Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dexter

Meanwhile at the Spice Strip Club on Grandee Avenue, Watts…

“You’re showing remarkable restraint in not joining in the fight,” Rex taunted Dexter as they watched the six men pummeling each other. The fight had moved to the parking area behind the club, at which time the brutality of it intensified.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dexter drawled, “my hands are itching to get a piece of that fuckface, but you have to give it to the young pup. He can fight.”

“Maybe so,” Max said thoughtfully with his eyes on the two men. “I’m just wondering why someone as dangerous and strong as Viktor Scrooge Kozlov doesn’t plant any substantial power strikes and walks into some of Russo’s punches instead of avoiding them.”

Axel smirked. “Yep, I’ve seen it before, many times in prison. The Russian is playing with him—they all are. The question we should be asking is why he has allowed it to continue for as long as it did.” He looked at Dexter. “In jail, it was a distraction technique. You said Kozlov was the bait. Watching this, I believe it’s more than that. They have been sent here to keep the brothers busy… and away from home.”

“Fuck!” Dexter pulled out his cell phone. “I have to warn Carlos.” His heart missed a beat as the phone vibrated before he could make the call. “I think it’s too late,” he whispered as he answered the call. His face turned to stone while he listened to Carlos, who started talking before he could utter a word.

“Something is up. I don’t know what the fuck happened. One moment, they were there, and all was well, and the next, Sophia’s bodyguard dragged them out.”

“Violet went along willingly?”

“I don’t think she had a choice. She looked spooked, so they probably threatened her.” There was a brief silence. “She did warn me to clear the restaurant as they walked past me. I’m not sure what she meant, but I chased everyone out and called the police.”

“Did they find anything?” Dexter asked with his heart in his throat. If Carlos lost his life’s work because he had asked him for his help, he’d never forgive himself.

“No. They had K9s sniffing the entire premises. We’re clean, but I’m not taking any chances. We’re closed for the rest of the night.”

“Perhaps it’s a wise decision. I’m sorry, Carlos. I’ll compensate you for the loss of business tonight.”

“Don’t be obtuse. I had two full sittings before this happened, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Find Violet, my friend. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Dexter’s heart hammered against his ribs as he ended the call, and the fight before him took an unexpected turn. Scrooge—the notorious enforcer—simply stepped back casually, as if he’d been interrupted during a friendly sparring match.

“Gotta take this call, boys.” His weathered face split into an unsettling grin as he pulled out his phone. The gesture was almost theatrical before he placed it against his ear and listened for long moments. “Got it, Boss. We’ll be there in thirty.”

The dismissive ease of Scrooge’s manner seemed to hit Theo harder than any physical blow. Dexter watched as the youngest Russo brother’s face contorted with rage and humiliation. A strong young man fighting for the honor of his sister, only to be treated like an unruly child.

“What the actual fuck?!” Theo’s voice cracked with indignation as he squared up for another charge.

Scrooge’s raised hand carried the showmanship of years of violence and stopped Theo as effectively as a physical barrier.

“Enough, boy. As much as I’ve enjoyed sparring with you, playtime is over. The Boss wants you all back at Daddy’s manor.”

The patronizing tone made Theo’s nostrils flare as he clenched and unclenched his hands. “Fuck you! I’m not done with you!”

A phone ping cut through the tension. Dexter felt his stomach drop as Scrooge’s playful demeanor vanished to be replaced by an expression as cold and empty as the open icy planes of Antarctica.

“Ah, here it is.” The assassin’s eyes darkened to an obsidian haze. “We are all leaving now, Russo,” he drawled in a dark voice as he turned his phone to Theo.

The video he displayed drained Theo’s face of color. “You... you fucking bastard! If they hurt my mother or sister—”

“You should’ve learned by now that your threats don’t mean shit to the Phantom Syndicate, Russo. We don’t scare easily. In fact, we don’t scare, period. Now, shall we go, or do I tell the Boss to start pulling out your sister’s fingernails?”

Not waiting around to see what the Russos would do, Dexter was already moving. He ran to the truck before his mind could fully process what he’d glimpsed on that screen over Theo’s shoulder. The image of Violet—his Violet—bound and helpless burned into his retinas. Gone was the woman who challenged him over wine selections and laughed at his terrible jokes. In her place was someone he’d never seen before—vulnerable, terrified, and her eyes wide with a primal fear that made his blood run cold.

“I’m guessing we’re heading out to the Russo vineyard?” Axel asked as he gunned the engine.

“Yes, and fucking step on it.” The words came out strangled as Dexter fought for breath. Time was a razor wire around his throat. Violet had spent her adult life carefully distanced from her family’s violence, building a world of normality and peace. Now, she was drowning in the darkest depths of their reality, and the desperate plea he’d seen in her eyes told him she was already struggling to keep her head above water. He had to reach her before that darkness pulled her under completely.

Violet

The Russo home, Santa Monica Mountains, Bel Air, Los Angeles……

From the corner of the sofa where she sat bound, Violet’s gaze drifted across her father’s study; the room that had once been her sanctuary was now transformed into her prison. The leather beneath her felt cold and unyielding, so different from how she remembered it as a child.

In her mind’s eye, she could see her seven-year-old self with dark red curls bouncing as she pranced before the massive mahogany desk, wearing her mother’s costume pearls and one of her chic jackets, draped like a judge’s robe over her small shoulders. The Persian rug had been her courtroom floor, where she’d pace with the grave importance of a seasoned attorney, addressing her faithful jury of a selection of dolls perched on the leather armchairs.

“Order in the court,” she’d declare in her most grown-up voice while her father pretended to be absorbed in his work, hiding his smile behind files that always scattered his desk. Sometimes, he’d play along, banging his heavy crystal paperweight like a gavel, which made her giggle with delight.

It was a bittersweet memory that dissolved as the zip ties bit deeper into her wrists since the plastic tightened with every slight movement. Her shoulders ached from being wrenched behind her back, and the crude gag—a strip of cloth that tasted of dust and fear—had long since dried her mouth. He, the traitorous Xavier Goulding, had also bound her ankles, crossing them and securing them so tightly that she’d lost feeling in her feet.

She could still see the hurt and shock in her mother’s eyes when she realized that Xavier had betrayed her by siding with Rick Hampton. The dark man hovered in front of the window was a shape Violet had avoided looking directly at. He was huge, and she couldn’t help the terror his dead eyes awakened in her when he first walked into the room.

Panic rose in her throat like bile as she tested her bonds for the hundredth time.

‘Fuck! ’ she wailed inside her mind as the zip ties only sent sharp pains through her numbing hands. The helplessness raging through her threatened to suffocate her. Here she was, Violet Russo, who had spent her entire adult life fighting to be independent, was now reduced to this—a captive in her own childhood haven.

The lamps around the room offered comfort to the room, which was in direct contrast to each creaking floorboard or distant sound that made her heart stutter. The room that had once held such warm memories now felt like a tomb. Its familiar contents of leather-bound books, heavy curtains, and her father’s prized Remington bronze mocked her predicament. She was no longer the little girl playing pretend lawyer. She was a pawn in a game she had vowed she would never be pulled into.

The silence pressed against the walls like a physical force, broken only by the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Despite the room being occupied by several people, the atmosphere was heavy, with an unnatural stillness that made Violet’s skin crawl.

“How far out are they?” The question hung in the air like a death sentence when Rick Hampton spoke. His voice filled the space like rolling thunder that matched his imposing presence—deep, controlled, and laced with casual menace. Each word seemed to underscore countless acts of violence as a reminder of why he’d earned his nickname as The Dark Lord. His massive frame cast shifting shadows as he moved about the study with deliberate steps.

“Ten minutes.” Xavier’s response drew Violet’s attention, and when their eyes met, his lips curved into a knowing smirk. He had taken great pleasure in introducing Hampton when he had all but shoved her and her mother into the room where George Russo had already been tied up in the large chair behind his desk. The betrayal was evident in every line on his face, every casual gesture of his now-hostile stance.

As her mother’s former bodyguard caught her staring, he laughed and seemed to relish the moment.

“The answer to the question I see in your eyes is power and money, princess,” he drawled in a voice that dripped with condescension. “Exactly what your little pissant of a brother was after. Except he was just too entitled for his own good. He still believes that just because he’s a Russo, everyone should be in awe of him.”

Violet’s gaze shifted to her mother, who didn’t hide her disappointment in a man she had come to trust with her life. Despite their dire circumstances, she marveled at Sophia Russo’s composure. Even bound, her mother maintained an air of dignity that seemed to radiate from within. Her spine remained straight as her chin lifted with quiet defiance. The zip ties at her wrists seemed almost incongruous against her elegant dress.

“You have amassed more money than most in the years you worked for us, Xavier,” Sophia said in a steady, controlled voice of a woman who had navigated dangerous waters her entire life. “And power? Tag already decided to promote you to an advisor along with Leo next month.” Her bitter laugh held shadows of disappointment. “But I suppose killing for money is more up your alley now than threatening politicians and businessmen. Is that really what you want for your life? To push drugs and sell women for sex?”

Hampton’s reaction was swift and terrifying. He rounded on Sophia, and his massive frame loomed over her like a dark cloud. His perfect white teeth gleamed in stark contrast to his ebony skin as he snarled in an uncanny way that turned each word into a deliberate insult.

“Who are you to belittle my dominion, you fucking Russo whore? I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or I will do it for you… permanently. I don’t need you to achieve what I came here for today.” The casual way he delivered the threat made it all the more chilling. “Perhaps I should end your incessant wailing now and save myself the irritation of getting you to shut up.”

Sophia’s gaze didn’t waver from watching Xavier, and the growl Hampton released was testament to the deliberate rebuff.

“You would truly stand by and watch him hurt me, Xavier? After all we’ve been through together?”

The question hung in her chest like a stone as Violet studied Xavier’s expression. A familiar smirk played across his face. The same one she’d seen countless times when he’d stood guard at Christmas functions, sharing private jokes with her mother—the only time she broke her silence and spent time with her family, but not here… never at this house. Only now, his smile seemed hollow and mechanical.

His eyes held none of their old warmth, just a glacial determination that sent chills down her spine. In those steely depths, she searched for even a flicker of the man she had met for the first time on her sixteenth birthday. The one who had once carried her drunk brother home, who had taught her self-defense moves in the garden, and who had become almost like family. Yet all she found was the cold arithmetic of betrayal. Every twitch of his lips seemed to calculate the profits of his treachery rather than count the cost of lost loyalty.

“You think it’s enough, Sophia? To be made an advisor now… after more than almost twenty fucking years of service to you and the mighty Lucky Russo? No, dear woman… it’s too little and way too late to appease me now.”

“What the fuck do you want, Hampton?” George Russo finally broke his silence. He had been glaring at Xavier and the huge black man, quietly assessing the situation.

“You will shut your trap, fuckface,” Hampton sneered. “I will talk when your three sons are here. I have one fucking huge bloodbath planned for your family. One you will watch happen and be completely helpless to prevent.”