Chapter 27 Shelby
Shelby
The war room hums with controlled chaos.
Dave stands at the head of the conference table, a digital map of Massachusetts glowing on the wall-mounted screens behind him.
Red pins mark Giovanni’s known properties.
Blue pins mark our staging positions. The space between them represents everything we don’t know, everything that could get Serena killed.
Twelve hours since they took her.
Twelve hours of dead leads, including the property in Widett Circle. That’s the kind of waiting that eats a man alive from the inside out.
“Ray’s team traced the vehicles to an industrial complex near Worcester,” Dave says, his voice carrying the calm authority of a man born to command. “The place was cleaned out. They must’ve gone there just as a decoy, to throw us off their trail.”
I study the map, forcing my mind into tactical mode despite the rage clawing at my chest. “What about the shell company properties? The ones linked to Varese Inc?”
“Nikolai’s cross-referencing them now.” Tommy shifts beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in silent support. “There are six locations within a hundred-mile radius that match the profile.”
“Six is too many to hit simultaneously.” I tap the screen, zooming in on the cluster near the coast. “We need to narrow it down. Giovanni’s arrogant, but he’s not stupid. He’ll keep her somewhere defensible. Somewhere with multiple exit routes.”
Dave nods. “Agreed. That eliminates the inland properties. Too isolated, too easy to corner.”
The door opens behind us.
Every head turns. Every hand moves toward a weapon.
Joe DiLorenzo stands in the doorway.
The room goes silent. Joe looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
His jaw is tight, his deep-set brown eyes bloodshot, and there’s a tension in his shoulders that speaks to his state of mind.
He’s always carried the weight of his family name like a crown of thorns. Right now, that crown is cutting deep.
“Before anyone draws on me,” he says, his voice rough, “I’m here to help get my sister back.”
Dave’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the subtle shift in his posture. The calculation. Joe is Giovanni’s son. Blood of the man who took my wife. The man we’re hunting down and whose trafficking operation will burn to the ground.
Realizing Joe doesn’t know about his father’s involvement with the human trafficking, I step forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“The fuck I shouldn’t.” He crosses the threshold, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Serena is my sister. My blood. I know my father took her, but I’m here to bring her back. I can help.”
Dave interjects, “There’s a lot more you don’t know about your father.”
Joe shakes his head. “Words travel fast in our little world, my friend. I don’t have details, but I’ve heard people whispering about Giovanni DiLorenzo’s disgraceful crimes. I have nothing to do with what my father’s done.”
“We’re supposed to take your word for that?” Tommy’s voice is hard.
Joe’s eyes find mine. In them, I see something I recognize. The same betrayal I felt when we discovered the truth about Giovanni. The same rage at being played by someone you trusted.
“I didn’t know.” The words come out like they’re being torn from his chest. “When people talked, I thought...” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “I thought there had to be a mistake. My father is many things, but I never believed he’d trade in human lives.”
“And now?” Dave asks.
Joe meets his gaze squarely. “Now I’m here to help bring Serena home. Whatever comes after that, I’ll face it at the right time.”
The silence stretches. I watch Joe’s face, searching for any hint of deception. We’ve known each other all our lives. Bled together. Fought together. Buried people together. If he’s lying, he’s better at it than I’ve ever given him credit for.
“He stays,” I say.
Tommy’s head snaps toward me. “Shelby.”
“He stays.” I hold Joe’s gaze. “But if I find out you’re playing us, if anything you do puts Serena at risk, I will kill you myself. Friendship be damned.”
Something flickers in Joe’s eyes. Respect. Or relief. “Capisce.”
Dave studies us both for a long moment, then nods once. “All right. Joe, what can you tell us about your father’s operations that isn’t in Nikolai’s files?”
Joe moves to the table, his presence changing the dynamic in the room. He’s a man caught between loyalty and justice, trying to find his footing on ground that keeps shifting beneath him.
“My father has a property in Quincy that’s not on any official records,” Joe says, pointing to an area south of the city. “He bought it through a private trust years ago. Uses it for meetings he doesn’t want traced.”
I lean forward, studying the location. Waterfront access. Multiple roads leading in and out. Close enough to Boston for a quick extraction, far enough to avoid casual notice.
“That’s where he’d take her,” I say. “It fits the profile.”
Nikolai pulls up satellite imagery, feeding it into one of the monitors. The property is a converted warehouse, sprawling and isolated. Perfect for holding someone you don’t want found.
“We’ll need to confirm before we move,” Dave says. “I’ll have Ray’s team do a reconnaissance sweep. If Serena’s there, we leave at sunset to breach under the cover of night.”
Sunset.
Five more hours of hell, and it might finally be ending.
I should be relieved. Instead, the cold weight of fear settles deeper into my bones. Because getting to Serena is only half the battle, the other half is making sure I don’t fail her the way I’ve failed everyone else.
The meeting continues. Strategy is refined. Teams are assigned. Joe provides intel that fills in gaps we didn’t know existed. And through it all, I’m present, focused, playing my role as the tactical mind behind this operation.
But beneath the surface, something is fracturing.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The trust in her amber gaze when she said she was falling for me.
When Dave dismisses everyone to prepare for the night’s operation, Tommy lingers, watching me with the knowing eyes of a twin.
“We still have a few hours. You should get some rest,” he says.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He moves closer, lowering his voice. “You’re holding it together by a thread. And when that thread snaps...”
“It won’t snap until she’s safe.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the steel beneath my exhaustion. “After that, you can pick up the pieces. But not until then.”
Tommy scans my face, then nods. “I’ll be in the armory. Come find me when you’re ready.”
He leaves me alone with the maps and the silence and the fear I’ve been holding at bay.
I cross to the window and stare out at Boston. Somewhere out there, my wife is counting on me to save her. Even though I couldn’t save Abeera, or those children in Russia.
The bottle of Jameson on the desk drawer calls to me.
Just one more drink. Just enough to quiet the voices, to get through the next hours without cracking apart.
I pull open the drawer and set the bottle on the desk.
I pour another three fingers of whiskey and watch the amber liquid catch the office lights.
My hand tightens around the glass until my knuckles turn white.
I close my eyes, and I’m back in Brazil. The ocean stretched endlessly before us. Her laughter rang across the beach as I chased her into the waves. The memory carves through me like shrapnel.
I drain the whiskey and pour another. The familiar burn is almost comforting. Numbness is the goal.
But the voices won’t stop.
You did this, they whisper. You gave her, and yourself, hope. And now she’s paying the price for your weakness.
Another drink, and now I remember her smile on that terrace in Florianópolis. Sunlight turning her dark hair into a halo. Her amber eyes soft.
I’m falling for you, she said.
But I let her slip through my fingers.
The glass shatters against the far wall before I realize I’ve thrown it. Whiskey drips down the expensive paneling like tears.
The door opens.
I don’t turn around. The twin bond, forged in the womb and tempered in our bloody lives, tells me Tommy’s back.
“You look like shit,” he says.
“I look like I feel.” I reach for the bottle and drink straight from the neck. “Shouldn’t you be resting or some shit like that?”
Tommy moves into my peripheral vision, his reflection ghosting across the darkened window. “I’d rather handle you.”
“I don’t need handling.”
“No?” He gestures at the shattered glass, the whiskey stain spreading across the floor. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I finally turn to face him. He stands in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral in that way that means he’s worried as hell.
We share the same icy blue eyes, the same dark hair, the same stubborn set to our jaws.
But right now, the differences between us feel more pronounced than ever.
Tommy found his happiness. Tommy married Maeve and built something beautiful from the ashes of his own trauma.
And me? I’m still standing in the wreckage, setting fire to everything I touch.
Tommy crosses the room and drops into a chair. He doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, patient and solid and infuriatingly present.
“She’s going to die.” The words escape before I can stop them, raw and bleeding. “She’s going to die because of me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Don’t I?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just broken glass and burnt edges. “This is what I do. This is who I am. Abeera. Those kids. And now Serena.”
Tommy leans forward. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” I slam my palm against the desk. “I was supposed to protect her. That was the whole fucking point of this marriage, real or fake. Keep her safe from Cesare, from her father, from all the monsters circling her.”
“Giovanni took her. Not you.”
“Because I wasn’t watching! Because I was too busy playing house, planning a future like some lovesick idiot who forgot the first rule of this life.” I turn back to the window. “Caring is a liability. Attachment is a weakness.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
I think about the beach in Brazil, where I allow myself to have hope again.
We should do this more often, she said. Steal weekends away. Escape the darkness.
The memory is a knife between my ribs.
I reach for the bottle again. Tommy’s hand intercepts mine.
“Enough.”
“Not nearly enough.” I try to pull away, but his grip is iron. “Let go.”
“No.”
“Tommy.”
“No.” He yanks the bottle from my hand and sets it on the far side of the desk, out of reach. “You want to drink yourself to death after we get her back? Fine. I’ll hand you the bottle myself. But right now, we need you. Serena needs you.”
The words hit like physical blows. Each one landing exactly where it hurts most.
“I know.” My voice breaks, and I hate myself for it. “What if I can’t go through? What if I freeze? I can’t be the reason she...”
The sentence dies in my throat because finishing it means acknowledging the possibility. Giovanni has her. Cesare has access to her. And those men don’t keep prisoners out of the goodness of their hearts.
I’ve seen what traffickers do to women.
I’ve seen the evidence of horrors that haunt my nightmares.
And my wife is in their hands.
Tommy is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. “Remember what Mom used to say about love?”
The mention of our mother catches me off guard. “She said a lot of things.”
“She said love isn’t about deserving.” Tommy’s reflection meets mine in the window. “She said it’s about choosing. Every day, choosing to be brave enough to let someone in. Choosing to fight for them even when you’re terrified of losing them.”
“And look how that ended for her.” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “She loved Dad. She loved us. And they killed her for it.”
“She loved us knowing the risks. Knowing the darkness we’d been born into. She chose that love anyway.”
“Then she was a fool.”
The words hang in the air, ugly and sharp. I don’t mean them. But right now, with whiskey burning in my blood and fear clawing at my chest, everything feels like proof of the same fundamental truth.
Love destroys.
“Serena’s different,” Tommy says, reading my mind the way only a twin can.
“They’re all different. Until they’re dead.”
“Jesus, Shelby.” He stands abruptly, frustration radiating from every line of his body. “Listen to yourself. You’re so busy preparing to lose her that you’ve already given up on saving her.”
“I haven’t given up.”
“No? Then why are you drinking yourself into oblivion instead of doing what you’re trained to do?”
“Because I’m broken!” The confession tears out of me like the bullet in Russia, creating a wound that won’t stop bleeding. “Because every time I close my eyes, I see her face overlaid with Abeera’s. I see the moment I freeze. The moment she realizes I’m not the man she believed I was.”
Tommy stares at me. In his eyes, I see something I don’t expect.
Understanding.
“When Maeve was taken,” he whispers. “When Dracul had her, and I didn’t know if she was alive or dead? I wanted to burn the world down. I wanted to destroy everything and everyone until I found her. And you know what stopped me?”
“Dave’s tactical planning?”
Tommy shakes his head. “You. You sat me down and told me that Maeve needed me focused. That the only thing I could control was what I did next.” He moves closer, his hand landing on my shoulder. “Take your own advice, brother.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. But it’s different when you’re the one drowning.
“What if I freeze again?” The question is barely a whisper. “What if we get there, and I see her, and my body refuses to move?”
“Then I’ll be there to catch you.” Tommy’s grip tightens. “That’s what brothers are for.”
I want to believe this time will be different. But the doubt runs deeper than belief.
"I've done what I can here. The rest is on you." Tommy moves toward the door. "I've got to make some phone calls, smooth out some kinks in our plans." He pauses, looking back at me with an expression that says he knows he's leaving me on the edge of a cliff. "Promise me you'll get some rest."
“Yes, sir,” I fake-salute him, making a promise I know might be a lie.
Alone again, I stare at the bottle of Jameson.
My hand reaches for it.