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Flea blanches. He was always the smarter of the two and should by all rights be the boss of the MC. Fact is, he's smart enough to stay out of the line of fire the title brings with it. He chooses to have Razor think himself in charge when, in reality, most of the plans and executions are his ideas.

"It's not a good idea to piss El Recaudador off," he warns.

"I've waited too long to have my revenge on this bitch who thought she could run out on me. Me." He yells the last word and slaps me once again across the head. My ear stings and rings from the impact.

"There's a reason people do as the Collector says," Flea reiterates, looking me over. "More importantly, what are you to D'Amato? And how did you get into El Recaudador's crosshairs?"

Good question. I'm wondering that too. On top of the other hundreds of questions running through my mind. Each one overwritten by one simple truth. I won't survive anything happening to Gabe. I'm terrified he'll take the deal and trade his life for mine. No matter how my mind spins this, I can only see one possible outcome, and in it, we're both dead.

I'm still hummingwith her when I step out of the bedroom, skin warm, cock half-hard again just from the memory of how she felt wrapped around me this morning, slow and sweet and mine. The taste of her is still on my tongue. The sound of her saying my name like a prayer is still ringing in my ears.

Brick is waiting in the antechamber, arms crossed, expression tight. Louie stands a few feet away, nodding once in greeting.

"Extra vigilant today," I tell Brick, keeping my voice low. "I've got a bad feeling about this whole thing. Salazar walking in like this doesn't sit right."

Brick nods, jaw set. "Agreed, boss. Louie and I have already doubled the floor team. Nobody gets past us."

Louie echoes it. "Nobody gets past us, boss."

"Good." I clap Brick on the shoulder once, hard. "Keep them safe. Especially her."

I head for the private elevator. The doors slide open. Just before they close, Brick calls out, "He didn't say why he wanted to talk. Only that it had to be you. Face to face."

I pause, one foot holding the door. This smells like a trap. None of this makes sense. "He knows I'm going to kill him, right?"

Brick's mouth twists into a grim smile. "Looks as resigned to it as any motherfucker I've ever seen."

Our eyes meet. We both know what that means. The Collector. Only he can put the kind of fear into a man that will make him walk straight into the lion's den and willingly bare his throat.

The elevator doors close. I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, mind already turning. Why the fuck would Salazar do this? What does the Collector want that's worth sacrificing one of his own pieces so openly? It's too clean. Too obvious. A trap wrapped in a white flag.

The ride down feels too long.

When the doors open on the secure basement level, I'm already in work mode, cold, focused, lethal. Brick was right. Salazar is sitting in one of the holding cells, hands cuffed in front of him, shoulders slumped. He doesn't look defiant. He looks like a man who already knows how this ends. He lifts his head when I step in front of the bars.

"D'Amato," he says quietly. No bravado. Just exhaustion.

I don't waste time. "Talk."

Salazar nods once, slow and heavy, the look of a man who already knows he's on borrowed time. His shoulders are slumped, eyes flat. No fight left. "The Collector sent me to tell you a story," he says quietly. "About a man who betrayed his own family. Killed indiscriminately to take power. And about themen who helped him do it. Those men wiped out the Collector's entire family. Every. Single. One." He pauses, letting the words settle like lead in the air. "But they made a mistake. And that mistake has come back to collect. Starting with you."

I don't move. Don't speak. Just wait. Salazar's eyes flick to the camera in the corner again, then back to me. "He wants to know if you received his gifts."

"Gifts?" I echo. The tape. Yes. But that's all I can figure out that would count as agift. Notgifts.

Salazar shrugs, like none of this is his problem anymore. "I don't know what he means. But he said in that story… one of the men's sisters was killed. She paid the price for her brother's betrayal. But before she died, she had a kid."

My blood turns to ice. Catarina. The kid. Damiano's son. The boy we pulled out of that motel room a week ago. Rage explodes behind my eyes, white-hot, blinding.

"That fucking shit," I growl, low and lethal. "I'm going to kill him. I'll skin him alive and dunk him in acid."

Salazar laughs, a dry, broken sound. "I hope you win, D'Amato. But my money is unfortunately on the Collector. He always wins."

Ice slides down my spine. Not because he knows. Because suddenly I realize he wanted us to know. Every piece clicks into place. The motel. The girl. Skinny. The breadcrumbs. None of it was hidden. It was staged. A gift.

A trail leading straight to the boy. The Collector didn't fail to find Catarina's son. He handed him to us.

Why?