Emiliano had thought of Fia all day as he prepared himself for the dungeon, where all the unmated Bianchis would be locked away until the full moon passed. His beast was already stirring, restless, demanding its mate. A cruel irony, considering how he had left her alone with the weight of the truth he had unloaded onto her shoulders. He wondered how she was coping, if she was still in her apartment at all. The dark and cynical part of him whispered that she had run. He could already picture the empty apartment, the scent of her already fading, leaving behind only ghosts of what could have been.
Could he blame her? He had shattered her world with a single confession and left her to pick up the pieces alone. He had expected her to take time to process it, to decide what she truly wanted. His beast had disagreed, demanding that she should have accepted him immediately. But Emiliano knew better. He wouldn’t have turned his back on her if their positions had been reversed. If she had come to him with some terrible secret, he would have accepted her without question. He had no doubts about that.
For now, though, he had other things to focus on. He sat at the long wooden kitchen table in one of the Bianchi estate’s private residences, forcing himself to drink the toxic brew that would weaken his beast. The monkshood, mixed with peppermint, burned his throat as it went down, its poison meant to dull the primal rage within him, to sedate the monster that wanted nothing more than to tear free. He grimaced, setting the empty cup down with a hard thud.
A second cup followed. Then a third.
He was reaching for a fourth when the door burst open.
One of his underlings, a younger wolf named Matteo, stood heaving in the doorway, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat clinging to his forehead. His eyes were wide, frantic.
Emiliano was already standing. “Breathe,” he instructed, his voice even despite the tension threading through his veins. He needed Matteo to calm down before he could make sense of the situation. “Then speak.”
Matteo took several gulps of air before managing, “Fia’s gone.”
Emiliano’s stomach clenched, his fingers curling into fists. He had expected her to leave—but the dread in Matteo’s eyes told him this wasn’t a simple case of cold feet. “What do you mean gone?”
Matteo shook his head, still catching his breath. “I went to check on her like you asked. The door was open. Inside—” He swallowed, looking haunted. “There was a struggle. The furniture was overturned, pictures knocked askew. And there was blood.”
A dangerous growl rumbled in Emiliano’s chest before he could stop it. The monkshood in his system dulled his instincts, but it wasn’t enough to fully suppress his rage. He clenched his jaw, trying to think rationally. “How much blood?”
“Not a lot. A small stain on the carpet.”
Not a fatal wound, then. But enough to make his vision blur with fury. He already knew who was responsible. There was only one person who would dare.
Viktor.
Without hesitation, Emiliano pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t used in years. The line barely rang once before a gruff voice answered. “One favor.”
“I need all private planes grounded,” Emiliano said, his voice like steel.
A low whistle came through the phone. “Got a runner?”
Emiliano let out a dark chuckle. “I have a thief problem.”
A chuckle came from the other end. “How long you need?”
“An hour,” Emiliano said. He didn’t doubt Viktor had a plan in motion, but he also knew the man wouldn’t risk taking a commercial flight unless absolutely necessary. That would mean Viktor had to keep the women subdued for the entire journey, which wasn’t an easy task.
The voice on the other end exhaled sharply. “That’s pushing it.”
“Just do it,” Emiliano snapped. “I’ll send you photos of the targets. There’s a kidnapping in progress.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “Consider it done.”
The call ended. Emiliano immediately sent the photos—Fia and Mia’s most recent images, along with Viktor’s smug face. He tucked his phone away and turned to Matteo.
“We’re going to the airport.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ll gather the others.”
Emiliano’s hands clenched at his sides. He had let Viktor slip through his fingers once before. He had let him live. That had been a mistake.
One he wouldn’t make again.