Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skye
The silence in Violet’s hotel room is thick and suffocating. Theo is pacing by the window like a caged animal, his face still pale from the sight of that note.
We’re done waiting.
Every second that has ticked by is a grain of sand in an hourglass I fear has already run out. I have scoured the lobby and the local cafes, but nothing has come up. Someone reported a commotion near an alley downtown, but no one could give me any details.
I’m staring at an empty space on the floor, running potential scenarios over in my mind, when the hotel door bursts open.
It doesn’t swing. It explodes inward, as if kicked by some force of nature.
The woman standing there is a compact hurricane in a tailored cream pantsuit. Her gray-streaked dark hair is pulled into a ruthless bun, and her eyes are like chips of flint behind designer glasses.
She canvases the room in a millisecond, her gaze slicing through Theo’s pathetic pacing and landing on me with the weight of judgment.
“Where the hell is she?” The voice is pure, unfiltered Long Island.
Theo jumps, but I don’t move. I just meet her fiery gaze. “Who’s asking?”
She struts into the room, ignoring me completely, her heels clicking on the tile. “I’m the lady who’s goin’ to rip someone a new one. Now, where’s Violet? When was the last time anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together saw her?”
Theo finds his voice. “We don’t know. She’s missing. Someone left a—”
He doesn’t get to finish. The woman turns on him. “You. You’re the cheating waste of space.” It’s not a question. She closes the distance between them in two strides, and with one fluid motion, slaps him upside the back of the head.
“Ow! What the—”
“Shut up. You lost the right to speak when you stuffed your dick inside her cousin. You’re lucky if slappin’ your empty head is all I do.” She dismisses him, turning back to me as Theo clutches his head, sputtering. “You. You’ve got the look of someone who actually does something. Talk.”
Part of me, the part currently frozen in dread, can’t help but appreciate the brutal efficiency. No hysterics, just action.
“Ollie,” I assume, my voice low.
“The one and only. And you’re the hockey player she’s been sighin’ over. Skye.” She says my name like she’s filing it under potentially useful. “Timelines. Now.”
I stand straighter and try to recall everything I know. It’s hard when you’re put on the spot.
Like an open net shot I can’t afford to miss.
“She had breakfast with Cassie at Cafe Bianco on Via della Spiga. They left the cafe around 8:45 AM. Never returned to the hotel. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. Cassie’s does too. This was on the floor.” I hand her the note, now sealed in a clear hotel laundry bag I’d commandeered.
Ollie snatches it, her eyes scanning the three words. A muscle in her jaw ticks. “Idiots. Theatrical idiots.” She tosses it back to me. “They made their move.”
“Who?”
“Aethelgard’s cleanup crew. The ones who handle liabilities that can’t be bought.” Her gaze is distant. “They got me a few months ago. Made me an offer. A mountain of cash to disappear. Enough money to make Elvis Presley blush. The alternative was… not gettin’ to enjoy the money.”
The pieces click into place. The video calls and Violet’s increasing isolation.
This woman didn’t have a stroke. They added that fluff to the story as well.
I remember the look on Violet’s face when she told me about it and Ollie’s behavior changes.
Like she was losing a relative she held close to her.
“So you took it.” My voice finally finds me. “You left her alone.”
The flint in her eyes sparks. “I took it so I could find her, you judgmental glacier. If I were dead in a ditch, I’m no good to anyone.
If I’m rich and invisible, I can hire people.
I can track movements. I’ve been two steps behind them since I landed.
But they moved faster than I thought.” She looks around, anger simmering in a focused rage.
“They’ve got her, and I know where they’ll take her.
There’s only one place in this city he’d be stupid enough to use. ”
“Who?”
She looks at me. “Michel.”
That’s a name I’ve heard before. The gears in my mind start churning until I can remember where I’ve heard it.
“Calm down, Sparky,” Ollie says, cutting off my thought process. “You’re thinkin’ too hard. Michel is her security double.”
That’s it. The guy who is supposed to be keeping her safe. This whole thing is a fucking mess.
“Where are they taking her?” The urge to do something is boiling my blood. I almost can’t stand still.
“Old textile warehouse, south of the Navigli. It’s an abandoned mill. He owns it through a shell company. Uses it for storage.” She checks the slim, diamond watch on her thin wrist. “If they’re doing a local disposal. They’ll take her there first. For the… paperwork.”
The word disposal sends ice through my veins. Theo makes a gagging sound.
I’m already heading for the door. “Give me the address.”
Ollie falls into step beside me, pulling out her phone. “I’m coming with you.”
“Me too,” Theo says.
“No,” Ollie points to Theo, the muscles in her mouth looking like she’s trying not to laugh.
“You’re a target. You stay here, coordinate whatever resources you have.
Call the police. Give them this address.
” She jots it down on the hotel notepad by the door.
“Tell them there’s a kidnapping in progress. ”
Theo looks at me, pulling something from the pocket of his jeans. “At least take this.”
A knife. It has the USA logo on it and looks as if it were handmade. I don’t ask questions, but I accept the offering.
He wants to help. He’s a cheat and a no-good low-life, but the knife is nice.
Ollie grabs my arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Listen. The man we’re dealing with? Michel? He’s not a thug, he’s a businessman who sees people as assets and liabilities. Violet is a liability, and he has her right where he wants her. He won’t hesitate.”
I look down at her hand, then back to her face. “Neither will I.”
For the first time, something that isn’t fury flickers in her eyes. Respect, maybe recognition. She releases my arm and raises the jacket of her pantsuit, revealing a pistol on her hip.
This fucking broad is just full of surprises.
She lowers her jacket as we both nod with understanding, as she rattles off an address. “The south entrance is weakest.”
I pause outside the door, trying not to leave her behind.
Tightening her watch and tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she pushes me into the hall and closes the door behind us.
“Let’s go get our girl.”
I don’t nod, I’m already gone, the echo of Ollie’s order and the sound of Theo’s helpless panic fading behind us.
The hunt is on.
The coordinates Ollie keeps repeating lead us to the forgotten Navigli canal, where the city’s charm turns to rot.
We abandon the car a quarter mile back, the silence of the warehouse eerie around us.
The only noise is the ragged sound of my own breathing and the sharp click of Ollie’s heels on the cracked asphalt.
She refused to change her shoes.
“There,” Ollie hisses, pointing with her chin.
A lone warehouse juts out over the black water, supported by slime-covered pilings. A makeshift dock extends from it, warped and sagging. And on the dock, figures move in the shadows.
Two men. And between them, a limp form is being dragged.
Violet.
Even from fifty yards away, I know the shape of her. Her feet scrape lifelessly across the splintered planks. Beside her, a second heap. Cassie. They dump her onto the dock like a sack.
My heart doesn’t hammer; it completely stops. It becomes a block of ice in my chest, heavier than anything they could tie to her.
We are too far away. The math is undeniable. We’ll never cover the open ground before they finish.
“Run, you stupid—” Ollie snarls, already breaking into a sprint, her gun coming up.
I run, but it’s a nightmare run where my legs pump through water, and the distance continues to stretch instead of shrink. Every detail is etched in hyper-clarity. The green glow of a single lantern, the slick sheen on the black water, the bulky shapes of the cinder blocks.
The older man, I’m guessing is Michel, stands watching with a phone to his ear. The second works with speed, looping a rope around Violet’s ankles. He tests the knot and grunts with satisfaction.
Ollie skids to a halt, braces her stance, and fires.
The shot is a clap of thunder in a silent field. It goes wide, sparking off an iron piling with a ping. But it has the intended effect. Both men jerk their heads toward us.
Michel’s eyes find us, but he’s anything but panicked. He’s calculating, saying something to the other man.
The second guy doesn’t hesitate; he simply bends, hooks his arms under Violet’s shoulders, and with a single, powerful heave… throws her over the edge of the dock.
Time doesn’t slow. It shatters.
I see her body, cinder blocks following, as the water swallows her whole.
The surface splashes for a moment, bubbles marking her grave, then everything goes perfectly smooth.
A sound tears from me, not a scream, but something that comes deeper.
Ollie is screaming, a stream of profanity and fury, firing again and again.
Bang. Bang.
“OUCH!”
Bang
Michel is already moving, ducking back into the warehouse shadows, but he’s holding his leg.
They are gone.
Violet is gone.
I take off at a full sprint as I reach the dock. I don’t think. My fingers tear at the laces of my boots and my jacket as I run. Ollie is keeping pace beside me, her face a mask of horror, grabbing my arm as her eyes dart from me to Cassie, who is lying unconscious in front of us.
She looks ahead as I don’t slow down, realizing what I’m about to do.
“Skye, no! You don’t know how deep—” Her eyes flick to our left at a commotion, and she grabs her pistol from her jacket. “Oh, no, the fuck you don’t!”
Bang.
“You made me live on that God-damned island!”
Bang.
I rip my arm from her grasp. The cold, the current, none of it exists. The only thing that exists is the spot where the bubbles were moments ago.
I take one last breath of air, and I dive.
The shock of the water is absolute. It’s not just cold, it’s like liquid ice driving the air from my lungs. The water is like ink. I kick down, arms sweeping blindly through the murk.
Nothing.
I push deeper, pressure building in my ears. No shape. No form.
My lungs begin to burn. I claw at the water, turning, searching in the void.
A pale glimmer? Fabric?
I dart toward it, my fingers closing around… a shred of floating plastic.
Trash.
The burn in my lungs is agonizing, and spots dance behind my eyes. The weight of the water above me feels like the weight of the world. Crushing and final.
She’s here. She’s right here.
But she isn’t. The blocks took her straight down. She’s in the mud and endless dark.
My body fights for air, so I kick upward, breaking the surface with a ragged, desperate gasp. The world rushes back, as does Ollie’s pale, terrified face. She has blood on her cream pantsuit as she hovers over Cassie, still screaming profanities toward the hill behind the warehouse.
How did I get to this point in my life? How did I go from being a world-famous hockey player to saving someone’s life from a group of murderous freaks?
Focus, Skye. Save her life now and panic later.
Giving Ollie one last look of desperation, I suck in another breath and prepare to dive again.
Ollie is kneeling, reaching for me as her voice cracks. “Skye. Skye, listen to me! You can’t find her like this!”
Her words are a distant echo. The only thing I can hear is the silence of the water. The silence of where Violet should have been.
I fill my lungs, the air tasting of death and failure, and then I plunge back into the black.