Page 73 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

Achilles exhales, a heavy breath that sounds a lot like relief. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, we will.”

But just before he hangs up, his voice tightens again. “One more thing... what the hell did Harold mean byyour daughter?”

Chapter 36

Piers

Idon’t even think about it- I just call Desmond. My fingers move on their own, like muscle memory, like instinct.

Over the past two years, my brother’s become the only steady thing in my life- my closest tie to reality when everything else felt like it was unraveling. After Fantasia disappeared, after I let myself drown in whiskey and regret, Desmond was the one who pulled me back.

He didn’t press me when I refused to talk about her. He didn’t scold me when I ignored the family business or walked out on meetings. He was just...there. A constant reminder that I still had something-someone- worth holding on to.

And now, as I listen to the phone ring, that same unmistakeable faith clings to me- that Desmond will be there for me, that he’ll step in and make this feel manageable, that somehow, with him here, I won’t feel like the ground is crumbling beneath my feet.

“Piers,” he answers, his voice low, calm. Too calm for the storm I’m riding. “What’s happened?”

“I need you,” I say, and my voice cracks. I clear my throat, gripping the phone tighter. “At Wesley Hall. Now.”

He doesn’t ask questions- doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to. He knows.

“Say no more. I’m on my way,” Desmond promises without hesitation.

By the time he arrives, I’m pacing the length of the study, Harold’s twisted grin still burned into my mind. Achilles stands near the window, arms crossed, silent and brooding. The tension in the room is suffocating.

When Desmond steps in, he doesn’t come alone. A cohort of his men follow- sharp-eyed, quiet men with the kind of presence that says they’re ready for war. He must’ve grabbed them without a second thought.

“What’s going on?” Desmond demands, striding toward me. “What’s happened?”

I barely get the words out. “It’s Fantasia.”

His face hardens. “Where?”

I shake my head. “Harold’s got her. Sent a video. He’s demanding money… or he’ll kill her.” My throat tightens again. “And he said…” I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t bring myself to sayour daughter.

Desmond’s face darkens, and his men shift, silent but brimming with tension.

“What’s the plan?” Desmond asks, voice low. “Tell me what you need.”

“Do we go in headfirst?” Achilles asks, cutting in. His voice is sharp and deliberate, like always, but even he can’t hide the edge of concern. “We could storm his estate, take the hostages, and get the hell out.”

“No,” I say, my voice harsh. I know that approach won’t work- not with Harold. “We need to be smart about this. If we show up and try to force him, he’ll kill them both. He’s not just going to hand over Fantasia and my daughter for a payout. He’s too far gone for that.”

Desmond crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. “So, what then? We sneak in? Break in while he’s not looking?”

“We could get his men distracted, find a way in without alerting him.” Achilles says grimly. “But that’s going to take time- and time’s something we don’t have.”

I rub my face with my hands, an icy numbness creeping through my veins, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. “Time is the enemy. Harold’s already made his demands. He’s shown us he’ll do whatever it takes to keep them. If we try to pay the ransom, he’ll use it as leverage. And if we get the money to him, we’re at his mercy.”

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth as the realization settles in. “He’s too far gone. Harold’s not just going to let them go. He’ll kill them the moment the money’s in his hands. He won’t risk them being a liability.”

There’s a quiet agreement in the room, and it’s Desmond who speaks next, his voice calm and steady. “Then we do what we need to do. We rescue them.”

I nod. “We find her first. We find Fantasia and… my daughter, and we take them back.”

Achilles looks at me for a long moment, then turns to his men. “Set up the ransom. We’ll contact Harold.”

The air pulses, heavy and electric, like the moment before a thunderclap. There’s no more room for hesitation. No more room for doubt.

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