Twisted Veil of Devotion

Part 9

An endless search, a twisted play.

Her scent, her voice, they call him near,
An echo born of darkest fear.
He whispers her name in empty halls,
In every breath, her presence calls.

Obsessed, consumed, he can't let go,
A silent storm she'll never know.
His world revolves around her face,
Each thought of her, a fevered chase.

No door too strong, no lock too tight,
He stalks the dark to claim his right.

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Zane POV: 

Frustration coursed through me as I paced the darkened room, my fists clenching at my sides. Where had they hidden her? The FBI thought they could keep her from me, but they underestimated my reach.

I had men everywhere—eyes in the precincts, whispers in the streets—but so far, nothing. Each dead end only fueled the rage simmering within me.

Stella.

They thought they could take her from me and protect her behind their walls, but no one could keep her from me. Not the FBI, not that insolent Ryan, not anyone. She is mine.

I clenched my jaw, staring at the dim light casting shadows on the walls, each one a reflection of my wrath. This wasn't just about Stella anymore; this was about my control, my power. They thought they could challenge me? I would make them regret it.

I picked up my phone, the smooth weight grounding me for a moment before I pressed the speaker button.

"Gather the boys," I said, my voice sharp and cutting through the silence. "Double down on every lead. I want to know where they've taken her, and I want it now."

"Yes, boss," came the response, crisp and obedient.

I ended the call, letting my eyes drift to the cityscape outside. Somewhere out there, Stella was waiting, perhaps scared, confused. Did she know I was coming for her? Did she understand there was no escaping me?

They thought they were protecting her, but all they were doing was delaying the inevitable. Stella belonged to me, and no force in this world—or any other—could change that.

I was leaning over the table, a map of the city spread before me as my men rattled off updates on the search. Useless. Every report was the same—empty leads, closed doors, silence. My patience was wearing thin, and they knew it. The air in the room was taut, heavy with my unspoken fury.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Emilio, one of my most trusted men, hurried inside. His face was a mask of urgency, and he leaned close to my ear.

"The Obsidian Order is here," he whispered, his voice low and tense.

I froze. A ripple of something primal—anger, calculation—coursed through me.

"The Order," I repeated, my tone sharp, cold.

Emilio nodded. "Juan Vicente, Ismael Amado, and Roberto Ramon. They're waiting for you in the lounge."

A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. The vultures had arrived. Of course, they'd take any excuse to stick their noses where they didn't belong, hoping to catch the scent of blood in the water. My business might be untouchable, but they'd been circling for years, waiting for a misstep.

I straightened, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves. "Tell them I'll be right there," I said evenly, dismissing Emilio with a curt nod.

As he left, I allowed myself a moment to prepare. The Obsidian Order didn't make appearances lightly. Their presence was a message, one I couldn't afford to misinterpret. They'd likely heard whispers of Stella, of the chaos surrounding her. No doubt they saw an opportunity, a weakness.