Chapter 133

The SUV tore down the dark road, the night behind them still burning with gunfire. Inside, Pedro sat rigid, fury simmering in his silence, while Artemus gripped the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from tearing the world apart. The success of this mission was his ticket to get back in Vincenzo’s good books, and now, he failed woefully.

Then the phone buzzed. Pedro’s throat tightened as Vincenzo’s name flashed on the screen.

Artemus gave a curt nod, and Pedro put it on speaker.

Vincenzo’s voice filled the car, rough from recovery but steady and commanding.

“Talk to me. Tell me it is done. Tell me you have the boy.”

The silence stretched. Neither Artemus nor Pedro could force the words out. The only sound was the engine’s roar and the blood pounding in their ears.

Finally, Artemus said it flat, each word like broken glass.

“We lost him.”

Then came a deafening silence. The kind of silence that carried more weight than a hundred shouted curses. Then Vincenzo’s voice dropped, soft and lethal.

“You lost him?”

Artemus clenched his jaw. “Antonio brought the boy out at gunpoint. He demanded the documents. We were closing in when Zao Min’s men hit from the rear. It was a full ambush. In the chaos… the boy was taken. We don’t know by whom.”

Vincenzo’s silence was worse than his anger. When he finally spoke, his tone was cold steel.

“Antonio thinks he can touch what is mine. Zao Min thinks he can humiliate me. And you—” his voice sharpened, “—you think telling me you don’t know where my son is will be enough?”

Pedro broke in, voice firm, almost pleading. “We will get him back. You have my word. We barely escaped alive, but we’ll track him, Enzo. Whoever has the boy won’t hold him long.”

Vincenzo exhaled slowly, and for a heartbeat, the line was dead quiet. Then he spoke, every syllable laced with danger.

“Listen to me. Find him. I do not care what it takes, how many men you burn, or how much blood you spill. If my son is not back in my hands soon…” His voice cracked, not with weakness, but with the weight of a father’s fury barely contained. “…I will turn the earth inside out myself. And no one, neither Antonio nor Zao Min, will survive what comes next.”

Then the line went dead.

In the car, Pedro and Artemus exchanged a look. The mission had failed. The boy was gone. And now they were not just racing against Antonio or Zao Min; they were racing against Vincenzo’s wrath.

The house was thick with smoke and dust, riddled with holes from the gunfight. Furniture lay overturned; bullet casings glittered across the floor like scattered coins. Antonio slammed the door shut, chest heaving, pistol still hot in his hand.

From the shadows of the hallway, figures emerged—Zao Min’s men, calm and precise even after the storm outside. And then came Zao Min himself. Smooth, deliberate, every step carrying authority. His dark eyes settled on Antonio with a mixture of disdain and quiet amusement.

“You almost ruined everything,” Zao Min said in flawless English, his tone controlled, razor-sharp. “Waving the boy around like a trophy. You are reckless.”

Antonio sneered, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “Reckless? Without me, you wouldn’t even have him. Vincenzo’s precious little heir. Now he’s leverage. With that boy, Enzo will have no choice but to bow.”

Zao Min’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Bow? Vincenzo LaRosa does not bow. He burns. And right now, he’ll be burning for your blood, not mine. You handed him reason enough to tear the world apart.”

Antonio’s face twisted, but before he could spit a reply, one of Zao Min’s soldiers entered, dragging the boy forward. His wrists were bound, his eyes red and terrified, but he was alive.

Zao Min crouched in front of him, his expression unreadable. He reached out, brushing the boy’s chin lightly, studying him as though he were examining a priceless artifact.

“Such a small thing to cause such a war,” Zao Min murmured. He stood, turning back to Antonio. “The boy will not stay with you. He comes with me.”

Antonio stiffened. “Like hell he does. He’s my insurance. My move against Vincenzo.”

Zao Min’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “No. He is the key. And keys are wasted in the hands of fools. You will have your part when the time is right, Antonio. But the boy… he belongs to me now.”

The air between them crackled with tension. Antonio’s hand twitched on his gun, but the sight of half a dozen rifles trained his way stilled him. He wasn’t suicidal.

Grinding his teeth, Antonio spat, “Fine. Take him. But remember, without me, you’d still be hiding in the shadows. Don’t think you can cut me out.”

Zao Min’s smirk returned, thin and cruel. “I don’t cut people out, Antonio. I simply… bury them when they’ve outlived their use. Vincenzo destroyed my business, and I am going to take everything that gives him peace away.”

He gestured sharply, and his men hauled the boy out the back, into the night. Antonio watched, rage simmering in his chest as his prize—his one advantage over Vincenzo—disappeared into Zao Min’s grip. He had involved the old man because he knew getting his brother's enemies as alibis would just be the best for him.

For the first time, Antonio wondered if he hadn’t just delivered the child into a fate worse than death.

The room was too quiet, except for the steady beep of the monitor and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Vincenzo sat upright against the pillows, his bandaged side pulling with every shallow breath, but his hand was steady as he held the phone to his ear. Kadie sat at his side, watching him, every nerve on edge.

He spoke less during the call, just short, clipped words.

“…I see.”

“Hold the line.”

“Understood.”

His voice was calm, but his eyes… his eyes gave him away. Dark, burning, shadowed with something that made Kadie’s stomach twist into knots.

When at last he ended the call, Vincenzo lowered the phone slowly, as if it weighed a thousand pounds. His gaze lingered on the floor, refusing to meet hers.

Kadie’s heart hammered as she rose from the chair, her voice trembling. “Enzo… tell me. What happened?”

He did not answer right away. Instead, he pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down slowly. His jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

Kadie stepped closer, searching his face, her fear mounting with every second. “No.” Her voice cracked. “No, don’t look at me like that. Say something. Where is he? Where is my son?”

Finally, Vincenzo looked up at her. His eyes were raw, fury barely contained beneath the pain. “They had him, Bellissimo. Antonio brought him out… But then Zao Min’s men came. It was an ambush. In the chaos—” He swallowed hard, as if the words themselves cut him. “They took him. Our boy is gone.”

The floor seemed to vanish beneath her feet. Kadie staggered back, clutching her chest. A strangled sound escaped her throat, half sob, half scream. “No… no, God no…” She shook her head violently. “Not my baby. Not my son—”

Her knees buckled, and she sank against the wall, trembling uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for air, her whole body convulsing with grief.

Vincenzo tried to rise from the bed despite the searing pain, his hand reaching toward her. “Bellissimo —”

But she flinched, pressing her fists to her mouth. “Zao Min,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ve heard his name. I know he’s your enemy. But… what is he going to do to him?”

Vincenzo’s face hardened, his fury spilling through his veins. “Zao Min is ruthless. He doesn’t forgive, and knowing the history we share, he’ll use our son as a pawn until he gets what he wants.” His voice broke into a growl. “And if he touches him, I will end him myself.”

Kadie sobbed harder, but beneath the tears something shifted. She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, staring at him with eyes blazing through the blur.

“Then find him. Do whatever it takes…” Her voice cracked, but her tone was steel. “…he’s wrong. If he lays a hand on my son, Enzo—I will find him and kill him myself.”

The silence that followed was sharp as glass. Vincenzo reached out, taking her trembling hand in his, gripping it tightly despite the pain.

“I will put an end to this, trust me,” he said. His voice was low, deadly calm.

The heart monitor kept beeping, steady and relentless, echoing the vow that had just bound them.