Chapter 38
Kane
We pile into an unmarked SUV from the estate’s garage, the engine purring to life as Declan pulls onto the main road.
The night wraps around us like a shroud, streetlights casting intermittent shadows across our faces.
Nobody speaks much as we drive toward Rosedale, each of us lost in our own thoughts about what we’re about to do.
Glen Road proves to be precisely what Rory described—a stretch of imposing homes set back from the street, old money and new blending in a showcase of wealth and privilege. We drive slowly, headlights dimmed, scanning each driveway for Mark’s car.
“This is pointless,” I mutter after our third pass. “He could be anywhere. A hotel, the airport—”
“There,” Connor interrupts, pointing to a silver sedan parked haphazardly in front of a Tudor-style mansion. “That’s the rental company’s logo on the back window.”
Declan pulls over a few houses down and cuts the engine. “How do you want to play this?” he asks, turning to face me.
I check my watch—nearly 5:30 AM. The street is deserted, most residents still asleep behind their security systems and manicured hedges.
“Quick and quiet,” I decided. “In and out before anyone notices.”
We approach the house cautiously, sticking to the shadows. The front door has an electronic keypad, but Declan bypasses it entirely and leads us around to a side entrance. He examines the lock for a moment, then pulls something from his pocket that glints in the dim light.
“How many locks have you picked in your lifetime?” I whisper, eyebrows raised.
He gives me a look that clearly says, You don’t want to know, then sets to work—the lock yields with a soft click within seconds.
We slip inside the silent house. The only thing we hear is the steady hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of a clock. We move through the darkened kitchen into a spacious living room, where the smell of alcohol hangs heavy in the air.
And there he is—Mark, sprawled across an expensive leather sofa, one arm dangling toward an empty bottle of scotch on the floor.
He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, now rumpled and stained.
His face, slack in drunken sleep, looks almost innocent—a stark contrast to the rage I saw earlier, to the violence he inflicted on Lana.
“Is that what I looked like when I was on a bender?” I ask quietly, remembering my own darker days after Sean died, when alcohol seemed like the only escape from grief.
All three men nod simultaneously, and despite the gravity of the moment, I almost laugh at their perfect synchronization.
Then something shifts inside me—all humor vanishing when I see the manila envelope containing the divorce papers sitting on the coffee table, unopened.
Then I remember Kori’s bruised arm, Lana’s battered face.
Before I can think twice, I’m moving across the room, grabbing Mark by his shirt collar and yanking him upright.
He comes awake with a startled yell, eyes wild and unfocused as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. Recognition dawns slowly, followed quickly by fear when he notices Declan and the others blocking any escape route.
“What the fuck?” he slurs, struggling against my grip. “How did you get in my house?”
“The same way you tracked Kori to Canada,” I growled, shoving him back against the couch. “By ignoring boundaries.”
I grab the envelope and tear it open, and Declan produces a pen.
“Sign it. Now,” Declan orders as I shove both into his hands.
“Like fuck I will. Kori is MY—”.
I smash my fist into his mouth. “Sign it!”
For a second, I feel sorry for the broken man before me. But only for the second it takes him to scribble his name.
I snatch the papers from him and tuck them into my jeans, then haul him up by his collar.
“You can’t—” His protest cuts off in a gasp as Connor appears beside him, zip ties in hand. “What are you doing? This is kidnapping! Assault!”
“Funny,” Rory says conversationally as he helps Connor secure Mark’s wrists. “Those are exactly the charges Lana could press against you.”
Mark’s face pales. “Lana? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I snap, leaning close enough that he can’t look away from my face. “We saw what you did to her. The bruises, the broken ribs.”
“She fell,” he insists, the lie pathetic even to his own ears. “She’s always been clumsy—”
My fist connects with his stomach before I realize I’ve thrown the punch. Mark doubles over, wheezing, as Declan places a warning hand on my shoulder.
“Not here,” he murmurs. “Too many neighbors.”
Connor covers his mouth with duct tape when he tries to shout for help.
Half-carrying, half-dragging him through the house and out to the waiting SUV, we work with the efficiency of men who’ve done this before—though I try not to think too hard about what that implies about my brothers’ past activities.
Mark struggles harder when he sees the open trunk, but he’s no match for the four of us. We deposit him inside, Rory adding zip ties around his ankles for good measure.
“Keys?” Declan asks as he slams the trunk closed.
I pat Mark’s pockets before we loaded him in, finding them in his jacket. “Got ‘em.”
“Good. We’ll take his car too. Less evidence we were here.”
I slide behind the wheel of Mark’s rental, following Declan as he drives toward the waterfront. Dawn is just beginning to lighten the eastern sky, and the city is still quiet around us. In the passenger seat, Connor checks his phone.
“Security cameras?” I ask.
He nods. “Mia’s handling it. Any footage of us will disappear before anyone thinks to look.”
I’m not sure if I should be impressed or disturbed by how easily my newfound family can erase evidence of a kidnapping. Both, probably.
We reach the docks as the first rays of sunlight streak across the water. It’s a forgotten corner of the harbor—abandoned warehouses, rusting equipment, no witnesses. Declan parks in the shadow of a derelict building, and I pull in beside him.
Mark is surprisingly subdued when we open the trunk, the fight gone out of him as reality sets in. His eyes darted between us, wide with fear above the duct tape.
“Bring him,” I tell the others, leading the way to the end of a rotting wooden pier that juts into the cold, dark water.
We sit him on a piling and secure him to a rusted metal cleat with more zip ties. The harbor water laps hungrily at the pilings a few feet below, black and uninviting in the early morning light.
I rip the tape from his mouth in one quick motion, making him yelp.
“You can’t do this,” he gasps, looking frantically between us. “I’m a respected businessman. People will look for me.”
“Like you looked for Kori?” I ask, crouching to meet his eyes. “Tracking her across continents?”
“That’s different! She’s my wife!”
“Ex-wife, you signed the papers,” I corrected him. “And Lana? What’s your excuse there? She was family, too.”
His expression shifts, calculation replacing fear. “Lana came onto me. She’s always been jealous of Kori, always wanted what her sister had—”
I cut him off with a hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes bulge. “Try again. This time without the lies.”
When I release him, he gasps for air, tears streaming down his face. “What do you want from me?”
“It’s simple,” Declan says, stepping forward. “You’re going to disappear from their lives. No contact. No messages. No ‘accidental’ run-ins. You’ll sign the divorce papers without contest, and you’ll forget you ever knew either of them.”
“And those photos you’ve been holding over Lana’s head?” Rory adds. “They’re now in our possession. All copies.”
Mark’s head snaps up. “That’s impossible. They’re encrypted—”
“They were encrypted,” Connor corrects him. “Past tense.”
I can see Mark trying to process this, trying to find an angle, a way out. “And if I agree? You’ll let me go?”
“If you agree and follow through,” I tell him, “You get to keep your comfortable life. Your reputation. Your teeth.”
“But if you ever contact them again,” Declan continues, his voice soft but deadly serious, “if you ever so much as speak their names...”
I grab Mark by his collar, dragging him forward until he’s teetering on the edge of the piling, the dark water just inches below. “You’ll be swimming with the fish. Permanently. Do we understand each other?”
Terror floods his face as he stares down at the harbor water. “Yes! Yes, I understand! Please, don’t—”
I release him abruptly, letting him fall back against the piling with a thud. “Remember this feeling,” I tell him, my voice low. “This fear. This is what you made them feel. Remember it every time you think about breaking your promise.”
We leave him there, hands and feet tied up, sitting on the dock. Someone will find him eventually—a dock worker, maybe, or a security guard. By then, we’ll be long gone, back at the estate with no connection to whatever story Mark decides to tell.
But then I stop.
Men like Mark never give up. If not Kori or Lana, it would be another woman. I turn around and stalk back to him. “On second thought, it’s a nice night for a swim.”
If nothing ever comes of what is going on between Kori and me, I know I have to do this for her.
I reach over to where Declan stands, grabbing the gun from the waistband of his jeans. Mark visibly cowers as I point it at him. My hand shakes. Despite being a member of a mob family, I’ve never pointed a gun at another human before.
Images of Kori cowering just like he is now when he showed up at the house play through my mind, and it fuels me.
The shot rings out, echoing off the buildings around us, and Mark slumps forward. I shove him with the toe of my boot over the edge. He cries out just before he hits the water with a splash. It doesn’t matter; he will be dead soon enough.
As we walk back to the vehicles, Declan falls into step beside me and smacks me on the back. “I’m proud of you. Feel better?”
I consider the question, searching for the satisfaction I expected to feel. “Not really,” I admit. “What he did to them... this doesn’t balance the scales.”
“It was never going to,” Declan says with the wisdom of someone who’s learned this lesson the hard way. “But they will be safe, and that’s what matters.”
I nod, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. In a few hours, I’ll be back at the estate, holding Kori, checking on Lana. In a week, we’ll be in Alberta, facing whatever final surprise Tomas has arranged for us. And after that...
After that is still unwritten, but for the first time in years, I’m looking forward to turning the page.