18. Chapter 18 #2
He glanced at Ciro.
“We’re live.”
Ciro moved beside the camera and adjusted one cuff of his shirt as though he were about to address a boardroom instead of dictate terms with a hostage chained in a cellar.
“Your brother and Nikolai Volkov are watching,” he told me. “They can see and hear everything that happens in this room. You will not hear them.”
Nik would be trying to tear through the signal from the second it reached him.
Ciro knew it too. He’d have the feed buried beneath relays, false locations, and enough digital shit to keep Nik chasing ghosts.
The tracker in my arm wasn’t magic either. It only helped if it could get a usable signal out, and concrete, stone, and a compound hidden God knew how far into the hills weren’t doing it any favors. If DarkMatter had a clean location, Nik and Lucian would already be here.
Seeing me alive was one thing.
Finding me was another.
If I wanted any real chance of getting out of this nightmare alive, I still had to get beyond these walls.
Then a faint scrape came from behind my right shoulder.
Barely there, but I caught it.
No one reacted.
I’d heard that panel move enough times to recognize the sound instantly.
Mouse.
She’d come back with the fucking room full of armed men and Nik’s live feed running.
Relief punched through me first. She’d kept her promise. Then every protective instinct I had turned murderous. If one bastard in that room noticed the wall behind me, I’d make damn sure every eye and every gun turned on me before anyone looked her way.
I didn’t move my head.
Didn’t let my eyes so much as flick sideways.
If anyone noticed that door standing open even an inch, Isabella was dead.
I lifted my chin and gave Ciro Delgado the ugliest smile I had left.
Every eye in the room needed to stay on me.
Ciro’s smile widened.
“Good. Let them see you still have some fight left.”
He stepped into the edge of the camera frame, cigar between his fingers, and looked directly into the lens.
“Nikolai Volkov. Lucian Byrnes. You have spent the last two days freezing accounts connected to my businesses, pressuring my airport contacts, interfering with my shipments, and killing men who should know better than to speak to you.”
His voice remained calm, as though he were discussing a business deal across a conference table instead of standing in a dungeon with a hostage chained behind him.
“It ends now.”
He took a slow drag from the cigar.
“Undo the account freezes you’ve already done and leave the rest untouched. Your men stop interfering with my shipments, my routes, and the people who keep them moving. You leave my port contacts, financial channels, political allies, and local operations alone.”
Smoke curled from his mouth as he continued.
“The Madrid evidence disappears. No more names given to governments. No more information passed to police, banks, journalists, or anyone else who believes my business concerns them.”
Ciro glanced toward me before returning his attention to the camera.
“In return, your brother remains alive.”
That was it.
Not freedom.
Not an exchange.
Ciro was offering them the privilege of knowing I continued breathing.
“Lachlan will remain my guest for as long as I find his presence useful. You will not speak to him. You will not know where I move him. The quicker you learn who’s boss, the better off it will be for your loyal captain.”
The bastard wasn’t negotiating a ransom.
I was leverage.
As long as Ciro had me, Nik and Lucian were supposed to spend every fucking day wondering which move might get part of me mailed home.
Ciro lifted the cigar toward the camera.
“Freeze another account, disrupt another shipment, release one more name from Madrid, and your brother pays for it. A finger. An ear. An eye. I have enough of him to make the lessons last a very long time.”
The threat in his face finally matched the one in his voice.
“Attempt to trace this transmission or try to take him from me, and my hospitality becomes considerably less generous.”
He paused.
“Compliance keeps him alive. Defiance takes him apart.”
Behind my right shoulder, the hidden passage remained silent.
Good girl.
Isabella understood that one sound or movement could draw attention, and then every gun in the room would turn toward her.
I fixed my attention on the camera.
“Lucian, stop breaking whatever’s closest.”
Ciro’s mouth tightened.
“Nik, don’t give this prick a fucking thing.”
Ciro leaned closer. “You were not invited to speak.”
“Then you shouldn’t have pointed a camera at me.”
His fist drove into my ribs.
Pain exploded through my side, but the chair held me upright. I dragged in enough air to keep going and looked straight into the lens again.
“No files. No accounts. No favors. Nothing.”
Ciro caught my jaw and turned my face toward him.
I spoke around the pressure of his fingers.
“Go after the trafficking. You don’t buy me with another person’s body.”
I looked back at the camera.
“Keep going. Find every woman. Kill every bastard attached to him. Don’t stop for me.”
Ciro released my face with a shove.
“You believe they will choose nameless whores over their own brother?”
“They already have.”
Ciro went dead still.
“That’s why men follow Nik and betray you,” I snarled.
The cigar stopped halfway to his mouth. His fingers tightened around it until the wrapper split and tobacco crumbled between them.
Isabeast looked from Ciro to the camera and smiled.
She had spent too long trying to prove she owned me to let him have the stage to himself. Now the “behave for the camera” bullshit made sense. She hadn’t only wanted me obedient. She’d wanted an audience for it.
She moved into the frame and stopped beside my chair.
“Your brother should see what you look like when you finally understand you don’t get to tell me no.”
Her fingers slid into my hair. Her nails scraped across my scalp before she closed her fist and jerked my head back.
“Hard to sell that with four cuffs and a room full of backup.”
Her grip tightened.
“Still counting on your precious Syndicate to rescue you?”
“Aye. I’d be more worried if I were you.”
She lowered her face beside mine, close enough that her perfume reached me.
She settled partly onto my left thigh, right where she knew it hurt most.
My thigh cramped under her weight.
I gave her no response.
She turned toward the camera.
“Your captain came to rescue me. I asked for help, and he came because he thought I needed him. He put himself exactly where I wanted him.”
Her fingers moved from my hair to my throat.
“Now he stays with me.”
She kissed me.
I stayed still until she pulled away.
Then she smiled into the camera.
“Your captain belongs to me. He’s my pet.”
“Funny. You still need Ciro’s permission before you climb into my lap.”
Her fingers tightened around my throat.
“I don’t need anyone’s permission.”
I looked past her at Ciro.
“Hear that? Your whore prefers giving the orders now.”
Ciro’s expression eased into a smug smile.
“This is his dungeon,” I continued. “His camera. His guards. His hostage. You’re sitting on me because he allows it.”
She went still against me.
“You think I need his permission?”
“I think you’re performing for his camera, in his dungeon, with his men keeping me in this chair.”
I glanced toward the lens.
“There you go, lads. Meet Isabeast.”
Ciro laughed.
Isabeast’s head whipped to the guard at the door.
He looked down too late to hide the smirk.
Heat rushed into her face. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She looked at Ciro next. He was still smiling. Her jaw clenched.
Being hated didn’t bother Isabeast.
Being laughed at did.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Bit late for that. Seems to be catching on.”
Her palm cracked across my cheek.
My head snapped sideways, and the cut opened again. Blood warmed my jaw.
Every eye in the room stayed on the two of us.
Exactly where I needed them.
She caught my chin and forced me back toward the camera.
“Look at the camera,” she hissed. “Let your brother see what happens when a man forgets who owns him.”
I met the lens.
“You’re still confusing restraints with control.”
“You were stupid enough to trust me.”
“Aye. Once.”
My eyes dropped deliberately to the wound on her lip.
“Hasn’t gone nearly as well for you since.”
She slid one hand down my chest.
“When Ciro finishes with this negotiation, Lachlan stays with me.”
Ciro’s smile faded.
She either didn’t notice or was too wound up to care and kept talking.
“I’ll take him somewhere private,” she continued. “Somewhere his precious Syndicate will never find him. Mateo and my men will make certain no one interferes.”
Ciro looked at Mateo.
“Your men?”
Isabeast turned back to me.
“Yes. The men who know where their future lies.”
“And who do they answer to?”
Her smile widened.
“Me.”
Ciro stopped smiling.
The camera operator’s hands paused above the keyboard. The guard near the door cut his eyes toward Ciro. Mateo stayed focused on her, but the muscles in his forearms tightened.
I leaned back as far as the chair allowed.
“Hear that, Delgado? She’s already dividing up your empire while you’re drinking rum and smoking cigars on the veranda.”
Isabeast turned on me.
“Shut your mouth.”
Ciro crossed the room in two strides.
His hand closed around her throat.
She barely had time to gasp before he hauled her off my thigh and threw her toward Mateo. Her shoulder struck his chest, and he caught her before she hit the floor.
Ciro stepped back beside the camera.
“Marcela Reyes.”
She froze inside Mateo’s hold.
“That is who you are without me.”
Her face drained of color.
“I gave you the Delgado name. I gave you New York. The bank accounts. The men who opened doors because they believed you belonged to me.”
His gaze moved to Mateo.
“I gave you him.”
The muscle in Mateo’s jaw jumped.
Ciro looked back at Marcela.
“Lachlan Byrnes is my hostage. Mateo Cruz is my soldier. Every man in this compound eats because I permit it.”
She pulled free from Mateo and straightened.