Page 95 of Freed
But how the fuck did he know I’d take Elizabeth too?
The question needles at me, sharp and relentless.
I see her face in my mind—those wide blue eyes, that soft mouth, that fragile, innocent look she wears so naturally men line up to protect her without even realizing they’re doing it. Christ. I fell for it harder than any of them. I looked at her and saw something worth saving. Something worth burning my whole life down for.
I scrub a hand over my face and sit up.
What does that say about me? That I was weak? Blinded? Or just stupid enough to mistake tenderness for truth? My jaw tightens until it aches. Not only did I fall for her, but I was also willing to give up everything for her. My marriage. My reputation. My empire, if it came to that. I would have torched every goddamn rule I’ve lived by if it meant keeping her.
And all the while she was texting him.
The thought curdles inside me.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and let the fury settle. Not the hot kind. Hot rage gets men killed. No, this is worse. This is the cold kind that arranges bodies and signs papers and leaves no witnesses.
If Russo orchestrated the shooting, then he didn’t just take a shot at me. He used Sienna and Elizabeth. I get up and cross to the desk, switching on the lamp. The light is low and amber, throwing long shadows over the papers Cesaro brought. Flight logs. Financial transfers. phone records. Names. Half-truths and hints and missing pieces.
I stare down at them and start building the board in my mind.
Russo thinks he has the advantage because Elizabeth wantshim. Because he has men gathering. And because he believes I’m reacting. Fine.
Let him.
The first move is obvious: information.
By morning I want everything. Not just what Cesaro could gather in a few frantic hours. I want bank accounts opened under shell names. Warehouse leases. burner phones. drivers. private airstrips. the names of every soldier Russo has bought in the last six months. I want his shipments delayed, his cash squeezed, his allies pressured hard enough to start wondering if backing him is worth dying for.
The second move is containment.
Elizabeth does not leave this house alone. She does not get a phone unless I control the line. She does not go near an airport, a port, or a public street without my men watching every angle. If Russo wants her, he will have to come through me.
And he will.
Men like him can’t resist proving they’re willing to bleed for what they claim is theirs.
Which is why the third move matters most.
I am not going to wait here like a fool for him to strike first.
I pull a clean sheet of paper toward me and start writing names.
Cesaro in charge of internal cleanup. He’ll find out who on my side talked too much and who got paid to look the other way. I want Russo’s legitimate money squeezed until he has to touch the dirty reserves. Once he touches those, I can track where he’s weakest.
Then Chicago.
I stare at the word after I write it. In a week, I told Elizabeth. Not because I’m generous enough to give her time. Because I need the week. A week to let the rumor spread before I returnwith her. A week to make Russo think he knows our route, our security, and our timetable.
I can already see it.
He’ll hear we’re flying commercial out of Naples. He’ll hear there will be a vehicle switch halfway to the airfield. He’ll hear only six men are with me. Every detail will be wrong, but not wrong enough to smell like bait. He’ll believe he’s intercepting me. What he’ll actually be doing is walking straight into the kill zone I choose.
My pulse slows as the plan settles into place. Yes. That’s how it has to happen. Not two men thundering toward each other blinded by ego.
A controlled demolition.
I’ll make him move his pieces onto the board, and then I’ll take his hands off at the wrists.
I lean back in the chair and imagine the moment he realizes it. The second he understands that I let him come. That every panicked call, every rushed arrangement, every whispered update from his men led him exactly where I wanted him.
