BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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ISLAMTHE empty whiskey glass down on my desk, the sharp clink of glass echoing through the room like a warning. The burn in the back of my throat is nothing compared to the rage that's bubbling inside me. Veronica is alive. I know it. I feel it in my gut, in every fiber of my being.
She's Veronica Fucking Garcia. She doesn't die.
I've seen death in every corner of this goddamn world, but she—she—always finds a way back. She's been through worse. Hell, I've put her through worse.
My mind races, replaying every moment we've had, every goddamn misstep, every missed chance. I've failed her, and she knows it. She knows I left her behind. But I'll be damned if I let her slip away again. Not like this.
I shove myself out of my chair, pacing the room. My fist clenches, my jaw tightens. The memory of her face, the way her eyes flashed just before she disappeared, haunts me. The way she looked at me, like she was asking me to save her, but I wasn't there.
I'm not going to make the same mistake twice. I'm not going to let anyone take her away from me again. Not even the fucking Devil.
I slam my hand against the wall, the sound of my knuckles against the plaster is enough to remind me that I'm still alive. That I'm still in control. At least, that's what I tell myself as I reach for my phone, dialing a number I know by heart. The seconds feel like hours, and when the call finally connects, I growl into the receiver,
"Find her. Now."
The connection crackles, but I don't need to hear the words. I know the answer. They'll find her.
Veronica is alive. I know it. She's fucking alive, and I'll burn the world down if I have to.
The knock at my door cuts through the chaos in my head. I don't look up, don't even move. My fists are clenched so tight that my nails are digging into my palms. "What?" I bark, my voice sharp as a blade. I don't care who it is. I'm beyond caring. I don't want to hear it right now.
Gia walks in slowly, her eyes downcast, like she's trying to avoid me, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. She's been through hell too—she's lost her best friend, her fucking sister-in-arms—and she's holding it together better than I am. Doesn't stop the hurt I see in her face, though.
"Roman," she starts, her voice steady but the anger under it clear. "You need to stop this."
I don't even look at her. I can feel her presence, though, and I can feel the weight of her words. "What's that supposed to mean?" I snap, forcing myself to meet her eyes.
She doesn't back down. I should have expected that. Her gaze is filled with frustration, but there's something else there too—something that feels like grief. She crosses her arms, her chin tilted defiantly. "You think I don't want her back too? You think I don't care? Roman. She was my fucking best friend. So don't you dare stand there like I'm not just as fucked up over this as you are."
