Twisted Veil of Devotion

Part 11

Zane POV:

The room was silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall, but my mind was anything but quiet. I sat at the head of the long oak table, the weight of my power pressing down on everyone seated around me. They all avoided my eyes, the air thick with tension.

"How many packages have been delivered?" I asked, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

"Six so far," one of my men replied hesitantly. "Three this week. The police stations are in chaos. The media's running wild with it."

I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. Good. Let the world talk. Let them fear me.

"And the FBI?" I asked.

"They've tightened security around her," another answered, his voice trembling slightly. "But no one's slipped up. Not yet."

Not yet.

That woman—my woman—was testing my patience. She thought she could hide behind her protectors, that their walls and guns would keep her safe. She didn't understand who she was dealing with.

"Then we escalate," I said calmly, though my blood was boiling beneath the surface. "Increase the pressure. Make it impossible for them to breathe without thinking of me. They'll know I'm not going anywhere."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though I could sense their unease. Cowards. None of them understood the fire that burned in me for Stella. She wasn't just another woman. She was mine.

And no one took what was mine.

One of my lieutenants cleared his throat nervously. "Boss... the killings are already drawing a lot of heat. If we push too far, it could—"

I slammed my fist on the table, silencing him instantly. The wood groaned under the force, the sound reverberating through the room.

"It could what?" I growled, my eyes narrowing. "Bring more attention? Make them desperate? Good. Let them be desperate. Let them come to me, begging for this to stop. And when they do, I'll make them watch as I take back what's mine."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to argue further.

"Now get out," I barked, my voice echoing in the room. "And don't come back until you have something useful."

They filed out quickly, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I leaned forward, pressing my hands against the cool surface of the table as I stared at the empty seat across from me.

Stella.

I could see her so clearly in my mind—her wide, innocent eyes, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the softness of her voice when she used to thank me for the smallest gestures.

She was my calm in this storm of a world, my anchor in the chaos. But now?

I reached for the glass of whiskey in front of me, downing it in one swallow. The burn was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.

"Boss."

I glanced up, annoyed at the interruption. It was Marco, one of my more loyal men. He hesitated in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as if debating whether it was safe to continue.

"What?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"We've intercepted some chatter. A few whispers about her location."

I straightened immediately, my attention laser-focused. "Where?"

"Nothing concrete yet, but... we've narrowed it down. Somewhere secluded. Protected. Off the grid."