Page 113 of The Wrong Man

And that means he will come for me. I have to believe that. I have to hold on to that hope, even when everything else feels hopeless.

Hold on, I tell myself. Just hold on.

He will come.

The afternoon fades into evening. No one brings me food or water. No one checks on me. I am left alone with the fading light and my spiraling thoughts.

Declan returns once, briefly, to rant about someone named Murphy who has apparently betrayed him. He paces the room, gesturing wildly, barely seeming to remember I am there. It is like watching a man unravel in real time.

“Everyone wants something,” he mutters. “Everyone has an angle. You cannot trust anyone in this business. The moment you show weakness, they pounce.”

“Maybe that’s because you treat people like they are disposable,” I say before I can stop myself. Because Vinnie’s screams are echoing in the back of my mind.

Declan stops pacing. Turns to look at me with an expression that makes my stomach drop.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I swallow hard. “I didn’t say anything.”

He crosses the room in three quick strides and grabs my jaw, forcing me to look at him. His grip is painful, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You think you’re better than me?” His voice is soft, dangerous. “You think because you bake little cakes and play house with your Italian boyfriend, you’re somehow above all this?”

“No. I just...”

“You are nothing, Dylan. You have always been nothing. The only reason you’re still alive is because I might be able to use you. The moment that changes, you are done. Do you understand me?”

I nod, as much as I can with his hand on my face.

“Good.” He releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling backward. “Remember your place.”

He leaves. The lock clicks. And I am alone again, my jaw aching, my heart pounding, more afraid than I have been since that first night in Dante’s chair.

But underneath the fear, something else is continuing to grow. Something hard and cold and determined.

I am going to survive this. I am going to get out of here, one way or another. And when I do, I am never going to let anyone make me feel this small again.

Declan thinks I am nothing. He is wrong.

And someday soon, I am going to prove it.

Chapter thirty-three

Dante

It’s been two days, and we have nothing.

Every lead turns into a dead end. Every contact comes up empty. Declan O’Shea has gone to ground somewhere in London, and he has taken Dylan with him.

I’m going out of my mind.

Carlo finds me in my flat, staring at the map of London we’ve spread across the kitchen table. Red pins mark locations we’ve already checked. There are far too many of them, and none of them have brought me any closer to Dylan.

“You need to sleep,” Carlo says.

“I’ll sleep when Dylan is safe.”

“Dante.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re no good to him if you collapse from exhaustion. When did you last eat?”