Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Seventy Eight

Niko

I meticulously plan our search of the islands, ready to set out at dawn's first light. After relentless questioning, we've come up empty, each inquiry dissolving into the salty air with no fruitful leads to follow. Now, our only option is to act on Mitchel Debois's cryptic tip-off, a suggestion veiled in ambiguity.

As we prepare for the mission, the weight of our weapons rests heavily in my hands. "Emma's pissed again," Luca informs me, his voice a mixture of concern and annoyance, casting a shadow over our preparations. "She believes she's better off here and not cooped up at home. She said, and I quote, 'You're overreacting again, Luca'."

"She is undoubtedly far better off there unless you genuinely believe Sven has uncovered something about your father," I mutter, the words escaping in a cloud of smoke from the stolen cigarette I had swiped from one of the men lingering nearby.

As we prepare the yacht for departure, the first soft rays of morning light begin to stretch across the horizon, promising a new day in less than an hour.

"I can't be one hundred percent certain," he replies, his voice laced with tension. "That's why I've decided to send Mass back home. I can't afford to be reckless. But I'm dedicating a week of my time to this, Niko. After that, I'm returning to my wife to ensure their safety."

"I can't go back unless I find Bianca."

"I know; that's why I've called in backup," he smirks, looking to the end of the bow, nodding ahead of us.

Drake and Mitchel linger on the docks, their boots hitting the weathered boards with a soft thud. Wisps of smoke curl up from the cigarettes perched between their fingers, mingling with the salty breeze that stirs the air around them. Both men wear expressions heavy with contemplation; their brows furrowed as they gaze out over the lapping waves, the distant horizon cloaked in a veil of grey. How had I not noticed their presence amidst the swirling thoughts that clouded my mind?

"And how many fucking favours did you pull to drag Mitchel here?" I ask.

"None. Alexandra turned up dead two days ago. He's out for blood now, fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. Whatever transpired, it was clear he never intended for her to come to harm. And his anger might well be the force that pushes us to get Bianca back before..."

"Dead?" I gasped, my heart racing as the weight of his words sank in.

If his own daughter showed up in such a twisted state, what the hell did that imply for Bianca?

"Luca, man. We have to track her down," I insisted, urgency threading through my voice.

"I know," he replied knowingly, his brow deeply furrowed with concern, shadows dancing across his face. "But there's more at play here. Just promise me you'll let Mitchel explain, alright?"

"What has he done?" I shot back, my voice trembling with barely contained fury that surged through me like molten lava, threatening to erupt at any moment. Just then, Drake stepped onto the boat, his gait betraying a simmering rage. My focus shifted to Mitchel, who was standing a distance away; I squinted, noting an array of his injuries, but even from afar, I could spot the troubling bruises marring his face and neck, along with the angry scrapes and scratches etched across his cheek and forehead.

The chilling evidence of a noose mark still lingered around his neck, a grim reminder of something unspeakable. I observed him intently as he approached Luca, the two of them exchanging a familiar handshake accompanied by a hearty slap on the back. This gesture usually spoke of camaraderie, but now felt heavy with unspoken tension.

"Niko," Mitchel nodded to me, his voice steady, yet I remained caught in my stupefied silence, grappling with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions spiralling within me.