Chapter 30 Gio
GIO
I'm jerked from sleep by the relentless buzz against my nightstand. My hand reaches out, grabbing my phone before I'm fully conscious. Security alerts. Multiple notifications are flooding in from the gallery system.
What the hell?
I swipe through to the feed and freeze. My blood turns to ice in my veins as I watch men—Russians by the look of them—dragging Raven across the floor of her gallery. Her hair is twisted in one of their fists, her face bloodied.
"FUCK!" The roar tears from my chest as I launch myself from the bed.
I pull on the closest shirt I can snatch and grab my pants, shoving my legs through, jerking them up with one hand while I take my gun from the nightstand drawer with the other, checking the chamber to make sure it's fully loaded.
I jam my feet into my boots and run as fast as I can downstairs and out to my driveway. I can’t take the Rolls-Royce, I need to move fast.
I look around at my other cars.
Perfect, I’ll take that one.
I jump into my Maserati, pressing the start button with so much force I'm surprised it doesn't break. The engine roars to life, and I floor it, peeling away from the curb with a screech that probably wakes half the block.
I don't give a fuck. All I can see is Raven's bloodied face and those Russian animals dragging her by her hair.
As I drive, my hand shakes with rage as I pull up the tracking app on my phone. Among the dots representing my men stationed throughout the city, the one I care about the most right now is moving away from the gallery—fast.
"Raven," I breathe, a surge of something dangerously close to relief flooding through me. The AirTag is moving. She has it with her.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
I run the first red light without even slowing down, horns blaring around me as I slice through the intersection.
The second light I blow through just as easily, my mind focused on the fastest route to intercept based on the moving dot on my screen.
Thank fucking God she kept the tag with her. Smart girl.
My girl.
I press the call button as I take a corner so fast the tires scream in protest. Jay picks up on the first ring.
"Boss?"
"I need a cleanup crew," I say, my voice a cold blade. "Now."
"Where?"
"Track my location. I'm going to kill some fucking Russian assholes." I activate my own tracker with a swipe and hang up, both hands returning to the wheel as I push the Maserati harder.
The speedometer climbs past ninety as I make my way in the direction of that blinking blue dot. They may have gotten a head start, but I'm faster. And they don't know I'm coming.
Rage builds in me like a physical force. Every inch of my skin feels electrified with it. Every muscle coiled, ready to unleash hell.
They touched what's mine.
I flip open the center console, revealing a second Beretta and extra magazines, just in case.
I look at the tracking app. It now shows them heading east, toward the docks. Makes sense. They'll have a boat waiting, ready to take her who knows where.
Over my dead fucking body.
I push down on the pedal harder, feeling my car respond beneath me like a living thing. As I slice through the night, red lights are meaningless, traffic laws forgotten. My world has narrowed to a single purpose: find Raven, kill anyone who stands in my way.
I check the tracking app again. They're slowing down, near the industrial district. Warehouses, shipping containers, abandoned buildings. A perfect place to transfer a prisoner.
I press the button on my steering wheel.
"Call Ares," I command.
The dial tone sounds through the car speakers, then Ares's gruff voice.
"You know what time—"
“They took Raven. I'm tracking them to the south docks."
A pause. "Wait. What? How many?"
"At least three. Maybe more waiting at the destination."
"Jesus, Gio. Don't go in alone—"
"They hurt her, Ares." My voice is barely human. "I saw her face. They put their fucking hands on her."
Another pause. "Can you wait? Let's collect some men."
"There's no time."
"Gio—"
"They're dead men walking, Ares. All of them. Just be ready. We're going to war, and I'll need your help." I end the call.
I'm coming, Raven. I'm coming.
I check the app again. They're moving, away from the warehouses now. Shit, did I miss my chance?
My foot presses even harder on the gas, the engine screaming as I fly through the empty streets of the industrial district.
They're moving slower now, maybe thinking they've gotten away clean.
I cut down a one-way side street going in the opposite direction, and come out the other side taking a sharp left.
The dot is getting closer. Half a mile ahead. Then a quarter mile.
I can see taillights in the distance, a black sedan weaving through the deserted street. I turn my headlights off and slowly approach, closing the gap between us.
The Russians have Raven in that trunk. My Raven. Bloody, terrified.
I snap, and something primal takes over. I floor the accelerator, the engine screaming as I close the remaining distance. I don't slow down. I don't hesitate.
I slam into the side of their car at full speed.
The impact jolts through my body, metal crushing against metal with a thunderous crash. My airbags deploy, punching me in the face. I’m dazed but only for a moment. The Russians' car spins violently, tires screeching against asphalt, before coming to a stop at an awkward angle against the curb.
I shove my door open, ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder. My gun is already in my hand as I run toward the car. Three men are inside, slowed by the impact.
I don't hesitate.
I fire through the driver's side window. The glass shatters, and the driver's head snaps back, blood spraying across the interior. Two more inside. One in the passenger seat scrambles for his weapon.
Too slow.
I put two bullets in his chest. The third Russian in the back seat is shouting into a phone, his gun already drawn. He fires wildly through the broken window, but his shots go wide.
I duck behind a light pole, using it as cover. The bullets ping off metal, too close for comfort.
"You're going to die screaming for touching her," I yell, "You piece of shit."
He fires again. This time, a bullet grazes my arm, tearing through my skin. The pain is nothing compared to the rage.
I come out from behind the post as he leans out to shoot at where I was. I put a bullet through his throat. He makes a wet, gurgling sound, hands clutching at his neck as he falls back into the seat.
I move quickly to the passenger side, where I see movement. The passenger I thought was dead is still breathing, fumbling for something.
I fire twice more and watch the darkness of death come across his eyes.
There's a brief moment of silence, broken only by my heavy breathing and the hiss of the damaged engines. Blood trickles down my arm, but I don't care.
"Raven!" I shout, moving to the trunk. "Raven, can you hear me?"
A muffled sound comes from inside, something between a sob and my name. Relief crashes through me so intensely I nearly stagger.
"I'm here, baby. I'm getting you out. Hold on." My voice is firm as I search the dead driver for the key fob. Finding nothing, I move to the passenger, patting down his pockets until I feel it.
I press the button, and the trunk pops open.
I run back and see Raven curled on her side, wrists bound with rope, a dark cloth bag over her head. Blood has seeped through in patches. The sight sends a surge of murderous rage through me all over again.
"Raven, it's me. I'm here," I say, softer now as I gently remove the bag from her head.
Her face is a mess—lip split, cheek swollen, blood crusted around her nose. But her eyes—the eyes I've come to need, lock onto mine with such raw relief it steals my breath.
"Gio," she says with teary eyes and a broken voice. "You came."
Something cracks open inside me. “You thought I’d let you get away from me this easy?”
I pull a switchblade from my pocket and cut the ropes from her wrists, rubbing the red marks they've left behind. She tries to sit up but winces, clutching her ribs.
"Easy," I murmur, holstering my gun and lifting her carefully from the trunk. She weighs almost nothing in my arms, her body trembling against mine.
She buries her face against my neck, and I feel the warmth of her tears against my skin. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Shh," I say. "You're safe. That's all I care about right now."
Raven shifts in my arms, seeming to come back to herself. She pulls away slightly, wincing as she looks around at the bloodbath. Her eyes drift from the wrecked cars to the bodies visible through the shattered windows.
"Did you crash into us?" she asks, her voice raspy.
"Yes. I don't know, I just..."
I trail off, unable to explain the primal rage that took over when I saw them, knowing they had her.
"Good," she says, surprising me, and then looks up at me. "Is it wrong that I'm glad they're dead?"
I shake my head. "Not even a little. Those bastards had everything they got coming to them.”
I see something fierce in her eyes now. It's not fear or pain. It stirs something in me, seeing that fire. This woman is stronger than she knows.
The wail of screeching tires catches our attention as several black SUVs round the corner, headlights shining on us and the mayhem we're standing in.
They aren't police or Russians—they're my cleanup crew.
Raven tenses in my arms as the vehicles come to a halt around us, men pouring out with weapons drawn. I feel her fingers dig into my shoulder.
"It's okay," I say into her hair. "They're here for us."
Jay is the first to reach us, his face stern as he takes in the scene. His eyes linger on Raven's battered face, then flick to the blood trailing down my arm.
"The police scanners just picked up reports of gunshots," he says. "We need to move fast."
I nod, barking orders: "Two cleanup teams. One for the bodies, one for the cars. I want both vehicles stripped and crushed by morning. Check their phones, ID—learn anything you can about them."
The men spring into action. One of them, a newer recruit whose name I can't remember, approaches us, arms extended toward Raven.
"Let me help get her to the car, boss. You're bleeding pretty bad."
Before I realize what I'm doing, I've shoved him backward with my shoulder, causing him to nearly lose his balance. "Don't touch her," I growl, the words flowing from my still simmering anger.
The man stumbles back, hands raised in surrender. "Sorry, boss."
Jay gives me a look but says nothing as he signals for one of the SUVs to pull closer. The door opens, and I carefully maneuver Raven into the passenger seat. She doesn't let go of my shirt.
"It's okay, we're leaving together." She slowly lets go, nodding with a forced smile.
"Hospital?" Jay asks as I walk around to the driver's side.
I shake my head. "No, her place. She needs comfort. Something familiar. Call Dr. Reyes. Tell her to stand by in case she's needed."
"On it," Jay says as I hop into the driver's seat. "We'll take it from here, sir."
As we pull away from the scene, leaving my men to erase all evidence of what happened here, I finally allow myself to really look at Raven.
The adrenaline is wearing off, and pain lines her face.
Her right eye is beginning to swell shut, and dried blood crusts her nostrils and the corner of her mouth.
As we drive, I notice her breathing growing more labored, and she's holding her side.
"Ribs?" I ask quietly.
She nods, grimacing. "Everything."
Raven swallows hard, leaning her head back against the seat. "My father," she says. "He was there. He let them take me."
White-hot rage floods my veins. Frank Carvello. That cowardly piece of shit.
"I'll kill him," I vow. "And anyone else that tried to harm you. Slowly."
There's no negotiation in my tone. This is a statement of fact.
Raven looks at me, and I expect her to say something, to defend her father despite everything. Instead, she just nods once, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
She doesn't argue.