35. Oliver

My footsteps echo in the dimly lit alleyway as Doyle and I close in on our target.

The streets are eerily quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the city fading into the background as we move with purpose.

Last night, Theo uncovered some information in Declan's files that, while not directly relevant to our fight against him, pointed us in the direction of how to get to Isabella DeLucci.

She's a big player in this, one of her father's most trusted inner circle and possibly the key to unraveling this mystery.

Silent as the grave, Doyle and I stop and stare across the street at Isabella, who is leaning against the wall of a building across the street, the streetlamp illuminating her glossy brown hair. She's on the phone, finishing up a call.

Her posture is relaxed, eyes scanning around her with curiosity but not awareness. Good. That means she has no idea we're coming for her.

Once we head back to the sedan, Doyle gets into the driver's seat and I sit in the back, poised to grab Isabella as soon as Frankie has stepped away.

Right on time, Frankie walks the half dozen or so feet away and lights up a cigarette, taking a deep puff at the edge of the alley.

Just as Isabella ends the call, we pull up beside her and I get out, wrestling her inside just as Frankie shouts at us, racing toward me to stop me.

But it's too late. As soon as Isabella is inside the car, Doyle speeds off. Her fingers claw at my face, fighting me as we drive away, so I grab the syringe from my pocket and plunge it into her neck, injecting her with a sedative. It takes a few moments, but she finally goes limp against me.

Seizing the opportunity, I carefully bind her, ensuring that there's no way for her to escape this hold while we transport her to our territory.

It's time for Isabella DeLucci to reveal her secrets.

Once she's properly secured, we head for a pub near the docks, deep in the heart of Callahan territory. Doyle and I carry her body down the back steps into the basement, and I get her secured so she's hanging by her arms to a rope tied to the ceiling.

It doesn't take long for the drugs to wear off in her system, and when they do and she blinks awake, I'm standing in front of her with a smile on my face.

"Welcome back, Princess," I tell her, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She yanks her head away and spits at me, fire in her eyes.

"Vaffanculo," she curses, glaring at me.

"No thanks. I don't care for pasta," I say, the smirk on my face growing wider.

"You've made some boneheaded decisions, Everhart, but this takes the cake," she says, a bitter expression on her face. "My father will not take lightly to this. He'll go after you and your brothers."

I scoff, unfazed by her threats. "Need I remind you that Giovanni went after Evangeline?" I ask. "He intended to torture and kill her. You're lucky that all I want from you is information."

"I'm not telling you shit, you potato-eating Mick," she sneers. I glance over my shoulder at Doyle, who is standing like a silent sentry, hands clasped in front of him.

"You might want to start speaking, sweetheart," I tell her, "or I'll let my friend over there show you what happens when people don't give me the answers I want."

Isabella rolls her eyes, unimpressed by the threat. "Please. That guy looks like he's barely able to hold his own neck up, let alone hurt me."

I smile. "Thought you might think that." I pull on a coat and go and sit on a chair across the way, just far enough away that Isabella can't reach out with her leg and kick me.

"What are you doing?" Isabella demands.

"The heat is off. Soon, it will be pretty damned cold down here. Maybe even freezing. And all you're wearing is a thin pantsuit. Your arms will get tired from holding yourself up, and you can't even wrap them around yourself to keep warm."

"That's your big trick? You're going to make me cold so I'll talk?"

"Nope," I say, shaking my head. "Just letting you know what the weather is promising to be like the next few hours."

Isabella eyes me, a wary expression on her face. "Is this a trick?"

I grin, then pull out my phone to catch up on some emails. Psychological torment is my favorite weapon. Why harm someone when they can make up their own scenarios about what you can do to them instead?

Doyle walks over to her and rips her jacket off her arms, leaving her in a silk blouse, linen pants, and heels. We're not going to violate her. We just want to make sure she feels like we can.

She shivers a little but remains resolute, refusing to speak another word. But we have all evening. I made sure that no one could track her here. No one has any idea where she is.

Frankie won't be able to find her. Neither will Giovanni or Sal. She's entirely at my mercy until she gives up the information we want.

Doyle circles her, a predatory look in his eyes. He doesn't have to touch her to make her shy away from him, leaning away as he gets close.

"You look like a tasty snack," he says, a mocking lilt to his words. If he has no interest in the opposite sex, Isabella doesn't need to know that.

I cross one leg over my lap, leaning back as I pull up a mobile game. The only noises in the basement are the jingling tones of the match-three game I'm playing as I wait for the cracks in her fa?ade to begin forming.

If Isabella were completely innocent, I probably wouldn't touch her, but she's just as ruthless and cruel as I can be. The two of us are well-matched like that.

But the only woman I care about is Eva, and after what happened to her, I'm here to make sure that no one ever touches a hair on her head again. This is as much about sending a message as it is about getting intel from this woman.

"What do you even want to know?" Isabella ventures, leaning away when Doyle gets close again.

"Declan O'Malley," I tell her, looking up from my game. "I know that he's been working with you. I want to know why. I want to know how. I want everything you can tell me about your alliance with him."

"You're crazy," Isabella says, tilting her head to stare at me. "Actually crazy, you know that? Accusing your Don is suicide. Why don't you just go to him yourself if you think he's up to something?"

"Because he's smart," I say, standing up. "He's clever, always one step ahead of us. But if you give us the information we need, we can level the playing field."

"You're going to have to drag it out of me," Isabella sneers. She shifts, wrists clearly starting to ache under the strain. Her feet must be killing her as well, standing on her pointy high heels like that.

"We'll drag something out of you," Doyle intones, leering at her and flicking his tongue out like a snake.

"Don't touch me," Isabella snaps at him.

"Then give us the info we want," I order her. She glances at Doyle again, then back at me.

"Declan made a deal with my father," she says through clenched teeth. "I don't know the details. All I know is that he wanted us to go after your father."

My fists clenched. "Why would he do that?"

"Said Marcus was getting a big head. He had ideas about how to run things. Thought if he worked with us, our Families could take control of everything together. But my dad wasn't interested in combining forces, so Declan promised territory, gave us all the info we needed to take out your guards and get inside the estate."

Vindication feels hollow. We knew Declan was making deals with the DeLuccis. We just didn't know how or why. And now we know that we were right. He wanted our father out of the way so he could take over.

"Your father accepted?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"Yeah, but now he wants more," Isabella says, a grin on her face. "He's seen how weak Declan is, how desperate for control, and he knows he can exploit him."

I frown, knowing this was how things would play out. Declan was stupid if he thought ceding a small amount of control to the DeLuccis would be enough for them.

"What else is he planning?" I ask, stepping closer to her.

"I'm done talking. Let me go now, or I'll make sure that my father takes your precious little pet again—and finishes the job this time."

"Not if you want to walk out of here," I warn her. "You so much as look in her direction, I'll find you again and end you."

A flicker of fear runs through her, but she maintains her composure.

"Doyle, let her down," I order. She's shivering now, adrenaline long since worn off, and the cold is beginning to seep into her bones. She rubs her wrists as I turn her to face away from me.

"You know how this works," I tell her. "We'll drop you back in your territory if you cooperate."

She curls her lip but puts her arms behind her back, cooperating as I begin tying her up. At the very last second, I wrench her arm up her back hard, enjoying the scream that she lets out as the bone breaks.

I might have promised to take her back, but I never promised to take her back in one piece.