It had been a week since the Russians had taken Sloane. From the surveince footage, the fucker who’d captured her appeared to be Anton. Trevor was busy dropping hints to the feds on where to search for her, but so far, they’d been hitting dead ends. Kirill hadn’t been helpful in providing the name of the properties where Anton or Grigori could have taken her.


    Phil Harding had been in a medically induceda to ease the swelling in his brain caused by the fall. He was lucky all he suffered besides brain trauma was a broken leg and corbone considering the height he’d fallen from. His spine remained intact, and he wasn’t paralyzed. The second they removed his breathing tube, the detectives took his statement.


    When he finally saw me, the disgust on his face spoke volumes and managed to make me feel an inch tall. He witnessed the cruelty I’d inflicted on Sloane.


    “Find her…”


    I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question.


    “I was hoping you could help me find her,” I said.


    He didn’t say anything but breathed heavily. “Don’t deserve her.”


    “If there’s anything…”


    “She didn’t betray you.” His heart monitor ticked up.<fn9a78> ???? ????s? ???????s ?? fin?novel</fn9a78>


    That was neither here nor there. Though Sloane and I avoided sharing personal stuff, we did spend five months together, and when I was able to think clearly, it left me with a certainty that she was coerced to work for the FBI. That she was cornered and didn’t have a choice. I lied to myself when I said she was dead to me, but I wasn’t prepared for Phil’s next words.


    “I cloned her phone.”


    The words didn’t register at first. My mind rejected them. It rejected them because that would mean Sloane was innocent. That there was no gray area to bargain with and make me feel better even when her shattered look haunted me.


    The look as I spewed those venomous words and rejected her.


    Ridiculed her.


    Degraded her.


    Called her a rat.


    Trash.


    No. No. No.


    The unfairness of it all. My misced outrage and pride. I fucking destroyed her.


    A faint smile curved Phil’s mouth. He was delighted to watch the slideshow of horror ying on my face.


    “You framed her?” I choked.


    And if the nurse hadn’t rushed in, I would have grabbed him, postatose or not, and strangled the life out of him.


    Dazed, I didn’t even fight the nurse when she shoved me out of the room. I staggered a few steps into the hallway with no direction. I paced in circles.


    I fought through the roaring in my ears, the pounding of my heart, and the inability to breathe without snagging on what suspiciously sounded like a sob. Sloane never betrayed me. Sandro was right. The FBI framed her. I scrambled through our text messages and cross-checked them to the messages from the bodyguards I assigned to her.


    I battened down the nausea of self-disgust rising inside me when my brain came to the undeniable conclusion of Sloane’s innocence.


    Since that night she disappeared, my days were spent on the streets talking to informants or riding Trevor’s ass on dark web chatter. Any clue that would lead us to Sloane or even Billy.


    Kirill issued a warning that Grigori was his to deal with, but fuck that.


    I also had Harriet watched. Trevor, at first, thought I’d lost my mind to consider stalking an octogenarian, but after we’d discovered the auto-monthly debit of her stay in Delphine had been cancelled only to be paid up for a year from an untraceable shellpany, he agreed. I didn’t know whether Harriet knew what happened to Sloane and I wasn’t about to give her a heart attack with bad news.


    I would return to my penthouse in the early hours of the morning, but today, after finding out that I’d misjudged Sloane, I didn’t have the energy to haunt the streets or hound Trevor, so I returned to my penthouse early.


    Six p.m. to be exact.


    Here, Ginger was my constantpanion. Surprisingly, she’d limated to being confined to an indoor space, noting said indoor space was ten times the size of Sloane’s apartment. Apparently, she had a taste for fine living and expensive furniture. I kept her fed in style and she’d been gaining weight, her coat getting healthier than it’d ever been.


    I would sit in front of the television, and her eptance was the only thing keeping me on the edge of sanity. Because it was the nights when the regrets came and tonight the enormity of the injustice I’d inflicted on Sloane was magnified a thousand times worse. Sloane and I had embarked on a physical affair, but we were in denial that emotions weren’t involved. I was used to ying boss, concentrating on keeping the gears working smoothly in my organization, so I didn’t notice how she’d crept under my skin and burrowed into my heart. I was such a fucking asshole. Phil was right. I didn’t deserve her. I kept her boxed in a corner because I figured she would never survive the scrutiny of my position and leave me. Even now, I didn’t want to present her to my mother, not because I was ashamed of her, but because Ma’s disdain at my choice of partner would drive Sloane away and make her end things between us.


    But I didn’t have to worry. It was I who ruined us.


    I was selfish.


    She’d hinted, hadn’t she? That she was feeling more and seeing me go out with other women was wearing her down. I was a coward and hid behind my responsibilities, but in doing so, I’d forsaken who was turning out to be the most important person in my life.


    Luca once said when I made a choice, I should protect that choice with my life.


    I didn’t.


    I didn’t fucking deserve her. And I might be toote. I didn’t know whether Sloane was dead or alive. My thoughts went to Luca. Were the Moretti men cursed to suffer the same consequences because of our quest for power?


    The sound of the key turning made me sigh. It was the women. They’d been trying to corner me for a week, but I’d been one step ahead of them.


    I typed a message to Trevor and Sandro.


    Me


    Fuck you, guys.


    Trevor


    Take it like a man, bro.


    Sandro


    Fix this.


    Fix what? I didn’t owe them an apology. The only woman who was getting an apology from me was Sloane. I would grovel and crawl over broken ss if only I could find her.


    Ginger jumped off myp to greet the women. I had a suspicion they’d beening into my residence to y with her.


    “Ooh, he’s here,” Sera snipped. If there was a silver lining that came out of Sloane’s disappearance, it was that it seemed to have united my female cousins and my sister against me. Sera picked up the remote and turned off the television.


    “Didn’t Matteo ever teach you not to touch a man’s remote?” I grumbled.


    “Trust me, cousin, Matteo lets me touch everything.”


    “Gag.” Lucy made the vomiting gesture. Of course, Bianca would be here. She was leading the charge to castrate me for what I’d done to Sloane. And that was without knowing what went down between us.


    “I don’t know why you girls are here. I’m no closer to finding Sloane than a couple of days ago.”


    “We went to visit Harriet,” Bianca said.


    “Why?”


    “The question is why haven’t you?” Sera asked.


    “She doesn’t know me. Sloane never introduced me to her. But I know Harriet’s got a heart condition. I don’t want to shock her with the news that Sloane is missing.”


    Bianca rolled her eyes and looked at the girls. “Know what? I have my answers. Sloane and Dom were nothing but hookups and obviously she didn’t share her personal life with him.”


    “And how much did Sloane share with you?” I challenged.


    “Did you know the reason she tries to be so independent and didn’t want to depend on any man was because that’s what her mother told her when her father left?”


    I frowned. “That’s not bad advice. Talking about her family is off-limits. That was our deal. Any attempts of mine to pry were shut down. But we don’t need to look too far. Billy…”


    “That’s what I don’t get,” Bianca said. “Harriet has a soft spot for Billy no matter how many times he’s fucked up.”


    “How did she react when you were all looking for Sloane?”


    “She knows,” Bianca said.


    “What?”


    “She doesn’t know where Sloane went, but apparently Sloane had been nning it for a while.”


    “Sloane had nned to leave?”


    “Yes. But the day after everything went down, the administrator of the facility told Harriet that her stay was paid up for a year.” Bianca exhaled a sigh. “She’s sad, Dom. Harriet thinks Sloane found out about Billy and was mad at her and left.”


    Confused, I said, “I’m not following.”


    “Duh, you think we do? Use your sneaky boss connections and dig.”


    Lucy whipped out her phone. “I know a guy…”


    “No,” I snapped. “You’ve done enough.”


    My sister was on thin ice with the way she skated into shit without covering her tracks. She needed to stay far away from the political crap right now or risk another contract on her head she expected me to fix.


    My phone rang, shing Trevor.


    “You have something?”


    “Yeah.”<hr>


    The old colonial house was on the outskirts of Manhattan, so it was to our advantage that agents from the New York field office and local cops were able to piece together the journey of a truck used by one of Grigori’s men. The tes turned up as one of the pay-here-buy-here lots that required GPS tracking to be installed and it led to this house before it was eventually ditched in the Bronx and ended up in one of our chop shops.


    The house was in poor condition and clearly hadn’t been maintained well. Fresh tire tracks indicated recent use, but hope deted when the property appeared abandoned.


    When the lead agent dered it clear, he approached me with a somber expression. “There’s something you need to see.”


    “Is she dead?” The words scraped my throat like sandpaper.


    “No, but there’s a basement,” he said. His eyes grew shifty before they fixed on the K-9 vehicle. “We’re going to let the scent hounds do their job. We can call you?—”


    “No,” I said firmly. “Show me now.”


    The agent led me into the house. I forgot that Trevor was beside me until he said in my ear, “The owner of this property is a dead end. I think Grigori’s been using shellpanies to hide the movement of his trafficking rings from his boss.”


    His boss meaning Ivan. If anything, the former pakhan epted the me for letting someone like Grigori loose, and that was why he stepped down to let Kirill take over. Sandro didn’t have to remind me he once offered to take out Grigori because he was concerned for Sloane, but I had my own agenda then. I’d assigned Sloane to a corner designating her as the woman I had sex with. She didn’t influence my policies as a boss. Except Sloane refused to remain in the corner and she forced me to choose before I was ready.


    I chose wrong, and I fucked up.


    It waste spring in New York, and the basement was cool and humid. When we reached the bottom of the steps, a single light bulb illuminated the area.


    A ragged inhale blew past my mouth and I couldn’t prevent the burning in my eyes.


    Bile, like churning acid, backed up my throat as the stench of copper assailed my nostrils. People had died in this basement. They were tortured first. And I tortured myself with thoughts of Sloane as a captive. Was she locked up? Chained? Did they starve her? Was she cold?


    There were cages, but also a chain attached to the wall. They treated people like animals in this space. Impotent rage engulfed me when I spotted the dried blood on the floor, smeared almost two feet wide. Whoever was hooked to that wall couldn’t have survived.


    A darker, more concentrated patch of blood was a few feet away.


    I shuddered another exhale as my mind filled in the nks of what happened here. I wondered what nightmare Sloane endured, all because I fucking refused to help her find Billy.


    I was still processing the horror unspooling in my head when someone hollered at the top of the stairs. “The dogs found something!”


    I raced up the stairs despite the lightheadedness threatening me with copse. Despite Trevor yelling my name. Despite the scream that wanted to tear out of my chest.


    Across the parking lot, I spotted the K-9 and ran toward it. What did it find? A body? A grave? Clothing?


    I reached the fresh grave and what followed was a blur. The rush of the ocean in my ears. My chaotic breathing. The odor of lime and earth. Someone hauled me up. Got in front of me, yelling at me to get a grip. I stood dazed and stared at my hands, at the dirt under my fingernails. I’d been digging with my bare hands.


    My fault.


    I did this.


    I fucking did this.


    Sloane’s suffering was because of me.


    This wasn’t happening. I wasn’t about to find Sloane in a grave. Never to see her vivid green eyes again or hear her husky voice that lulled me to a peaceful sleep.


    Barking around twenty feet away jolted me out of my trance.


    “We have another one!”


    I closed my eyes, drained and resigned. “Sloane and her brother.” My voice cracked.


    Trevor stood silently beside me and put a hand on my shoulder as we waited.


    It would take another forty-five minutes for the forensic archeologists to arrive. The feds set up amand center under a tent. I didn’t leave the site as they worked. It was a shallow grave and perpetuators had used lime to mask the smell and speed up body decay. If this was what an out-of-body experience felt like, then I was living it. It was as if I’d be two beings. One in my physical form: stoic and emotionless in watching the proceedings. While my soul stood beside it: screaming, roaring, and raging.


    They unearthed a ck-tarp-wrapped form.


    An exhale loosened my chest as my consciousness fused together. The body was too big to be Sloane, but my relief was short-lived when the technician revealed the face of the person who was buried.


    Billy.


    I squeezed my eyes shut. Sloane had asked for my help to find Billy and I viciously turned her down. But like that night of her disappearance, I willed my mind not to think of regrets. I forced my limbs to take me to the second burial site.


    The techs who were dressed in biological hazard suits were carefullyying the body on the ground beside the hole. The shape could pass for Sloane’s build.


    God no. I mumbled a prayer despite the destion drowning me.


    “Let me do it,” I said. I wasn’t running from my guilt. If Sloane was beneath this stic, I wanted her face to haunt me for the rest of my life.


    It was nothing less than I deserved.


    After donning gloves, I gripped the de in one hand and sliced the tarp. Exhaling, I dropped the de and opened the slit.


    Oxygen deserted me for a split second and I rocked and fell on my ass, crab-walking backward from the body.


    “It’s not her,” I gasped, turning over on all fours as an overwhelming relief washed over me. “It’s not her.”


    Hope came flooding back.


    Trevor peered at the corpse on the ground. “Wait, is that…?”


    “The missing witness.”


    The feds told me it would take them six days to get back the results from the blood in the basement and longer for their coroners to do autopsies on the bodies. Kirill wasn’t happy that I went behind his back, but he was the fucker who was obstructing the progress of the investigation.


    But money buys everything including a rushed DNA analysis, and I could have the results within twenty-four hours.


    I was telling myself that if the bigger map of blood was Sloane’s, then her body would be in one of the graves. My bet was it was Billy’s. He had a longer time to bleed out. Cold, I know.


    I was pacing the living room of the penthouse. I was promised the results before midnight.


    Ginger was sitting like a sphinx on the leather ottoman as if she was waiting with me for the results.


    I banned everyone froming into my penthouse. I wanted to be alone in my misery. I wanted to suffer alone in my guilt and self-loathing.


    I took a swig of whiskey when my phone rang with the number from the private DNAb.


    “Mr. De Li?”


    “Yes.”


    “This is Carter. Lucy’s friend.”


    “Yeah, I know who you are.” What could I say? My sister offered her help, and I pounced on it even when I had otherpanies lined up who could do the work, but I discovered this Carter guy was the best in his field. I didn’t know how my sister found these people, but maybe she should work for me.


    “I’m sending you the results on a secure link you can download, but I want to confirm that the set of DNAing from subject A?—”


    “That’s the one closest to the wall?”


    “Correct. I can confirm is William Scott.”


    “And the second set?”


    “This is where it could get tricky.”


    “What do you mean?”


    “There’s fetal tissue mixed in it.”


    “Fetal…” The implications of what this meant ripped a hole inside me so agonizingly visceral, I could barely speak through the crippling pain squeezing my rib cage.


    “Subject two was pregnant.”


    “Was?” I could only manage one-word responses now.


    “The maternal DNA was confirmed to be Sloane Scott’s.”


    “Pregnant…”


    “So, in the interest of saving time, I asked for permission from Lucy to use her existing data in our database.”


    “You could have called me…” I finally strung a few words together. I was reeling. Spinning. Thrashing in a sea of unexpected loss and stew of emotions I couldn’t identify.


    “This was faster and I can retest…”


    “Just tell me!” I roared, the thread of control finally snapping. I had to know. But I already knew the truth, didn’t I? Because karma had a way of doubling down on my guilt and shame. “Am I the father?”


    “Lucy and the fetal tissue share a match, so you are potentially the father.”


    “What happened?”


    “I’m not in forensics, but it appeared it was a miscarriage.”


    “The baby did not survive?” I whispered brokenly.


    “I’m sorry, Mr. De Li.”


    My hand lost its grip on the phone.


    Sloane had been pregnant.


    The news slowly registered in my head, but my body was already processing the sweeping devastation liquefying my insides, draining the blood from my head, and threatening to suck me in its undertow.


    My knees crashed on the wooden floors, and even then, I couldn’t keep the rest of me upright. Piercing pain in my gut and chest hunched me over and I crawled on all fours. Crawled across the floor to a dark corner and wept. Wept for the baby—our baby—who never had a chance to live.