Chapter 21 - Antonio
Chapter twenty-one
ANTONIO
The boat cuts through black water like a knife through flesh, except flesh doesn't try to swallow you whole. Rain hammers the deck in sheets, each wave threatening to flip us into the churning dark.
Connor grips the railing beside me, his Irish curse lost in the wind. Behind us, two more boats carry his men—twenty-seven total between our crews, all of them armed, all of them ready to kill for what we're about to do.
"Dimitri's signal just came through." Luca shields his phone from the rain, squinting at the screen. "Ceremony's starting. They moved it up—mother's worse. Isabella's already in the room."
Already in the room. In that white dress Henrik chose for her. Standing at an altar while a fraud pretends to bind her to a predator.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles ache.
"How long to shore?"
"Fifteen minutes." The boat's captain—one of Connor's people, a woman named Maeve who apparently runs weapons through half the Greek islands—doesn't look up from the wheel. "Maybe twenty if this wind keeps up."
Twenty minutes. The ceremony could be over in twenty minutes.
"Can we go faster?"
"Not without sinking." She jerks the wheel hard to port, and we all grab for something solid as the boat lurches. "The storm's breaking, but the swells are still shit. We push harder, we don't make it at all."
Connor's phone buzzes. He reads, his jaw tightening. "Nikos confirmed he's turned the north entrance guards. Two of his people, loyal to him over Alexandros. They'll let us through."
"And Stefanos?"
"Armed and angry. Dimitri says he's been watching Theos like he wants to gut him. When he finds out about the ceremony—the real purpose—"
"He'll either help us or get in the way."
"Aye." Connor pockets his phone. "But Dimitri thinks he'll help. Marco's death is still raw. Finding out Theos is using his research for this..."
Stefanos loved Marco. Lost him to Theos's protocols. If there's anyone on that island who hates the false prophet as much as I do, it's him.
Lightning splits the sky, and for one bright moment I can see the island clearly—the compound lit up like a beacon, smaller lights moving on the water ahead of us. Other boats. Believers arriving to witness their miracle.
"How many?" I ask Luca.
"Dimitri counts twelve witnesses inside. Plus the Greeks, Henrik's security detail, Theos, the mother." He scrolls through the messages. "Franco and Manuel are still in the east wing. Two guards on them, but Henrik's people, not Greeks."
"So we need to extract Isabella, free Franco and Manuel, and get out before Henrik's security realizes what's happening."
"In the middle of a ceremony with two dozen witnesses." Connor almost smiles. "Should be fun."
"Fun isn't the word I'd use."
My phone vibrates. A message through Dimitri's channel, flagged urgent:
Isabella at altar. Henrik holding her hand. Ceremony starting. She's fighting the drugs but fading. Move fast.
Fighting the drugs. They sedated her again—kept her compliant enough to stand there in that white dress, to let Henrik touch her, to play the bride while her body betrays her.
I'm going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully. I'm going to make sure he understands exactly why he's dying before I let him go.
"Ten minutes," Maeve calls out.
Ten minutes. The storm's finally weakening, the rain easing from sheets to streams. Through the gaps in the clouds, I can see the moon rising—full, pale, the celestial event these believers think will power their miracle.
The only miracle tonight is going to be Henrik surviving long enough to regret everything he's done.
"Run through it again," Connor says. "The approach."
I pull up the compound map on my phone, the screen blurring with rain. "North beach is unguarded—Dimitri confirmed. We come up through the service path, hit the north entrance at shift change. Nikos's people let us in."
"And if they don't?"
"Then we go loud early and fight our way through."
Connor nods. "Once inside?"
"Split into three teams. You take five men to the east wing—Franco and Manuel. I take ten to the ceremony room. The rest secure the exits, make sure no one leaves until we're done."
"The believers?"
"Civilians. We don't touch them unless they're armed." I zoom in on the ceremony room layout. "Henrik's the priority. Theos second. The mother..." I pause. "We don't hurt her unless we have to. Isabella would never forgive me."
"Even after everything?"
"Even after everything. She's still Isabella's mother."
The boat lurches again, and I grab the railing as spray crashes over the bow. My clothes are soaked through, salt stinging my eyes, but I barely feel it. Every nerve is focused on that island, on that compound, on my wife standing at an altar with a monster's hand on hers.
"Five minutes," Maeve announces. "North beach coming up."
I check my weapon one more time. Full magazine. Safety off. The weight of it in my hand is familiar, grounding. I've killed with guns like this before. I'll kill with this one tonight.
"Boss." Luca's voice is tight. "New message from Dimitri."
I take the phone. The words blur for a moment before snapping into focus:
Theos starting vows. Henrik making Isabella repeat after him. She's stalling—asking questions, pretending confusion. Buying time. But mother's pushing. Says she won't last the hour.
Stalling. That's my girl. Even drugged, even surrounded, she's fighting the only way she can—with her mind, with her words, with the same stubborn brilliance that made me fall in love with her.
"Two minutes to beach," Maeve calls.
The island looms ahead, dark cliffs rising from white surf. No lights on the north shore—just the compound glowing on the hill above, and the faint sound of bells still ringing across the water.
Calling the faithful. Summoning witnesses. Announcing a ceremony that's about to be interrupted in the most violent way possible.
"Remember," I tell my men, pitching my voice to carry over the wind. "Isabella is the priority. Everything else—the Greeks, the believers, Theos, even Henrik—none of it matters if she's not safe. We get her out first. Then we deal with the rest."
Nods all around. These men have been with me for years. They know what Isabella means to me. What losing her would cost.
The boat scrapes against sand, and I'm over the side before it stops, boots splashing through cold surf. Connor lands beside me, his team fanning out behind us. The other boats are seconds behind, more men pouring onto the beach like shadows given form.
Twenty-seven men. Against Henrik's security, against Greek guards, against whatever else waits in that compound.
It should be enough. It has to be enough.
"Move," I order, already running for the path that leads up the cliff. "Fast and quiet until we're inside. Then we hit them hard."
The rain has stopped. The moon breaks through the clouds, full and bright, illuminating the path ahead like a spotlight.
Theos thinks this moon means power. Thinks it's going to fuel his miracle, his ceremony, his sick claim on my wife.
He's wrong.
This moon is just light. And in about three minutes, it's going to illuminate exactly what happens when you take something that belongs to the Beast.
I run faster, the compound growing larger with every step. Somewhere inside, Isabella's stalling for time she doesn't have, fighting through drugs and fear and the weight of her mother's desperation.
Hold on, Bella. I'm coming.
The compound should be a fortress. Thirty guards, plus Greek security, plus the believers who might fight to protect their miracle. But as we creep through the darkness, I see the cracks in Henrik's careful planning.
His men are spread thin—covering the ceremony, guarding the prisoners, patrolling a perimeter that's larger than their numbers can properly secure.
And they're distracted. The chaos Stefanos has unleashed inside is drawing guards away from external posts.
I count four running toward the main hall, responding to shouts that echo across the grounds.
"They're pulling from the perimeter," Connor murmurs beside me. "Whatever's happening in there—"
"Isabella." I know it like I know my own heartbeat. She's fighting. Buying time. Creating the chaos we need to slip through.
Only one way to find out.
I signal my men to hold, then step into the light.
The guards see me. Their hands move toward weapons—then stop. Recognition. A nod.
The door opens.
Inside, I can hear chanting. Smell incense and candle wax and something underneath that might be blood. The ceremony's happening right now, right down that hallway, and my wife is at the center of it.
"Go," I tell Connor. "East wing. Get Franco and Manuel."
He clasps my shoulder once, hard, then disappears with his team.
I turn toward the chanting, toward the candles, toward Isabella.
Ten men at my back. A gun in my hand. And a rage in my chest that's been building since I first heard Henrik's name years ago.
Time to end this.