ALESSIO
The helicopter is descending toward the casino roof when my phone vibrates. Valentina. Finally. About time. "You've got something?"
"I've got your safe."
A smile tugs at my mouth. "You opened it?"
"I did." I hear keys clicking in the background. "Before you ask..." she sounds almost offended, "I haven't looked inside. You hired me to open it. Not satisfy my curiosity."
I chuckle. "I appreciate the professionalism."
"I prefer puzzles to gossip." A beat. "Come pick up your toy."
The line goes dead. I slip the phone back into my pocket.
"Well?" Beccs asks.
"She got it open."
Her eyes widen. "Already?"
"I have no idea how she does it."
"I don't think she does either," Rossi mutters.
Forty-five minutes later, we pull up outside the house Charly rented. The old detective reaches for the door handle.
"I think I'm going to shower." He rubs his neck. "Then sleep for about three days."
Beccs catches his arm. "You sure you're going to be okay?"
He smiles at her. "Kiddo. I carried a badge for thirty years. I've had people shoot at me. Stab me. Try to run me over. I'll survive."
She doesn't look convinced. "I'll still worry."
"I know."
He starts climbing out. Then she freezes. I know that look. She's just had an idea. "Wait."
Charly turns back. "What?"
"You're not looking for Rachel anymore."
He chuckles. "I certainly hope not."
"What if..." she looks at me for a split second before turning back to him, "you still keep working for me?"
Charly blinks. "Doing what?"
She tells him about the mansion. About the women.
The ones we pulled from Cesar's warehouses.
The ones who still wake up screaming. The ones who don't know if their families are alive.
The ones desperately searching for a younger sister who vanished years ago.
As she talks... her whole face changes. She isn't thinking about herself anymore.
She's thinking about them. About giving them what she never had.
Someone who refused to stop looking. Charly listens without interrupting.
Finally, he sighs. "I've been retired a long time, kiddo."
"So?"
"I don't even know where I'd start."
"I do."
I know she's going to keep pushing until he says yes. So I decide to help. "I'll pay you."
Both of them look at me. Charly immediately shakes his head. "I don't need your money."
"I know. But I could use your experience."
He studies me carefully. "Like I said before, I've spent thirty years putting men like you behind bars."
"And now I'm asking you to help women that men like the Collector destroyed."
I let that settle between us. "This isn't about me." I indicate Beccs. "It's about giving her a chance to help them. And giving them the best investigator I've met."
Charly looks at Beccs. Then back at me. He exhales. "You fight dirty."
"I learned from the best."
A reluctant smile creeps across his face. "Two against one." He points at Beccs. "You always did cheat."
She beams. "So that's a yes?"
He throws both hands into the air. "It's a yes." He points at me. "But I'm not calling him Boss. And I'm not going to do anything unethical."
"You won't have to," I assure him. "You can leave that to me."
Charly climbs out of the SUV with another exaggerated sigh. "I'll grab a few things."
As he heads toward the house, I glance at Rossi. "Leave two men here."
He nods.
"They'll help him. They'll also keep him alive."
Charly opens the front door, then looks back over his shoulder. "And keep an eye on me?"
"That too."
He laughs. "I figured."
The door closes behind him. Before I can say another word, Beccs throws herself into my arms. I barely have time to catch her.
"Oh, Alessio..." She kisses me hard enough to steal the air from my lungs. "I love you."
Those three words still hit me like a freight train. Every. Single. Time. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. "Anything for you, babe."
She smiles up at me. A smile so bright it makes everything else disappear. The Collector. The safe waiting for us. For one perfect second... none of it matters. Because she's happy.
And somewhere along the way... I've discovered something I never thought possible. Making her smile has become my favorite part of the day.
Fifteen minutes later, we're walking back into Valentina's underground fortress. She doesn't even look up when we enter. "You're seven minutes late."
I glance at my watch. "We are?"
Her fingers continue dancing across three keyboards at once. "I was counting."
Of course she was. She probably had GPS on our location and traced us all the way to Charly's house.
It took him all of about five minutes to pack his bags.
Beccs wanders toward one of the massive walls of monitors, studying satellite images, airport feeds, and endless streams of code.
"I still think this place looks like a Bond villain's headquarters. "
Valentina finally looks up. "I take that as a compliment."
"You should."
"I do."
She points toward the center of the room. The safe sits exactly where we left it. Except now... Its massive steel door hangs open. My pulse kicks. "You actually did it."
She looks offended. "I said I would."
She stretches both arms above her head until something in her shoulder pops.
Rossi circles the safe. "No damage?"
Valentina gasps. "I am deeply offended you even had to ask."
She walks over and lovingly pats the thick steel door. "She's perfect."
Beccs leans toward me. "She named the safe, didn't she?"
Valentina reaches inside, and the way she moves is almost reverent.
She removes a thick stack of manila folders secured with heavy black straps.
Another. Then another. A leather-bound ledger.
Several encrypted hard drives. Three old flip phones.
A battered external SSD. And last but probably not least, a weathered envelope.
She writes everything down before she sets each item neatly across a stainless-steel workbench.
"There, it's all cataloged, inventoried, everything.
" She slides a clipboard toward me. "Please sign. "
I blink. "You made an inventory?"
She nods. "Chain of custody."
I stare. "You're unbelievable."
"I know." She beams. "I get that a lot."
Beccs picks up the leather ledger. "May I?"
I nod. She opens the cover. Then freezes. Her smile disappears.
"What?"
She doesn't answer. She simply turns the book around. The very first page contains a single handwritten sentence. In neat, careful block letters. If you're reading this... I failed.
Beneath it... another line.
Finish what I started.
Beccs slowly looks up at me. "What the hell was Flea doing?"
I don't answer. Because I honestly have no fucking clue. I pull the ledger toward me and turn the page. Rows. Columns. Dates. Names. Women's names. Buyer numbers. Auction prices. Then... in bright red ink...
EXTRACTED.
Another.
EXTRACTED.
Another.
NEW IDENTITY ISSUED.
I hear Beccs suck in a breath beside me. "Oh..." she whispers. "My..."
God. I flip another page. Another. Another. The same thing. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. This wasn't a customer ledger. This isn't a trafficking manifest. This is... a rescue log.
Every woman Flea managed to get out. Every new identity he created. Every life he stole back. The room feels suddenly much quieter.
"He wasn't keeping trophies." Beccs' voice barely carries across the room. "He was keeping score."
Suddenly... Flea isn't just another dead biker. He's the man who died protecting every woman still hidden inside these pages.
Rossi picks up the first folder. He flips through a few pages before frowning. "...Boss? What the hell is all this?"
I take the file from him. Birth certificates. Social security numbers. Driver's licenses. Medical records. Every document needed to build a new life. One identity after another. One woman after another.
"He kept records," Rossi says. "He kept insurance."
I shake my head. "No. He died protecting these women."
I flip through another folder. Every page tells the same story. Old identity. New identity. New address. New life. I look around the room.
"This..." I tap the folder, "is why Cesar wanted the safe."
Rossi frowns. "I don't follow."
"If Cesar had gotten this..." I hold up one of the files, "every woman who ever escaped his organization would've had a target painted on her back."
Silence. "He'd know where they live. Their new names. Their husbands. Their children. Everything." I look back down at the file. "Flea didn't die protecting paper. He died protecting hundreds of women and their families."
Beccs gasps, "Rachel."
She lunges for another folder. "No..." Her fingers race through the pages. Then stop. "There."
She carefully slides out the very first file. My pulse spikes. Rachel Whittaker. A driver's license under her fake name, a birth certificate. Everything. Paper-clipped to the front is a single folded note. Beccs opens it. Her lips part.
"What?"
She silently hands it to me. Two words.
I'm sorry.
Nothing else. No signature. No explanation. Rossi scratches his jaw. "Sorry for what?"
I stare at the note. "I have no fucking clue."
"There's more," Beccs whispers.
Quickly she's turning pages in the leather ledger. Names. Dates. Addresses. Then... another list. No addresses this time. Just names. Some crossed out. Some highlighted.
"I know this one." She points halfway down the page. "Sean Haggerty."
I look at her. "The actor?"
She confirms it with a nod. "He was huge. I remember because..." She shudders. "Whoever killed him hacked him to pieces."
Rossi steps closer. "When did that happen?"
She shrugs, "About two years ago."
I scan farther down. Another name. William Remington. Beccs frowns. "Wasn't he..."
"The CEO of Remington Global," Rossi finishes. "A big Fortune 100 company. He died in a house fire a few months back."
Nobody says anything. I keep reading. Another name. Another. Another. Every one of them dead. Violently.
Beccs slowly looks up. "Alessio?"