“They will notice,” he says on a wheeze. “And they’ll kill me.”

“No, I will kill you.”

“I can’t go against my family.”

I shove away from him with enough force that the wooden chair rocks back before landing on all fours with a loud thud. “Family. Familia. Famille. I had one once.”

At the thought of my parents, a huff of laughter works its way up my throat and rolls across my tongue. It builds, gaining volume and hilarity with every second. Malone’s eyes widen at my fit of humor, his gaze shining with fear and a hint of confusion.

“This isn’t funny, man,” he says. “Whoever you are, you should know the Malone family doesn’t allow competition on their streets. You’re begging for death, asshole.”

I snap my jaw shut and my teeth click together. “You’re assuming death scares me enough to be a threat.”

“It doesn’t?”

My scoff fills the silence. “Death is my canvas and I am an artist. Now, it’s time for me to gather my supplies and paint.”

Malone rears back in the chair. “Supplies?”

I swipe at the perspiration along his temple, rubbing the moisture between my gloved fingers. “Oh yes, Danny boy. I will splatter your blood, sweat, and tears all over this place, rivaling any artwork of Pollock.”

Good times.

Once I “convinced” the Malone family it was in their best interest to work with me, I’d obtained the cooperation of the security guards before I even stepped over the threshold of Blackwater. They’ll do whatever I tell them, including looking the other way and fabricating camera feeds. Of course, there was that one guard who confiscated my cell phone. For the first and last time.

It’s amazing how effective a severed hand can be.

My escape tonight will be temporary. This time. I just need a couple hours.

After looking at Geneva once more, I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket before getting up from my bed and walking over to the door. Grin in place, I grip the bars and call out, “Marco!”

An inmate shouts, “Polo, motherfucker. Now shut up! I’m trying to sleep.”

“Oh, Marco!” I repeat. Louder.

A collection of shouts and profanities fills the cell block. Then a security guard appears in front of me, sweating as if he ran to get here.

“What do you want, Ghost?”

“I’d like to take a stroll, Officer James.”

The guard’s eyes flicker with unease, his fingers twitching at his side. He knows what this means, and he’s in too deep to walk away. James doesn’t hesitate. With a sharp nod, he turns, pulling the keys from his belt and unlocking my cell door. The click of the lock disengaging is something I’ll never tire of.

As I step out, a cacophony of sound, made up of shouts, taunts, and curses, ricochets off the walls. I take a deep breath, letting the chaos wash over and fuel me as I walk past the rows of cells with the guard beside me. Most of the men don’t bother looking at me, too busy in their own worlds of rage and regret. But a few do. One in particular catches my eye.

Frank “Skinner” Burns. Serial rapist. A man whose sick appetites have earned him the worst kind of reputation in here. He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, his greasy hair hanging over his face as he glares at me through the bars. His eyes follow my every movement, filled with the kind of anguish that only men like him possess. Predators who’ve lost their power.

His lip curls into a sneer, but he doesn’t say anything, just watches me like a cornered animal. One who recognizes an alpha in his presence.

I smile and keep walking. I don’t need to say anything. Everyone has heard the rumors about me… because I made sure they had something to talk about.

The guard leads me through the maze of corridors, his boots tapping against the concrete floor. I let him stew in his own fear, enjoying the way he glances over his shoulder every few steps as if he expects me to do something. But I’m not in a rush.

As we approach the far end of the prison, the halls grow quieter, the air thicker with dust and disuse. This part of the facility hasn’t seen much traffic in years. Not since the place was first built.

The guard finally stops in front of a door. It’s old, steel reinforced, with rust creeping along the edges. The door was supposedly sealed decades ago, back when this place was still expanding. But I know better. This is the kind of secret the warden likes to keep hidden. The kind of secret men like me can exploit.

The guard hesitates, fumbling with his keys. His hand shakes as he finds the right one and slides it into the lock. James glances at me again, sweat dripping down his brow.

“You remember what’ll happen if you run your mouth about this, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods quickly, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I—I remember.”

“Good. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

James shoots me an incredulous look and I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe any inmate that says they’d return to prison. But I’m not serving time. I’m biding time.

The door creaks when I open it, revealing a dark, narrow passage. I step through the doorway, my senses sharpening as the guard follows behind me, his presence nothing more than a formality now. The path stretches out in front of me, a long, dimly lit tunnel that leads to the outside world. To freedom, even if it’s temporary.

I step further into the abandoned hallway, my every movement deliberate and controlled. The power I hold isn’t just in my hands; it’s in the quiet fear that has spread through this place. Like I always say, perception is everything.

I’d love to know how Geneva perceives me. And if that’ll change in the morning.

Expectation hums in my veins as I move down the corridor and eventually step outside. The cool night air wraps around me like an old lover welcoming me home. There’s a car waiting just down the street, a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. Giulio’s men are nothing if not efficient.

I dismiss the guard and slide into the backseat. The driver pulls away the second I close the door. The city lights flash past the window, neon and blurred, as the vehicle rolls through the streets. It’s tranquil to be without walls imprisoning you, but that’s not the freedom I’m after.

No, freedom is meaningless without purpose. And my purpose is Geneva.

I lean back, lightly tapping my fingers against the door as I consider my next move. Mason’s not far. Giulio’s men have already tracked him down. Talk about VIP service.

During the drive through the city I change out of my orange jumpsuit and into something more comfortable with my mind constantly drifting back to Geneva. I’m tempted to pull up the camera feed again, but I need to concentrate and that’s hard to do when I look at her. She has a way of making the world disappear until she’s the only thing I see. The only thing I want.

Regardless, the tracking device on her cell phone will let me know if she listened to me or not. Except, I know she won’t.

And I can’t wait to teach her a lesson.

CHAPTER 19

Darkness surrounds me like a cloak when I step from the vehicle.

The driver rolls down the window, his gaze barely meeting mine. “You want me to wait here?”

I shake my head. “This will take a while. Be back an hour before dawn.”

“Yes, sir.”

The engine purrs quietly as the vehicle pulls away, its tires gliding over the asphalt like a predator slipping back into the shadows. But I don’t watch it leave. My focus is straight ahead, on the towering apartment building in front of me. It’s tall, pristine, and expensive. The kind of place people think buys them safety, when it’s only a false sense of security.