Chapter 32: Stolen time

I spent the night locked in the warehouse, interrogating all my men with Alex and Tom at his side. The air was heavy, every question sharpened by suspicion, every silence a reminder that someone among them was feeding the Mexicans information. I trust Alex and Tom completely, which only narrowed the circle of betrayal.

“Start talking. How are the Mexicans getting details about our businesses?” Marco asked leaning forward voice low but sharp.

“I don’t know, boss. I swear, I keep my mouth shut.” One of the man replied shifting uneasy.

"Then explain why they know about shipments that only this room was briefed on.” Marco asked eyes narrowing.

Third Person PoV

The interrogation dragged deep into the night, the warehouse heavy with fatigue and suspicion. Marco’s voice had grown hoarse from hours of questioning, his patience worn thin but his resolve unbroken. Alex and Tom remained at his side, steady as ever, but the answers they pulled from the men were fragments, half-truths, nothing that pointed directly to the mole.

Just as Marco prepared to push harder, his phone buzzed. The name on the screen made his chest tighten.

Luca.

He stepped aside to answer, exhaustion pressing against him like a weight. Luca’s voice was strained, urgent. Their grandmother had been taken to the hospital. She wasn’t feeling well.

She had refused for years to leave the villages, despite Marco’s pleas to move closer so he could care for her.

For him family comes first. Alex and Tom could hold the line.He needed to be with Luca. Within minutes, he was out of the warehouse , the air biting against his skin as he moved fast to meet his brother. Together, they would drive to the hospital.

For the first time in hours, Marco’s mind shifted from betrayal to something far more fragile — the fear of losing someone he loved.

Emily lingered in Marco’s mind as the city lights blurred past his windshield. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the road ahead, her face kept intruding.

Luca was waiting when Marco arrived at the apartment. They chose Marco’s car, a decision made quickly, almost carelessly, as urgency pressed them toward the hospital. The city lights blurred behind them as they prepared for the two‑hour drive. But just before they cleared the outskirts, headlights flared in the mirrors. Cars closed in from every side, men stepping out with guns drawn. Marco’s chest tightened. He hadn’t thought to bring his men. And now, they were cornered. The precision of the ambush chilled him — someone had known exactly where he was going, and that he would be unarmed.

Marco’s hand instinctively went for the gun at his side, but the sight of barrels aimed in every direction froze him. Outnumbered, he knew it would be pointless — a move that would only get both him and Luca killed. Luca’s voice broke through the chaos, panicked and trembling. “What’s going on?” he shouted, his mind flashing back to the night he’d been shot. The fear in his eyes was raw, the terror of history repeating itself. Marco clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He couldn’t afford panic. Not now.

Marco’s fingers worked quickly, sending a brief message to Alex before the car doors were ripped open. Rough hands dragged him and Luca out, forcing them to the ground. The coarse fabric of a sack closed over his head, plunging him into darkness. He was shoved into another vehicle, the air thick with the smell of gasoline and sweat. Voices rose around him, sharp and fast, speaking in Mexican. The sound cut through the chaos like a blade. Marco didn’t need to see their faces. He knew exactly who was behind this.

The ride was short, too short. He knew immediately they were being taken back into the city. When the car finally halted, silence pressed down on them. For several minutes, they remained inside, heads covered. Then rough hands pulled them out, dragging them across uneven ground. Marco’s instincts told him they were being led underground. The sound of a heavy door, the echo of footsteps, the damp chill — it all pointed to a basement.

The sacks were ripped from their heads, light flooding Marco’s vision in a harsh blur. Two men stood in front of them only long enough to slam the basement door shut behind them. The room was suffocating, heavy with the stench of blood. Dark stains marked the floor and walls, silent evidence of what had happened here before. Marco’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t just a basement. It was a place built for fear, for breaking men, for leaving messages.

Marco sat rigid, his jaw clenched, fury simmering beneath the surface. He wasn’t afraid of dying here — he was furious that these men were wasting his time, keeping him from his grandmother. Every second here was a betrayal. Beside him, Luca trembled, his mind spiraling through every possible outcome. He remembered the sting of a bullet, the helplessness of lying wounded. His fear filled the silence, while Marco’s anger burned like fire.

The heavy door opened, and Santiago walked in, his footsteps echoing against the concrete. He paused, his gaze sweeping over Marco and Luca before his lips curled into a smile.

“We meet again, my friend.”