Page 100 of My Best Friend Is Broken
The declaration settles something in my chest. Because he’s right. Of course he’s right. What’s the point of powerif you can’t protect the people you love? What’s the point of an empire if it costs you the only person who makes any of it worthwhile?
“I agree completely,” I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. “Liam is everything. The rest is just noise.”
But even as I say it, a new fear grips me.
“What if they hurt them? What if the Russians...” I can’t finish the sentence, can’t voice the terrible possibilities that are churning through my mind.
Dario’s fist slams down on the table with such force that his laptop jumps. “They wouldn’t fucking dare,” he snarls, and the fury in his voice is unlike anything I’ve ever heard from him. “They know what I’m capable of. They know what will happen to them, to their families, to everyone they’ve ever cared about if they so much as bruise Molly.”
The rage in his expression is terrifying and somehow comforting all at once. Because this is what love looks like in our world, not soft words or gentle gestures, but the promise of absolute devastation visited upon anyone who threatens what’s yours.
“The same goes for Liam,” I say, my hand moving to the gun at my hip. “Anyone who touches him dies slowly. Painfully. In ways that will make them beg for the mercy of a bullet.”
Dante nods approvingly. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s figure out where these bastards are hiding and make them regret every life choice that led them to this moment.”
We spend the next hour coordinating, mobilizing, pulling every string we have access to. Informants are called, favors are demanded, surveillance footage from a dozen different sources is pulled and analyzed. Themachine of our organization grinds into action with terrifying efficiency, focused on a single goal.
Find them. Get them back. Make the Russians pay.
My phone is a constant presence in my hand, checking for any messages from Liam even though I know it won’t come. They would have taken their phones immediately, destroyed them or turned them off to prevent tracking. But I can’t stop checking, can’t stop hoping for some miracle that will tell me he’s okay.
“We’ll find them,” Carlo says quietly, coming to stand beside me while Dario coordinates with someone on the phone. “And when we do, we’ll make this right.”
“What if we don’t find them in time? What if they…”
“Don’t.” Carlo’s hand lands heavy on my shoulder. “Don’t go down that path. Focus on the action, not the fear. Fear makes you sloppy.”
He’s right, but it’s hard to focus when every fiber of my being is screaming to be out there, searching, tearing apart every Russian safe house in London until I find them.
“Nicolo.” Dario’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “We have a lead. One of our informants says there’s been unusual activity at a safe house in Stratford. Russian-owned, rarely used. Could be nothing, but...”
“But it’s the best lead we have,” I finish, already moving toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Dario holds up a hand. “We need to be smart about this. If it is them, we can’t just charge in. We need planning, coordination, overwhelming force.”
“How long will that take?”
“Two hours. Maybe three.”
Two hours. Three hours. Every minute feeling like an eternity while Liam is out there somewhere, scared and alone and probably thinking I’m not coming for him.
But Dario’s right. Going in half-cocked, letting emotion override strategy… that’s how you get people killed. That’s how you lose the people you’re trying to save.
“Fine,” I agree, though every instinct I have is screaming against the delay. “But the moment we’re ready, we move. No hesitation, no mercy.”
“No mercy,” Dario agrees, and the look in his eyes promises blood and fire and the kind of vengeance that will be spoken about in whispers for years to come.
I check my gun, the familiar weight of it in my hand somehow grounding. Soon. Soon I’ll be putting bullets in the people who took Liam, who dared to think they could use him as leverage, who made the catastrophic mistake of touching what’s mine.
They’re going to learn exactly why you don’t mess with the Ajello family.
And by the time we’re done, the Russians are going to wish they’d never been born.
Chapter thirty-three
Nicky
The safe house is exactly where our informant said it would be. A basement flat in Stratford. Lurking at the bottom of a crumbling, forgotten office block. Probably once the home of the building’s caretaker. Whatever the history, it’s the kind of place that would never attract attention. Which is precisely why the Russians chose it.
