Chapter Forty-Remy
The marble floor under my boots might as well be an arena floor, because I’m pacing like a predator waiting for blood.
I can hear the muffled drone of voices inside the judge’s chambers, lawyers arguing over motions, schedules, “the best interests of the child.”
All that sanitized language they use to talk about people’s lives like they’re case studies.
Like my daughter—my daughter—is just a number in their docket.
Julio isn’t here yet. Typical. Coward.
I almost hope he shows late, because the idea of him walking down this hall and catching sight of me?
It’s the only thing keeping me steady. That moment. The look in his eyes when he realizes I’m the wall he’s about to crash into.
Because it was him.
Had to be.
Two packages. Left on my doorstep like gifts from hell.
Addressed to my wife. And to my little girl.
Andy opened the door herself. I can still see the shock in her hazel eyes when she brought them inside.
I can still taste the bile that rose in my throat when we saw what was inside.
Dead flowers crawling with maggots. For Andy.
And for Callie? A grimy little bracelet, the kind you’d find in a gutter pawnshop.
You can’t convince me it wasn’t his message.
His sick way of saying I can get close to what’s yours. I can touch them.
And the worst part? He did. He got close enough that Andy bent down, that Callie’s name was on that fucking label.
The security guards who let it happen? They’re lucky to still be breathing.
Broken bones will heal. But they’re out. Fired on the spot.
They’ll have plenty of time to explain to their wives why their Christmas bonuses turned into hospital bills.
The first call I made after tearing into them was to Josef Aziz.
I told him plain and simple—this wasn’t a Sigma team I trained.
I wouldn’t put my name on sloppy, complacent work like that.
And now Josef’s hauling the whole chain of command through remedial hell, making sure no one with a Sigma patch on their arm ever makes that mistake again.
That’s business. That’s cleanup.
But me? I’m still boiling.
Because when I picture Andy holding that box?
When I think about Callie’s name written in block letters, sitting on my porch like bait?
I want blood.
No courtroom. No lawyers. No judges.
Just me, a locked room, and Julio Castillo’s throat under my hand.
The door to chambers cracks open and I stop pacing. My hands curl into fists, my pulse pounding so loud it’s all I hear.
I don’t care what decision the judge makes today about Christmas custody, visitation, whatever bullshit Julio’s lawyers think they’re winning.
Because as far as I’m concerned?
This isn’t ending in court.
It’s ending when Julio learns the hard way that nobody comes after my family and walks away breathing.
The minute the judge’s clerk shuts the chamber door behind her, I hear it—his voice.
Oily. Smug. That lazy swagger like he owns the air we’re breathing.
Julio Castillo.
He steps into the hallway like it’s a catwalk, his sharkskin suit gleaming under the fluorescents, his greasy grin already pointed in my direction.
“Falco,” he drawls, dragging out every syllable like it’s a taunt. “How’s my little girl?”
My spine goes rigid. My fists clench so hard I swear bone might snap.
My little girl.
Callie isn’t his anything. Never was. Never will be.
“She’s not yours,” I grit out.
He smirks, steps closer until I catch the sour tang of his cologne.
“We’ll see what the judge says.” His eyes flicker with something darker, something gleeful.
“But hey, don’t worry, she can call you from time to time.
Maybe she’ll tell you all about the friend I have.
He can’t wait to make her acquaintance when custody works out in my favor.
He’s a real special friend to little girls. ”
My skin crawls.
“You motherfucker.”
Julio shrugs, all fake casual.
“Of course, you’re free to pay. Give me what’s mine and I’ll let you have what you think is yours. Settle things between men.”
“How much?” My voice is flat. Deadly.
I’m already picturing my hands around his throat.
He licks his lips, enjoying himself.
“Half a mil. But what is that to your wife? I understand she has more than that. So let’s start there. And in return? I’ll let you keep the little bitch.”
The world narrows. My vision tunnels, rage pouring through me so thick I can taste blood in the back of my throat.
I want to end him. Right here. Right now.
It would be so easy. A snap. A twist. His body crumpled in this hallway like the garbage he is.
But not yet.
Not in front of the judge’s chambers. Not with lawyers and marshals ten feet away.
So instead, I nod. Slow. Deliberate. Like I’m swallowing his bait whole.
And Julio? The dumb bastard grins like he’s already won.
That’s the thing about men like him. They think they’re playing chess, but it’s checkers at best.
Loud. Sloppy. Predictable.
He has no idea I’m already ten moves ahead.
And by the time I’m finished, Julio Castillo won’t just lose the game.
He’ll lose everything.