Chapter 37
Matteo
Gia’s final whispered words echo in my head as the door to her hospital room clicks shut behind me.
“He said… he said you’d come back to me… I just needed…”
My blood runs cold at the implication there’s someone else pulling the strings. A motherfucking puppet master. It makes sense, though. Gia’s never struck me as an evil mastermind, or someone who plans shit.
My men stand at attention as I approach, their faces solemn. Two of them have been with the family since before I could hold a lighter. They’re not mine per se, but they’re loyal. They’re the kind of men who would walk into Hell if a Russo asked them to.
“Where’s Raven?” I demand, scanning the empty corridor.
“She left,” Isaac states.
“I can see that,” I growl, my voice dropping to a dangerous register that makes both men straighten. “But where did she go? Where. Is. She?”
“We don’t know,” Kim admits. “We were watching the room, not the hallway.”
A vein pulses in my temple, rage building like a pressure cooker inside my skull. The world narrows to pinprick focus, every sense heightened as adrenaline floods my system.
“Find her,” I order. “Now. Search every floor, every room, every fucking closet in this place.”
They move instantly, splitting off in opposite directions, phones already at their ears to mobilize the rest of our men stationed throughout the hospital. I turn in a slow circle, scanning every face, every doorway, looking for a flash of pink hair, a glimpse of her smile. Nothing.
“Young man,” a voice calls from the nurses’ station. I whip around to find an elderly nurse. “You’re making a scene.”
I stride toward her, leaning across the counter until I’m close enough to see the name tag pinned to her scrubs. Helen. “I need to find someone,” I tell her, fighting to keep my voice even. “Pink hair. About this tall.” I hold my hand at shoulder height. “Wearing a pink dress. Have you seen her?”
The nurse studies me, disapproval clear in the tight line of her mouth. “The one wearing a splint?” she asks.
Hope flares in my chest. “Yes. That’s her.”
“She went outside to take a call about twenty minutes ago,” Helen says, glancing at the clock above the station.
Twenty minutes. My heart pounds against my ribcage like a trapped bird. Too long. Far too long for Raven not to text or call me. Even though I know she hasn’t, I pull my phone out to check. Nothing.
“Which exit?” I demand.
Helen points down the hall. “Main entrance. By the cafeteria and gift shop.”
“Thanks,” I say, already moving toward the exit.
The hospital corridors stretch endlessly, a maze of identical doorways and intersecting hallways that seem designed to delay me. I push past doctors, nurses, and patients in wheelchairs.
My phone’s still in my hand as I burst through the doors into the evening air. The June heat hits me like a physical wall, humid and oppressive, made worse by the fading daylight that casts long shadows across the parking lot.
I scan the area, desperation clawing at my throat. Where is she? The parking lot is half-full, cars gleaming under the fluorescent lights that have just begun to flicker on. No sign of pink hair near my car or anywhere else.
I dial her number, pressing the phone to my ear so hard it hurts. It doesn’t even ring once before the voicemail sounds.
“Hey, this is Raven. I’m probably doing something way more fun than talking to you. Leave a message or don’t. Catch ya on the flip-side.”
Her voice, bright, and teasing, sends a jolt of pain through my chest. I hang up and immediately redial. Same result.
I try a third time, pacing the sidewalk in front of the hospital entrance, scanning every inch of visible space like I might find her hiding behind a parked car or sitting on a bench I somehow missed. Still voicemail.
Something’s wrong. My Little Thief wouldn’t just leave. Not without telling me, not without a word. She said she chose me, and that fucking means something.
I move back toward the entrance, crossing the emergency parking spots right outside the entrance. Something on the ground catches my eye, and I bend down, plucking it from the ground.
It’s a fucking business card. I turn it over, and the world stops spinning. The logo stares back at me, black and mocking—a serpent curled into a circle, devouring its own tail. Creating a black motherfucking circle. That’s too specific to be a coincidence.
Turning it over, I read the name on the back. North Coast Effects. The pyro-whatever company from Tony’s list. The one I looked up just days ago. I try to recall whether I saw the logo on their website. I mean, it would be logical. But no, I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
I remember seeing Finn Kearney’s face and thinking he looked familiar. Thinking he reminded me of someone. I still can’t figure out who. But I guess I haven’t given it enough thought.
Out of habit, I activate my phone and scroll to Vito’s contact. Fuck, guess I haven’t dealt with that yet. Doesn’t matter right now, though. Not when I can’t fucking find Raven.
I flick my lighter on, ignoring the stares of people passing by. My Little Thief is missing, and someone connected to North Coast Effects has been here. Or someone who wanted me to look closer at them.
Have they taken Raven? They must have. Fuck. I hate not knowing all the facts.
As I extinguish the fire with a snap of my wrist, I head toward my car. The only way to get answers is through fire. I’ve been dormant for way too long. Been patient when I shouldn’t have been. That ends right. Fucking. Now.
I’m going to burn his world to ash until all that’s left standing is the building Raven’s in.
The facade—the veneer of civilization I’ve carefully maintained—shatters like glass. What emerges isn’t new. It’s always been there, waiting beneath the surface.
The monster who avenged his parents’ death. Who once set an entire warehouse ablaze just to watch the colors change in the night sky.
I don’t even realize I’ve called Enzo until I hear his voice through my phone’s speaker. “What’s happened?” No greeting, just the immediate understanding that something’s wrong.
“Raven’s missing,” I say, each word carved from ice.
“Who—”
I carry on, ignoring whatever he wanted to ask. “Someone linked to North Coast Effects has her. I’m sure of it.” My voice doesn’t break, doesn’t waver, and that’s somehow worse than if it did.
A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Are you certain?”
“I’m looking at their business card with the black circle right now.”
“What do you need?” my cousin asks, no hesitation, no questions about how or why. This is why I called him first. He understands what needs to be done.
“Get to the hospital. Take Gia to the estate and keep her under lock and motherfucking key until I get there.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “She’s involved in this shit.”
“I’ll handle it,” he promises, and I can already hear him moving, barking orders to someone nearby.
“Enzo,” I add, “she’s knocked out right now. But if she tries to run, break her legs. I want her alive when I get back.”
I hang up without waiting for his response and immediately dial Remus. My cousin, the Don, the man who has always understood the fire that burns inside me better than anyone.
He answers with a grunt. “This better be important.”
“I’m about to burn this fucking city down,” I tell him, voice flat. “Thought you should know.”
A pause, then a low chuckle that holds no humor. “What happened?”
“Ask Enzo,” I snap. “I don’t have time. This is just a fucking courtesy heads up.”
Remus goes silent, and in that silence, I hear understanding. “How wide a radius?” he asks finally, already calculating the fallout, the bodies, the fires that will soon light up Cleveland’s skyline.
“As wide as it needs to be.”
Another pause. “Do your thing.”
I hang up, already opening my car door. Most of my men have gathered now, seven of them standing in a loose semicircle, waiting for orders. I assume the last four are guarding Gia. Their faces betray nothing—no fear, no doubt, just the grim understanding of what comes next.
“Find anything connected to North Coast Effects or the Kearney brothers,” I instruct, voice clipped. “Warehouses, offices, homes. I want eyes on every property they own within the hour.”
I assign sectors of the city to each man, methodical despite the rage boiling beneath my skin.
Two to the west side industrial area, where most of their warehouses are likely to be.
Three to track down residential addresses and personal haunts.
Two more to monitor police channels and traffic cameras.
“If you find her, you call me immediately,” I stress. “And if you find any of the Kearneys…” A cold smile curves my lips. “Don’t kill them. That pleasure belongs to me.”
They disperse like smoke, black SUVs pulling away one after another until I’m alone in the parking lot. I pop the trunk of my car, revealing what looks like ordinary luggage to the casual observer. It’s not.
The black duffel bag nestled between the spare tire and a first aid kit contains everything I need to send a message that will echo through Cleveland’s underworld for years to come.
I unzip it carefully, inventorying the contents with practiced precision. Five small thermite charges, custom-made by a former military engineer who owes me a favor. A roll of detonation cord. Two remote triggers. A canister of accelerant that burns hot enough to melt steel.
I also grab the gun tucked into a hidden compartment—a matte black Glock with a custom grip and a silencer already attached. The weight is comforting against my lower back as I tuck it into my waistband.
Checking my watch, I calculate how long Raven has been missing. Forty-five minutes. And no matter what that useless rational part of my mind says, I know she’s missing. She. Did. Not. Leave. Me.
I close the trunk with a decisive thud, ready to smoke the snake from its hole. My phone buzzes with an incoming text—one of my men has already found an address for a North Coast Effects storage facility.
Perfect. That’s where I’ll light the first match, the first beacon in what will become a constellation of fire across Cleveland.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I press my palm against my chest, feeling the steady thrum of my heartbeat beneath my skin.
“I’m coming for you, Little Thief,” I promise to the empty car, to the gathering darkness, to the woman who’s become as necessary to me as oxygen.