Chapter 44

**Torin POV**

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"The RFID transponder in his passport confirms he left the country. Months ago."

I pace feverishly, apathetic to the influx of men in transit, many of them moving our belongings, most of them are tailored clothes and toiletries for Hadassah. Others are top of the line assault weaponry and firearms.

"He's been all over the place. One of the destinations to note was Osaka Japan."

*This little bitch*. "Where was his last—"

A shoulder collides into me—I whip around to shove him away so hard he plummets to the ground. I slap the phone back to my ear. I look up and freeze. Hadassah slinks down the spiral glass staircase in nothing but my long-sleeved shirt, flaunting long legs that I want nothing more than just to separate them.

I scramble to take off my suit blazer. "I'll call you back." Then I pocket the phone.

"Could you cover up? Jesus."

I elongate the blazer, moving it around her frame to drape it over her shoulders.

"It's not like I had options," she says, sliding her arms through the loose-fitting sleeves.

My eyes gesture to the countless designer bags of custom clothing. "Now you do."

She scans the interior, watching the horde of black-clad men gearing up for their next reconnaissance operation. Hadassah strolls to the mahogany table decked with a sequence of deconstructed assault rifles. Her hand glides over them, fingers skimming until she spots one she likes.

"Careful, those aren't toys."

She ignores me and pulls the receiver out of the case and flips the stock open until it clicks. Followed by lining up the barrel before she puts the gas tube in the hole. Then she puts the hand guard on top of the barrel, pushes the pin through and pulls the lever over the pin and inserts the clip like a trained expert.

"Semi-automatic rifle, steel-reinforced, nonreflective surface with the three-round burst." She lifts it up so it stands tall against her shoulder, the barrel aimed at the ceiling. "Dealt with a lot gang bangers over the years, remember? My last bust was a massive weapons trafficking op. I never paid attention—," she throws a look at the array of rifles, "—but I remember how to configure every weapon on that table. The blessing and curse of my condition."

"As sexy as that was. You might want to put that down. I have to tell you something."

She ejects the clip from the magazine and places it down on the table beside the rifle.

I brace myself for the outburst. "Your mother was extracted, fortunate enough that I reached them before Orian's security team caught a whiff of my betrayal. Once she's settled, you should call her and explain what's happening. But for now, she's safe."

Hadassah's chest inflates visibly. She gives me a grateful nod. Then her eyes narrow into suspecting slits. "Why does it sound like there's a 'but' in your voice?"

Here it comes. "Calum on the other hand. We couldn't find."

She staggers back like shock pushed her off-balance, her eyes overflowing with panic.

"Trans-Media Global confirmed that he took a leave of absence, permitting him only two weeks off. He's been missing for months. The only reason why authorities aren't involved is because he had been in contact with his family and disclaimed that he's going on a...sabbatical."

"Bullshit!" she shrieks. Emotions explode on her face, worry, angst, anger and utter dread. "What if—what if Orian has him? What if he's already dead—and it's all my fault!"

My steps shrink the gap between us. "He's not dead. Trust me. His passport proves that. And Orian doesn't have him."

Eyes wide with frenzy. "How do you know that?"

"Because Orian has his own problems to deal with. Which he made our problem as well."

Her face scrunches up with confusion.

I make a signal for her to follow me. I lead her back upstairs to the study between the library and the archive room. I go up to the high-tech interactive table, unlocking it with my fingerprint. The brilliant lights burst awake and the gigantic monitor switches on. I tap into the system that I bypassed through a side door that grants me unrestricted access until one of the techies locates the breach.

I bring up the video. I press play.

Hadassah gasps, both hands cemented over nose and mouth.

The transmission begins with a Hispanic man who's coated in menacing tattoos. His hands, adorned with gold rings, sit idle on the gilded head of a furnished wooden cane. Outfitted in a bespoke suit. Flanked by two thugs in black muscle tees, one of them has obaasan locked in their siege.

"Orian Moon. You may not know me, but you know my brother. Gaza." A lethal smile slashes his face apart. "My name is Santos." He steers his gaze to obaasan who stands serenely still, completely undaunted. "This woman is a brave woman. She's your grandmother, sí? She's loyal, too. Wouldn't say a word about you."

Santos manspreads, then leans forward to hold the cane like a sceptre. "You butchered my brother, mi familia, and turned his compound into a bloodbath." He straightens, his eyes set ablaze with incomprehensible grief. "I'm here to return the favour. I'm not here just for vengeance. I'm here to wreak havoc. This is war and like you, I spare no casualties. Starting with your la abuelita."

He motions to someone with a nod. The one holding obaasan forces her to her knees. Another thug comes to her side, brandishing a machete.

Santos uses the cane to point at the camera. "I will come for you last. First, I will destroy your world piece by piece, person to person. And next I will come for the woman who started all of this. I want Hadassah Moor," he pronounces her name like it's profanity.

He flicks up his tattooed fingers. The man forces her torso down and obassan submits without resistance, as if she just accepted her fate with the utmost of grace and fearlessness. Her head moves out of frame. The man with the machete raises it fast and forays it down with cold efficiency. Hadassah frees an ear-splitting scream. Blood splatters on the camera, catching a glimpse of Santos's callous smile. The video cuts out.

Hadassah suffocates a cry, the back of her hand pressed against her lips.

I go to her. She snaps out her arm, her hand stamped on my chest, halting my movement.

"Don't," she seethes.

She dries her tears before I can even take notice of them. "So now I have Santos on my ass. Because not only did he kill Gaza, he killed his entire family?"

I force a nod. "Twin boys and a daughter. But he had to... it's the way. He did it to prevent future retaliation."

"And yet there's a current retaliation!"

"I warned Orian of this, but he was blind to reason because he was consumed by you."

"So, it's my fault?"

My tongue pokes through my cheek. "If I wanted to say that, I would. Playing the fucking blame game isn't going to help. That's partly why we're here in Berlin. If we're going to go to war, we're going to need allies. But first, we need to meet with Emerson. A master forger that will set you up with an entirely new identification package, documents and papers that will back up your new alias. So go wash up, we move in five."