33. Raiden
Chapter 33
Raiden
I t’s been two days since Lucrezia vanished into thin air, two days of mounting fury keeping me wired higher than any drug ever could. I’ve barely slept, only catching an hour here or there in the backroom of the clubhouse. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face—defiant and somehow vulnerable. Then I think of Kristopher’s hands on her, and my stomach lurches. I’m losing my mind, and the worst part is I know it’s happening.
Priest is the only thing holding me together, and even he’s struggling to keep me in line. Every morning, I rip through his training room like a storm, punching the heavy bag until my fists bleed, snarling at anyone who dares to tell me to calm down. I can’t calm down. Not while Lucrezia’s out there, at the mercy of that psychopath. The other Destroyers have started giving me a wide berth, muttering under their breath when they think I can’t hear them. But I hear everything these days—every whisper, every concerned glance, every suggestion that maybe I’m taking this too personally. They don’t understand. They can’t understand what it feels like to have her ripped away, knowing every second that ticks by could be bringing her closer to a fate I can’t bear to imagine.
We finally get a call from Saverio around noon—more of a summons than a request, his voice crackling with barely contained urgency through the speaker. “Get here now,” Priest relays, flipping his phone shut with a grim nod. “Apparently, big brother’s got a lead.” My heart starts hammering against my ribs, equal parts hope and dread coursing through my veins. After forty-eight hours of nothing, any information feels like both a lifeline and a potential blow.
I force myself not to break into a dead sprint for the door. Instead, I grab my jacket, ignoring how my knuckles protest at the simple act of shoving it on. The scabs split, and fresh blood seeps through. Fine. I can deal with broken skin. My chest is a raw cavity of rage, and the only balm is the hope that we’ll find Lucrezia soon.
We ride to Saverio’s safehouse on the outskirts of Manhattan—Priest on his bike, me on mine. The place is swarming with men holding assault rifles. They watch us approach with wary eyes, not even trying to hide their hostility. We’re Destroyers, after all, the same bastards who tried to blow Saverio sky high. But times have changed. Now we’re on the same side, if only for the sake of finding Lucrezia Castiglione. Who could have seen this coming?
One guard steps forward as we kill the engines. He’s a burly guy with a scar across his cheek and a glare that says he’d love nothing more than to put a bullet between my eyes. Priest, ever the diplomat, speaks first. “We’re here to see Saverio.”
The guard sneers, glancing at my patched vest. “Don’t cause trouble,” he growls, fingers twitching near his holstered weapon as if itching for an excuse to use it.
Saverio’s safehouse is all subdued colors and discreet luxury. We’re shown to a large living room with plush furniture, everything carefully chosen to project wealth without being ostentatious. There, Saverio sits, favoring his cane, while another man stands in the center of the room, fidgeting like a cornered rat. His eyes dart between us and the exits, hands clasped behind his back and cuffed with zip ties.
Priest and I pause just inside the threshold. Saverio lifts his gaze, eyes cold but calculating. “Took you long enough,” he grumbles. He’s still pale, still obviously in pain from his injuries, but his presence fills the space like a dominating storm front.
Priest returns his stare. “Traffic was a bitch,” he deadpans.
I glance at the man in the middle of the room—mid-30s, short, cheap suit, beads of sweat rolling down his temple. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Two armed guards stand behind him, rifles angled downward but ready. My pulse kicks up a notch at the prospect of new intel. Could this guy know where Kristopher’s hiding Lucrezia?
Saverio taps his cane once. “This is John. He used to run small errands for Kristopher. Claims he hasn’t seen him in months.” Saverio’s tone drips with skepticism. “I thought maybe you’d like to question him.”
My lips peel back in a snarl before I can stop myself, rage bubbling to the surface. Priest shoots me a warning look from his position by the wall, but it’s too late. The anger’s coiled too tight inside me, hungry for an outlet, like a snake ready to strike. I step forward, ignoring the guards bristling at my movement. My gaze locks on John, who seems to shrink under the intensity. “So you’re Kristopher’s errand boy, huh?”
He flinches, swallowing hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobs visibly in his throat. A fresh bead of sweat trails down his temple. “I—I swear, I haven’t talked to him in forever. He just paid me to do some work on a cabin, that’s all.” His voice cracks on the last word, betraying his nervousness.
Priest cuts in. “We need to know where that cabin is and if Kristopher told you anything about plans, safehouses, anything at all.”
John’s eyes dart from side to side, sweat glistening on his brow. “I don’t—um—I d-don’t know anything. I swear.”
I crack my knuckles, the pain in my battered hands a welcomed sting. “Wrong answer,” I say, close enough to smell the fear rolling off him in waves. “We’re out of time. You know something, even if you think it’s insignificant.”
“Please, I—I’m just a small-timer. Kristopher never told me the details. He was paranoid, always looking over his shoulder, checking his phone.” John’s voice rises an octave. “I don’t even know how to get back there. He used to pick me up in the Target parking lot and drive me there with a blindfold on. Made me wait for hours sometimes, just sitting there in my truck like an idiot.”
My fist flies before I can think, connecting with his gut with a satisfying thud. John doubles over, gasping for breath like a fish on land, and a savage satisfaction races through me. But it’s not enough—not nearly enough. I grab him by the collar, bunching the cheap fabric in my fist, and haul him upright until his toes barely scrape the floor. “Talk,” I snarl, letting him see the promise of violence in my eyes. “Or I swear I’ll break every bone in your body, starting with the small ones.”
The guards shift uneasily in my peripheral vision, hands twitching toward their weapons, but Saverio holds up a hand. He’s watching me with a dispassionate gaze as if evaluating my methods like a professor grading an exam. Priest stands silent at my flank, not stopping me—yet. His presence is a reminder that there are lines I shouldn’t cross.
John’s eyes bulge, bloodshot and terrified. “I’m not lying, I swear to God?—“
My second punch slams into his ribs, a precise strike that makes something give way beneath my knuckles. He lets out a strangled yelp, collapsing to his knees like a puppet with cut strings. I force him upright again, my muscles burning with the effort, adrenaline fueling each strike. “Where is he?” I roar, my voice echoing off the walls. “Where is Lucrezia? Answer me!”
John’s gaze flicks to Priest, then Saverio. None of them intervene. “S-stop, please!” he chokes. “I don’t know! Kristopher didn’t trust me. He never told me anything; I just got paid to remove some windows and make the place soundproof.”
My knuckles ache from the impacts, but the fury roars louder. I bury a third punch into John’s stomach. He crumples, spittle and blood on his lips. “Bullshit,” I growl, voice shaking with the force of my rage. “You’re holding out on us. She’s out there with that psycho, and you think you can lie to me?”
He whimpers, tears mixing with blood. “P-please, I—I d-don’t?—”
Priest’s voice slices through the haze. “Raiden.” He steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Stop. He’s not lying.”
I jerk away, frustration boiling. “How do you know?”
Priest’s eyes flick to the beaten man. “Look at him,” he says simply. John is trembling, his gaze unfocused, terror oozing from every pore. “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t know.”
I glare down at the cowering man, my chest heaving. The scent of sweat and blood hangs in the air. Slowly, sense seeps back in—my fists throb, and my heart’s in my throat. I realize I’ve wasted precious time on a dead end, and the knowledge burns.
“Fuck,” I mutter, releasing John. He collapses onto the floor with a moan. The guards move in to lift him, but I barely notice. I spin on my heel and stride out of the living room, needing air, needing space before I completely lose it. My mind is a storm of guilt and frustration: I beat a man who knew nothing except cross paths with the wrong man.
I slam through the front door into the cool afternoon air, chest constricting. My vision feels oddly blurred, though I refuse to let tears come. I punch the solid wooden frame of the porch, the impact jarring my entire arm. Pain flares, but it’s a welcome distraction from the black pit of despair festering in my chest.
Priest appears behind me, quiet as a shadow. “That won’t help,” he says softly.
I bark a hollow laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Tell me what will, then.” My voice cracks, and I hate how weak I sound, how exposed and raw the words feel in my throat.
He sets a steady hand on my shoulder, the pressure both grounding and reassuring. “We need a plan, not random violence,” he murmurs, and somehow, his calm certainty makes the chaos in my head settle, if only a little.
“You think I don’t know that? Every night, I close my eyes and see her. I imagine what Kristopher’s doing, how she’s feeling—“ My voice wavers, and I fight to contain the fury and fear swirling in my chest. “I’m drowning here, Priest. I can’t stand not knowing. Every second feels like another moment I’m letting Lucrezia down.”
Priest’s grip on my shoulder tightens, the pressure of his fingers digging into muscle. “I’m with you, brother. We’ll get her back. But if you tear yourself apart first, you’re no good to her.” There’s steel beneath the gentleness in his words.
I stand there, trying to regain some control over the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Slowly, I nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady. Priest pats me once on the back before he slips back inside to confer with Saverio. I remain on the porch, staring at the horizon where the setting sun paints the sky in shades of amber and gold.
A few minutes later—maybe five, maybe ten—I hear footsteps behind me. I expect Priest, but it’s Saverio. I glance at him, swallowing the immediate flare of animosity that rises like bile in my throat. We’re allies now, even if the opposite is what brought Lucrezia and me together in the first place.
He plants himself beside me, eyes scanning the yard as if searching for a threat. “You’ve got a temper, Drake,” he says, voice cool and measured like a man discussing the weather rather than my emotional state. “That’s going to get you killed if you’re not careful.”
I bristle at his presumption. “I don’t need advice from you.”
Saverio doesn’t rise to the bait. He shifts his weight, wincing from what must be a lingering ache in his hip. “You beat that man senseless, and it didn’t give you any answers. Now you’re one step closer to losing yourself, and we’re no closer to finding my sister.”
My jaw tightens. “I’d do anything to get her back.”
“Why?” he presses, his gaze sharp. “Why are you so hell-bent on saving someone who, by all rights, should be nothing but trouble for you? You’re not family.”
The wave of anger resurfaces, but it’s mixed with something else—pain, longing, memories I can’t shake. “She’s not just another someone. Not to me.”
Saverio studies me, his dark eyes searching my face for something I can’t name. For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then he sighs, the sound full of decades of regret.
“Lucrezia, I-I never gave her a fair chance,” he admits. “I regret that more than you can know. She was always shut out in the family, and I let it happen. I stood by while she suffered alone. When Father told us she was the black sheep, I didn’t correct him. I stayed silent, like the dutiful son I thought I had to be. When I forced her to go to Italy, I told myself it was for her own good, but I was a coward. I allowed our father’s prejudices to get in the way of how I saw my little sister. I saw her as a threat when I should have seen her as family. Now I see how wrong I was.” He exhales. “I won’t let Kristopher finish what our father started.”
Despite my distrust of him, I feel a pang of empathy. The regret in Saverio’s voice is genuine. Maybe he’s not the heartless kingpin I pegged him for. “I won’t let him hurt her. I can’t,” I say, and my voice cracks on the last word.
Saverio shifts to face me. “You care about her more than you care about your own life, don’t you?”
My throat feels tight. “She’s… I love her,” I force out, the words raw and quiet in the hush of the late afternoon. Admission stings my pride, but I can’t deny it anymore. Every time I breathe, she’s in my thoughts. The possibility of her pain crushes me. If Kristopher hadn’t kidnapped her, who knows if I would have realized how I felt? But her absence tears me apart inside. I’ve been falling for her since the day she stepped into the Destroyers clubhouse. Now that she’s gone, the feeling consumes me, leaving room for nothing else.
Saverio lets the confession hang between us. A passing breeze stirs the dust, making the guards at the gate glance over. Finally, he speaks, his voice gentler than I’ve ever heard before. “Love her enough to keep your head, Drake. She’s been through enough. If you lose yourself to rage, you’ll only condemn her further.” He turns, limping back inside, leaving me with the faint chirp of crickets.
After a moment, I follow him, ignoring the stares of men who would happily see me dead on any other day. Priest stands in the foyer, speaking in hushed tones with one of Saverio’s lieutenants. He catches my eye and raises his chin in silent question. I nod, letting him know I’m okay.
We gather around a makeshift table cluttered with maps and files. No one mentions the man I just beat and left bleeding in the living room. No one apologizes; no one condemns me. This is the nature of our worlds—violence is currency, and sometimes it buys you nothing. The sting of my wasted effort weighs on me, but it also reminds me how time is slipping away.
As the sun sets, the house glows, revealing faces drawn with fatigue but set with purpose. For the first time, I see a flicker of synergy here: mafia enforcers and biker outlaws working side by side, all because one woman—a woman they once called cursed—has bound us together with her absence.