken our strength. What better way to do that than to take one of my best men.” Zeke turns to Seb. “Get our tech team reviewing every bit of surveillance we have on Barone operations from the past forty-eight hours. I want to know where they’re holding Naomi and Sandra.”
Seb nods and pulls out his phone.
“Eli,” Zeke continues, “coordinate with security. Quietly. I want teams ready to move on my command. Be discreet. We’re being watched.”
As Zeke issues directions, a kernel of hope forms alongside the cold rage in my chest. We adapt, we overcome, we protect our own.
