Page 94 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
Conall’s convulsions intensified, foam appearing at the corners of his mouth—a trick he’d perfected years ago during an undercover operation. The guard moved closer, suspicious but concerned.
“If he dies, De Luca will have your head,” Anders said conversationally. “He needs us alive for breeding.”
The guard hesitated, then stepped between the beds, leaning over Conall to check his condition. It was the last mistake he would ever make.
Conall’s convulsions stopped instantly. His hand shot out, the restraint stretching just enough to allow him to grasp the guard’s throat in a crushing grip. Before the man could react, Wyatt’s leg swept up, his ankle restraint giving just enough slack for him to lock his calf around the guard’s neck from the other side.
The guard’s scream died in his throat as Conall’s grip tightened. Anders watched with cold satisfaction as the light faded from the man’s eyes, his struggles weakening until he went limp.
“Clean,” Anders approved as Conall released the body, letting it slump to the floor.
Wyatt’s fingers brushed the guard’s belt, then closed around the key ring. With precise movements, he worked the keys free and tossed them to Anders.
Anders caught them one-handed, the restraint around his wrist stretching to its limit. He worked quickly, unlocking first his own restraints, then Conall’s, then Wyatt’s. The sensation offreedom after weeks of captivity sent a surge of savage pleasure through his system.
“Weapons,” he said, stripping the guard of his handgun and spare magazines. Conall took the guard’s knife, testing its balance with a practiced flick of his wrist. Wyatt appropriated the man’s radio, checking frequencies, his stormy eyes revealing nothing as he methodically prepared for bloodshed.
“Viktor’s men in position,” Wyatt said. He checked the guard’s phone with a single glance, absorbing the information with tactical efficiency.
The Trinity Syndicate’s security protocols were legendary for a reason. Within hours of their disappearance after the Montecito Hotel bombing, Viktor had mobilized their entire intelligence network. Hospital records were accessed, security footage analyzed, witnesses interrogated. When they discovered the three alphas had been transferred from Saint Michael’s Hospital under suspicious circumstances, the hunt had begun in earnest. Within days, Viktor’s men had infiltrated De Luca’s security team.
They could have been extracted immediately, but Anders had given explicit orders to wait. Ty had complicated things. What had begun as a simple rescue operation had evolved into something more complex, more personal. The Trinity wanted not just freedom, but retribution—and the little mouse who had stolen their hearts against all odds.
“Let’s move,” Anders said, adjusting his grip on the handgun.
They moved to the door, Anders taking point, Wyatt on his six, Conall covering their flanks. The corridor outside was empty, the night shift guards stationed at strategic points throughout the compound rather than patrolling constantly.
They encountered their first resistance at the junction leading to the main hallway—two guards chatting idly, completely unprepared for the three predators bearing downon them. Conall’s knife found the first guard’s throat before he could even reach for his weapon. Anders took the second with a single shot to the head, the sound suppressed by the silencer he’d attached to the guard’s weapon.
“Clear,” Wyatt said as he checked the bodies and took a second handgun.
They continued through the compound, moving with the silent efficiency that had made the Trinity Syndicate one of the most feared organizations in the city. Two more guards fell to their advance, neither managing to raise the alarm.
As they approached the corridor leading to De Luca’s office, they heard a commotion ahead—shouting, the slamming of doors, the sound of a vehicle engine starting.
“De Luca’s running,” Conall said, his usual charm replaced by cold calculation.
Anders’ jaw tightened. “He heard us coming.”
The compound’s alarm system suddenly blared to life, red emergency lights bathing the corridors in a bloody glow. Guards began shouting, boots pounding on concrete as De Luca’s security forces mobilized.
“Extraction team moving in,” Wyatt reported after checking the guard’s radio. “East and north entrances.”
“Good.” Anders nodded. “Let’s get to Ty before this place becomes a war zone.”
They rushed back toward Ty’s quarters. When they reached Ty’s door, they found it standing open, the room empty.
“He’s gone,” Conall said, scanning the room quickly.
Anders inhaled deeply, catching Ty’s distinctive scent—jasmine and lilies, laced with fear and determination. “Service entrance.”
“De Luca’s vehicle spotted heading west,” Wyatt said after checking the guard’s radio again. “Extraction team engaging.”
Anders made a split-second decision. “We find Ty first. De Luca can wait.”
They reached the service entrance just in time to see the door swinging shut. Anders pushed through it into the cool night air, his senses immediately locking on to Ty’s scent trail. In the distance, a small figure was sprinting toward the industrial district beyond the compound’s perimeter.
“There,” Anders pointed toward the industrial district where Ty’s scent trail led. “He’s heading for the factories.”
