Page 150 of Stabby Little

"When we first discovered Callum, we thought he was another boy—the Bettencourt boy."

"I remember the Bettencourt boy," Jagger says.

"It made national news," Constantine grits out.

"We mixed up his identity. We assumed there was only one boy in the world who matched his DNA profile—but we overlooked the possibility that he and Callum were biological twins."

"Were they?" I flex my jaw.

"Yes. They'd been separated at birth. We know what you're feeling because we spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Bettencourt after we found Callum. We learned firsthand the emotions they went through when they lost their son despite searching for him for years."

"Did you reunite them with their son?"

Benedetto tears his eyes away from mine. "Their son, Wesley, died in the warehouse. The Diavolos murdered him after they discovered he kept a pet turtle a client gave him in his cage."

"They had a strict no pets policy," Constantine explains. "The turtle was contraband."

"They didn't want their boys forming close connections—even with pets." Gianluca's voice is low. "That's how we know what you're going through.”

“The Diavolos also captured our boys when we returned to rescue Ollie and his friends,” Constantine adds. “Even though we only lost them for thirty minutes, those were the longest thirty minutes of our lives."

I sit in silence as I mull this. I can't believe the Ferraris have fought the Diavolos and I didn't even realize it. The shit they told me about the Bettencourt boy stupefies me even more.

At least Ollie survived.

At least he lived long enough to break out of that hellhole.

My gaze is icy when I turn to the Ferraris. "Are you sure we can trust the Antonovs?"

"Yes." Constantine issues me a curt nod. "They're our business partners. Gianluca patches up their men after turf wars."

"Let's trust them." Jagger wraps his fingers through mine. "I've heard great things about the Antonovs on the street."

"Like what?"

Constantine pulls out a bottle of vodka. "You'll see when we arrive."

* * *

Military-grade helicopter blades whir on a rooftop launchpad when we pull up to a skyscraper in Manhattan. Constantine wastes no time charging into the elevator and bringing us to the top floor.

Eight men in powerful suits greet us when we step onto the roof. Each one has a chiseled jawline, bulging muscles, and stands tall against the violent sky. Dark clouds gather overhead as rain and lightning spits in the distance, but the Antonovs don't pay attention to it. They remove their expensive sunglasses and adjust their luxury wristwatches, then slide fresh bullets into their guns.

Power.

Resilience.

Authority.

These men command these virtues and so many more.

Never in my life have I witnessed such a display of manly aggression: competence mixed with a desire to kill. The bloodlust in these Russians' eyes is stronger than one hundred proof vodka, and it lets me know they're the right men for the job.

If anyone can rescue Ollie, these guys can.

Constantine slams his hand on one man's back. "Thank you for firing up the choppers, Nikolai."

Nikolai issues Constantine a grunt. "I'm supposed to be retired from this shit. My boy, Christian, is at home playing with his dinosaur stuffies and preparing to launch his new Dino Tracks location. I don't have time to go after the Diavolos again."

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