Chapter 132: Organized Crime

Arthur

The SUV was waiting when we touched down at 2 AM, Ethan already behind the wheel with the engine running. I didn't bother with pleasantries, just threw myself into the back seat and barked, "Black Peak. Now."

"Sir, Detective Clark is already there," Ethan said, pulling out of the private airfield with controlled urgency.

Too slow. Everything's too fucking slow.

My phone buzzed with an incoming call—Carter's name flashing on the screen.

"Tell me you have something," I said, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.

"I'm at Black Peak," Carter said, his usual easy charm completely absent. "Max is here too. We heard what happened, and we're not leaving until we find her."

Something in my chest loosened slightly at his words. Carter and Max—two of the few people in this world I trusted completely, already mobilized and ready to help.

"I'm fifteen minutes out," I said.

The drive to Black Peak felt endless despite Ethan's aggressive navigation through the empty pre-dawn streets. Every red light, every slowdown for a turn, felt like a personal insult when Ceci was out there somewhere, hurt or scared or worse—

No. Don't go there. She's alive. She has to be alive.

When we finally pulled through the gates, Carter met me in the entrance hall, his expression grim. "Arthur—"

"Where's Detective Clark?" I interrupted, already moving toward the study where I could hear voices.

"In there."

Detective Clark was standing by my desk, her laptop open, surveillance footage frozen on the screen. She looked up when I entered, her expression professionally sympathetic in a way that made me want to punch something.

"Mr. Winston," she said. "I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."

"Show me the footage," I said, ignoring the pleasantries.

She hit play without argument.

The screen showed a street view from a traffic camera, timestamp reading 10:23 AM. Ceci's car—a silver sedan I'd bought her last month because I'd wanted her to have something safe and reliable—came into frame, moving fast but not recklessly.

Then the black SUV appeared behind her, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

I watched as Ceci tried to evade, taking a hard right turn that made my heart lurch into my throat. The SUV followed, and then—

The impact.

The SUV rammed into her side with brutal force, sending her car spinning out of control. It flipped once, twice, before crashing down on its roof and skidding to a stop.

"Jesus Christ," Carter breathed from behind me.

The SUV stopped. Two figures emerged—large men in dark clothes, moving with military precision toward Ceci's wrecked car.

And then the footage cut out.

"What the fuck?" Max's voice was sharp with disbelief. "Where's the rest?"

"That's all we have, this area is an old residential neighborhood with barely anyone around, so no one reported the car accident." Detective Clark said, her voice tight with frustration.

"And every camera in a three-block radius went offline at exactly that moment. By the time they came back online twenty minutes later, there was no sign of Miss Locke, no sign of the SUV, nothing except her abandoned car."

"Someone disabled the cameras," I said, my voice coming out flat and dead.

Detective Clark nodded slowly. "We're working on the theory that this is connected to your mother's alleged involvement in the engagement party incident. That whoever took Miss Locke is trying to—"

"To what?" I interrupted, feeling rage build in my chest. "Intimidate me? Get revenge? What the fuck could they possibly want?"

"We don't know yet," she admitted. "But Mr. Winston, I need to ask—has your mother been in contact with anyone unusual lately? Anyone who might have the resources to pull off something like this?"

I opened my mouth to say no, to insist that my mother was too scared to even leave her room, let alone orchestrate a kidnapping.

Then I remembered something.

The only peculiar object on Ceci these days

"Wait here," I said abruptly, turning and heading for the stairs.

"Arthur—" Carter started, but I was already gone, taking the steps two at a time.

I went straight to the bedroom Ceci and I shared, my eyes immediately finding what I was looking for—the worn leather diary she'd brought back yesterday, sitting on her nightstand where she'd left it after we'd gone to bed.

Her mother's diary.

I grabbed it and headed back downstairs, finding everyone exactly where I'd left them in the study, all of them looking at me with varying degrees of confusion and concern.

"Ceci found this yesterday," I flipped through the pages.

"Turns out Rhys isn't the gentleman I thought he was. He did things that aren't fit to write about. Things that made me realize I needed to get out before something worse happened."

"She fled England," I said, looking up at the others. "Evelyn fled from the Grey family with nothing, no money, no plan. Just got out as fast as she could."

Carter's expression changed, something dark and knowing flickering across his features. "Arthur, when you say 'Grey'—are you talking about the Grey family? The British one?"

I nodded slowly, watching as Carter and Detective Clark exchanged a loaded glance.

"What?" Max demanded, looking between them. "What's the big deal about some British family?"

Carter's jaw clenched. "Detective Clark, would you mind giving us a moment? I think this conversation might be better handled privately."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Carter's tone made her nod instead. "Of course. But Mr. Ashford, Mr. Winston—if you learn anything that might help us find Miss Locke, you call me immediately. Understood?"

"Understood," I said, though I had no intention of involving the police in whatever Carter was about to tell me.

We waited until we heard the front door close behind her, until the sound of her car pulling away faded into the distance.

Then Carter turned to face us, his expression grim.

"The Grey family," he said slowly, "is one of the oldest and most powerful criminal organizations in Europe. They've been operating for generations, hiding behind their title and their money, and they're very, very good at making problems disappear."

Max let out a low whistle. "Shit. You're talking about organized crime?"

"I'm talking about a family that makes the mob look like amateurs," Carter said. "They traffic in everything—drugs, weapons, people. And they have connections everywhere—law enforcement, government, even intelligence agencies. You don't cross the Greys and live to talk about it."