Page 89 of Silver Sinner

"Why?" Anger warms in my chest like a burst of static. "I… am captain of the Murphy clan. I have alliances with eighteen families across the city. I have billions to my name, infinite armaments, and thousands of men loyal to a fault. If you ask anyone, they will tell you I'm one of the most powerful men in the city."

"And?" she prompts gently.

"And… I couldn't save her. I couldn't even protect her. I should have seen this coming. I should have hunted that bastard down the first night I saw him leave her apartment. I should have trusted Layla, should have known she wasn't up to anything suspicious, but I didn't. I approached this like she was trying to trick or trap me, while in the same breath, I was letting her close to me. She got under my skin and yet I didn't let her get close and I didn't trust her. Not in the way I should have. And now…" Words falter and I lift the glass to my lips, draining it in one gulp. "Now, she's gone."

The rest of the session doesn't draw much out of me, and I return to my office with a heavier heart. My wounds are healing. Bones are repairing, flesh is knitting itself back together, and I no longer feel like a strong gust can topple me over. All of it feels worthless if I can't get her back. If I can't apologize for letting her down, lying to her, and breaking her heart.

She has to hate me. Without me, she likely would have remained off of Trik's radar.

"Boss?" Moses steps into the office after me with his lips pressed into a grim smile.

As relieved as I was to learn that he was okay, looking at him is hard. He took a full shotgun blast to the chest for me, and while he survived with hundreds of flesh wounds, he will carry those scars forever, including one pellet lodged too close to his heart to warrant any surgery.

He took that shot for me.

He was put at great risk because I was blinded and cocky.

"Moses. I thought you went home."

He moves toward the desk as I sag down into the plush leather, then my heart lurches faintly as Moses pulls out his phone.

"I already told you, I'm not going home until you stop working, and we already know you aren't going to do that. Anyway, we received this." He turns his phone toward me and hands it over.

Everything stops.

On the screen is a picture of Trik with Maddie under his arm. She doesn't look happy, but she's got a cheeseburger clamped between her fists and her hair braided, hopefully by Layla's hand. I take the phone slowly.

"What is this?"

"A threat," Moses replies quietly. "One of our men got too greedy following a lead and I guess Trik found out. He sent a warning that if you don't stop looking, the next thing you'll find is Maddie's hand."

Nausea coils hot in my gut, and I stare at the picture until my eyes blur. "Can we trace it?"

"Already did. Was sent from an internet cafe that's already burned to the ground. We're doing what we can to track down any information, but it's not looking good."

I blink but my vision doesn't clear. Maddie's face remains blurred until I set the phone down and look away. "I can't stop looking."

"I know."

"But if anything happens—" My throat closes and I wince, gazing down at my fist.

"No one will stop looking," Moses says. "I've instructed everyone to be more careful. We will find her."

"And if we don't?" I finally look up into the heavy eyes of my closest and dearest friend. "What do I do if we don't find her? How do I stop feeling like he's carved out my entire chest with a rusted spoon and strewn my guts all over the city?"

Moses doesn't have an answer.

No one does.

She's just one woman. But she's my woman. I love her as easily as I breathe, and I ache for her with every passing second that stretches out her absence.

"Maybe it's time," Adrian says after another week of nothing passes and I stand out on the balcony gazing over a city that refuses to heed my demands. "It's been three weeks, Pierce, and there's nothing. The world is moving on. The cartel shipment arrives in a few days, we have business with the Italians and…" He trails off with a sigh.

I don't move. I stand with my feet apart and my hands crossed at my lower back, enjoying the recent few breaths that come easily without pain now that my ribs have healed and the stitches in my liver have dissolved. I'm feeling more like myself, yet more hollow.

"Moving on," I repeat. "No."

"Pierce… I'm worried about you."