Chapter 24
The screen’s harsh glow burns my eyes as I sort through the final pieces of evidence against my father. Bank statements. Shipping manifests. Heath’s testimony. Everything fits together like a grotesque puzzle, each piece revealing another layer of my father’s depravity.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I draft the email that will destroy Ano Montoni. The USB drive feels ice-cold in my palm—a stark contrast to the heat of anger coursing through my veins. A lifetime investigation. Countless lives destroyed. And now, finally, justice.
“I love you.”
Remy’s words echo in my head, unwanted and impossible to ignore.
My hand trembles as I plug in the USB drive, his dark gaze haunting me even now.
That moment replays in my mind: his fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes as he laid bare his soul.
And I—I stood frozen, years of walls and paranoia choking any response.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my attention back to the screen.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, exposing criminals while falling for a man who works in their shadows.
My coffee has gone cold, and the bitter dregs match the taste in my mouth as I think of him walking into my father’s lair right now.
Documents are uploaded one by one. Each ping of confirmation draws me closer to the end. Bank records linking shell companies. Witness statements from trafficking survivors. Photos of my father with known criminals. The evidence is damning, conclusive, thanks to Heath’s keeping his promise.
A chill runs down my spine as I type the final paragraph. My father’s empire will crumble with a single click. But Remy… God, Remy is in there with him right now, playing a dangerous game of loyalty and lies. For me. The weight of that truth sits heavy in my chest.
My fingers are still on the keys. The cursor blinks accusingly, waiting for me to finish what I started. Dawn creeps closer, and somewhere in this city, the two most dangerous men in my life are facing off. I need to wait. The moment Remy comes back, I will be able to safely press the Send button.
The sharp rap of knuckles against the steel front door jolts me from my screen. My heart slams against my ribs as I twist toward the sound. Another knock—harder, more insistent—makes the reinforced door shudder in its frame.
“Fuck.” The whisper escapes through clenched teeth as I rise, every muscle drawn tight.
The pounding continues, methodical and threatening. I edge toward the security monitor. Three figures move with practiced efficiency in the hallway—their positioning speaks of military training. The same lethal grace I’ve witnessed countless times in my father’s security detail.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Miss Consoli.” A voice, calm and professional. “We know you’re inside.”
Ice floods my veins.
My gaze darts around the room, cataloging options. The ventilation shaft is too small. The windows are sealed and forty stories up. The bathroom connects to the master bedroom, but that’s a dead end.
“Final warning, Miss Consoli.”
Sweat trickles down my spine as I back away from the door. Each impact reverberates through my bones, mixing with the thunder of my pulse.
The handle jerks. Metal scrapes against metal.
I retreat to the far corner, positioning the heavy desk between me and the entrance. Then, there were shouting and screams. It seems other tenants on the floor were alerted by the ruckus and were probably calling the police as the pounding stopped.
Silence stretches, broken only by my ragged breathing. One minute. Two. The screen confirms that the men disappeared.
I sink to the floor, legs weak with relief, but my mind races with a terrifying thought: if these men are here, what’s happening to Remy?
My hands shake as I push myself off the floor, using the table for support. The silence in the apartment feels oppressive now, broken only by my unsteady breathing. Those men—their military precision, their confidence—it wasn’t random. They knew exactly where to find me.
“Think,” I whisper, pressing my palms against my temples. The timing is too perfect. Just as Remy walks into my father’s house, armed men show up at the safehouse. My stomach churns at the implications.
Did my father discover Remy’s deception? Is this his way of showing his hand? Or… My throat tightens. Or did something happen to Remy, leaving my father free to act?
I pace the length of the room. The questions circle like vultures. How did they find this place? Remy assured me it was registered under layers of shell companies, impossible to trace back to him. Unless…
“No.” I stop abruptly, refusing to follow that thread of thought. Remy has Marcus with him. Loyal, efficient Marcus who’s protected him for a long time. Plus, the additional security detail—men Remy personally vetted and trusts.
My reflection catches my eye in the window. I look wild and desperate. Like the scared little girl who used to hide from her father’s rage. I force myself to take deep breaths, steadying my racing pulse.
Remy knows what he’s doing. He’s survived in this world far longer than I have. He’s protected by the best. He’s safe.
But the words ring hollow and my eyes drift to the phone sitting on the desk. One call could confirm he’s okay. One call could also blow his cover if he’s in the middle of something delicate.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, staring at the city lights below. The same city where, right now, Remy is facing down my father. My hands curl into fists as memories of Ano’s cruelty flash through my mind. The sound of my mother’s crying. The bruises she tried to hide.
“Please be safe,” I whisper.
The phone vibrates against the desk, the harsh buzz shattering my fragile composure. An unknown number flashes on the screen. My hand hovers over it, every instinct screaming at me not to answer. But I can’t ignore it. Not now. Not when Remy is out there.
“Hello?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“My disappointing daughter.” The words slither through the speaker, and suddenly, I’m eight years old again, watching him tower over my mother’s crumpled form. “Did you really think you could hide from me forever?”
“What do you want?” I demand, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white.
“Such hostility.” He clicks his tongue. “And here I thought we could have a civil conversation about your… protector.”
My heart stops.
“Mr. Harding has been quite entertaining.” His clinical tone sends ice through my veins. “Though I must say, his dedication to keeping the security codes of your location secret is becoming rather inconvenient.”
A muffled thud echoes in the background, followed by the distinctive crack of bone meeting metal. Then—God—then I hear it. Remy’s grunt of pain, raw and breathless. The sound rips through me like a blade.
“You’re lying.” But the words catch in my throat because I know—I know that sound. Know his voice, even in agony.
“Am I?” Another impact. Another grunt. “Marcus has been particularly creative. Fifteen years of loyalty builds quite the understanding of someone’s weaknesses.”
Marcus. The betrayal hits like a physical blow.
Bile rises in my throat. “If you hurt him—”
“You’ll what?” His voice hardens. “Expose me? Destroy my empire? You’re just like your mother—all righteous fury until someone you love pays the price.”
The comparison cuts deep, releasing a flood of rage that burns away my fear. “I am nothing like her. And you—you’re nothing but a sadistic coward who—”
“Careful,” he interrupts, ice replacing the honey in his tone. “Remy’s fingers are looking rather breakable at the moment.”
I bite back my retort, tears of fury burning my eyes.
Tears burn my eyes as Remy’s ragged breathing fills the line. Each labored intake of air feels like a knife in my chest.
“You have until sunup,” my father says, his voice carrying the same cruel authority that once made my mother flinch. “Bring every piece of evidence, every file, every whisper of your investigation. Or I’ll send you his head as a reminder of the price of betrayal.”
The line goes dead, leaving me clutching the phone so tight it might shatter. My legs give out, and I slide to the floor, Remy’s pained sounds echoing in my head.
I love you, he’d said. And I never said it back.
I can’t breathe. The phone slips from my trembling fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor. Remy’s pained grunts replay in my mind, mixing with long-buried memories.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist against the wall, welcoming the sharp sting. “I should have stopped you, Remy. I should have…”
The words die in my throat. Because he’d looked at me with those dark eyes, laid his soul bare with three words—“I love you”—and I’d stood there like a coward, silent and frozen. Now he’s paying for my weakness with blood and broken bones.
“I never told you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against the cool wall. “I never fucking told you.”
My father’s voice slithers through my thoughts. “Just like your mother—all righteous fury until someone you love pays the price.”
Love. The word catches in my chest, undeniable now. I love Remy. Not despite his darkness, but because he wields it like a shield around me, while my father uses his power like a blade against throats.
I push away from the wall, pacing the length of the room. Evidence surrounds me—papers, files, testimonies. Justice within reach. But what good is justice if Remy dies thinking I didn’t—couldn’t—love him back?
“Think, Eve. Think!” My hands tangle in my hair, tugging sharply. Going alone means death. Waiting means watching Remy break piece by piece. Marcus’s betrayal leaves me without allies, without—
I freeze mid-step. Before leaving, Remy had pressed a piece of paper into my hand. “If everything goes wrong,” he’d said, his expression grave. “If I don’t come back. Call this number.”
The memory hits like a punch to the gut. I’d tucked the paper away, refusing to acknowledge what it meant. Now, my hands shake as I retrieve it from my jacket pocket.
One number. One last lifeline. A stranger that Remy trusts with his life and hers.
My father’s deadline echoes in my head: sunup. The evidence or Remy’s head.
My fingers hover over the phone, the weight of choice pressing down.
My trembling fingers dial the number, each tone stretching into eternity. One ring. Two rings. Three. The paper crumples in my white-knuckled grip as doubt creeps in. Maybe I misread the digits. Maybe Remy made a mistake. Maybe—
The line connects with a sharp click. Silence follows, heavy and expectant. No greeting, no acknowledgment. Just the weight of someone listening.
“I—” My voice catches. I clear my throat, words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I need your help. Remy is in danger.”
More silence. My heart pounds against my ribs as I wait, wondering if I’ve just made a terrible mistake. The person on the other end breathes, measured and controlled.
“Please,” I whisper, hating the crack in my voice. “Remy gave me this number. He said… he said if everything went wrong—”
“Location.” The voice is male, deep, with a hint of an accent I can’t place.
I grip the phone tighter, torn between relief and fresh fear. “He’s at my father’s estate. Ano Montoni. Marcus betrayed him. He’s being—” I swallow hard, remembering the sounds of Remy’s pain. “They’re hurting him.”
The man says nothing for three brutal heartbeats. Then: “Stay where you are.”
“But I—”
“Stay. Where. You. Are.” Each word falls like a command, brooking no argument. “My name is Declan. You did well to call me. I’m a friend. I’m on my way.” The line goes dead before I can respond.