The words stop me cold. I press the phone closer to my ear, straining to hear something, anything, that might tell me this is some kind of joke.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“You really don’t recognize my voice?”
There’s something smug in his tone, something that makes my skin crawl. I know that voice. God, I know that voice. My chest starts to tighten, like someone’s wrapping bands around my lungs and pulling them tighter with each breath.
No. No, no, no.
“Mateo?”
“Correct.”
“You have my sister?”
“I do, like I said.”
All this time, Knox and I had been so paranoid about watching our own backs, checking over our shoulders, making sure we were safe. We’d been so worried about protecting ourselves that we forgot we have family members in this city. Oh, that slimy bastard played us; I’ll give him that. But what I won’t give him is the satisfaction of hearing me squirm without solid proof he’s telling the truth.
“Prove it.” I force the words out, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Show her to me. I want to see.”
“Fine.”
The line goes quiet for a moment, then my phone buzzes with a video call request. My thumb hovers over the screen. Part of me doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to see whatever hell Mateo’s about to show me. But I have to know. I have to see her.
I hit accept.
Mateo’s face fills the screen first—that same arrogant expression I remember, made even more infuriating by those stupid designer sunglasses he’s always wearing.
Then he flips the camera.
The image that appears makes my blood turn to ice. It’s a basement; that's obvious. Masked men in all-black outfits stand in a line like they’re posing for some twisted family photo.
But it’s not the men I’m looking at.
The camera zooms in, and I see them. Hunter first—his usually perfect hair disheveled. Then Soraya. Finn’s there too, slumped forward in his chair.
And then Serena.
Her face is pale and terrified, but when she sees the camera pointing at her, she lifts her chin in that stubborn way that’s so familiar it makes my heart break.
They’re all tied up. All of them. Like animals waiting for slaughter.
“Do you believe me now?” Mateo asks.
“You son of a bitch. Let them go!”
“Not without getting what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“Simple. I want to speak to your boyfriend in the next hour. On this line. I’ll call you. Don’t bother trying to track or call this number; it won't work.”
“Let them go!” I’m shouting now, not caring if Dad and Daphne can hear me through the door. “They have nothing to do with this!”
“Are you being stubborn, Sloane?” His voice is so calm, so conversational, like we’re discussing the weather. “Your sister’s life is in my hands. I’d strongly advise you to cooperate.”
“If you touch a hair on her head—”
He cuts me off with a laugh. “Mm. I don’t think you grasp the dynamics of our relationship right now. I’m the one making threats here, not you. So, let me give you a little demonstration of how serious I am.”
Everything happens too fast after that.
A flash of movement. The dull thud of a silencer. A scream.
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