His Dark Angel

Chapter 8

Aiden's POV

The knot in my gut tightened with every passing minute. Sitting at my desk, the polished wood cool beneath my forearms, I stared blankly at the security feeds displayed on the monitor wall. Men moved with purpose across the screens – my men, securing the perimeter, prepping the vehicles. Outside my office door, I could hear the low murmur of voices, the clink of gear. Everything was proceeding according to the plan we’d hastily assembled, yet a gnawing unease chewed at the edges of my composure.

Zero sleep. The night had been a long, dark stretch of pacing, staring into the darkness, and fighting the images that clawed at my mind: Antonio, small and alone, scared, hurt. My fault. I’d promised him safety, promised our parents I’d keep him shielded from this life, and I’d failed. The ease with which he’d been taken still baffled and enraged me – right from under our noses, inside these walls. It screamed betrayal, an insider. Someone we trusted had opened the door for Roberto’s scum. But who? The suspicion festered, another layer of poison added to the already toxic situation.

Today wasn't about strategy or dominance; it was about desperation. Meeting Roberto Tortellini on his terms, potentially signing away control of territory I’d bled for, all for the chance to get Antonio back. It felt wrong, reckless. My instincts screamed trap, yet what choice did I have? Every hour Tony spent with that filth was an hour too long. The thought of waiting until Monday, Roberto’s original deadline, was unbearable.

A sigh escaped my lips, heavy and ragged in the quiet office. I glanced at the small, framed photo perched on the corner of my desk – Tony, maybe six years old then, beaming atop Marcus’s shoulders during a rare vacation, Lucas and I flanking them, genuine laughter caught in a sun-drenched moment. A lifetime ago. Before the weight of leadership settled fully, before the constant vigilance became second nature. Before I’d let my guard down enough for my brother to be stolen.

“We’ll get him back, brother,” Lucas’s voice, unusually subdued, broke the silence. He stood leaning against the doorframe, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a grim determination that mirrored my own. Marcus stood beside him, silent as ever, his presence a solid, unwavering anchor.

I nodded, forcing a tight, humorless smile. “We have to.”

“Something’s eating at you,” Marcus observed, his gaze sharp, missing nothing. “More than just the obvious.”

I ran a hand over my face, the stubble rough against my palm. “This feeling,” I admitted, hating the vulnerability but needing to voice it. “Like walking into a buzzsaw. Something’s off, Marcus. Roberto agreeing to meet today, so quickly after I called… it’s too easy. And this whole situation stinks. How did they get Tony out?”

Marcus’s frown deepened. “The mole.” It wasn’t a question. We’d discussed it, the ugly possibility none of us wanted to face. “We’ll deal with that later. First, Antonio.”

He was right. One fire at a time. I pushed away the suspicion, focusing on the immediate threat. Roberto. The coffee shop. Noon.

“Let’s move,” I said, standing, shrugging into my suit jacket, the familiar weight settling on my shoulders. We headed out, Mike falling in step behind us, his face grim. Ten of our best men, handpicked, loyal to a fault – or so I hoped – assembled near the entrance. We split into the waiting vehicles, the doors closing with solid, definitive thuds.

The drive across town was a blur of tense silence. The city outside the tinted windows seemed oblivious, people going about their Saturday routines, unaware of the life-or-death transaction about to take place in a nondescript coffee shop near the old docks – neutral ground, supposedly. Today, it felt like enemy territory. Every red light, every slow-moving truck grated on my nerves. Lucas fidgeted beside me, cracking his knuckles, while Marcus stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.

We arrived with minutes to spare, pulling up smoothly near the entrance. The street was quiet, almost deserted. Stepping out of the car, the air felt heavy, charged. My men fanned out, securing the immediate area, their eyes scanning, hands near their weapons. Marcus fell into place on my right, Lucas on my left, Mike covering our rear as we approached the entrance.

I noted Roberto’s guards immediately – too many for a simple meeting. Two flanking the entrance, trying to look casual but failing miserably, their cheap suits and wary eyes giving them away. More visible through the large front window, positioned strategically inside. Amateurs, but numerous. My teeth clenched, but I forced my expression into a mask of cold indifference as one of the door guards pulled it open. A cheerful little bell chimed incongruously overhead, announcing our arrival into the suddenly silent coffee shop.

The smell of stale coffee and burnt sugar hung in the air. Patrons – if there ever were any genuine ones – were gone. Only Roberto’s men remained, their eyes tracking us. My own men melted into position along the walls, creating a protective cordon, their movements fluid, professional. They knew their roles. I scanned the room, my gaze finally landing on Roberto, seated alone at a booth near the back, trying to project an air of command but failing spectacularly.

As we approached, his nervousness became palpable. He shifted in his seat, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, his eyes darting around before briefly meeting mine, then quickly looking away. Confirmation. Something was definitely wrong.

I slid into the booth opposite him without a word, the vinyl cool against my back. Marcus and Lucas remained standing, flanking me, their presence imposing. Mike stood a few paces back, watchful. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. I let it linger, watching Roberto squirm under my unwavering stare.

Let him sweat. It gave me a grim sort of satisfaction.

“Quite the punctual one, aren’t we, Aiden?” Roberto finally stammered, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace. He dabbed at his forehead again with a crumpled napkin.

I ignored the pleasantry, raising a single eyebrow. I extended a hand towards Marcus without looking, felt the weight of the contract settle into my palm. I placed it deliberately on the table between us, the crisp paper a stark contrast to the stained tabletop.

“Let’s get down to business, Roberto,” my voice was low, devoid of inflection, cold steel beneath the surface. “I don’t have time for games. Where is my brother?”

He swallowed hard, avoiding my eyes again. “Yes… business. I Assume you’ve signed the documents?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

A humorless smile touched my lips.

“What do you take me for? Bring Antonio out. Now. Let me see he’s unharmed. Then, and only then, will I sign,” I stated, pulling a heavy fountain pen from my inner jacket pocket and placing it deliberately beside the contract. I folded my hands on the table, waiting.

My phone vibrated silently in my pocket. A text. Keeping my eyes locked on Roberto, I subtly glanced down. Marcus. Don’t think he has Tony anymore, boss. Something’s wrong. My blood ran cold, confirming the icy dread coiling in my stomach.

Roberto cleared his throat nervously, finally meeting my gaze, desperation swimming in his eyes. “Ermmm… yeah… ummm… you see… Aiden, there’s umm, there’s been a slight disruption of plans,” he stuttered out, confirming my worst fears. He didn’t have him.

Where the f**k was Tony?

Just as I leaned forward, ready to demand answers, maybe tear them out of him, a deafening crash exploded from the front of the shop. Glass shattered inwards, spraying across the floor as one of Roberto’s door guards flew through the window, landing in a broken heap.

Chaos erupted. My men reacted instantly, weapons drawn, forming a tighter circle around me, shouting commands. Roberto’s men scrambled, pulling their own guns, aiming wildly. Marcus and Lucas had their pistols leveled unerringly at Roberto’s head before I even registered the movement. The air crackled with tension, the smell of cordite sharp and sudden.

Then, silence fell again, heavier than before, broken only by the crunch of boots on shattered glass. All eyes snapped towards the ruined entrance. A figure stood silhouetted against the outside light, stepping calmly over the body of the guard. Decked entirely in black – hoodie pulled low, obscuring their face, moving with an unnerving lack of urgency despite the dozen guns likely trained on them.

My instincts screamed danger, unfamiliar, unpredictable. Marcus tensed beside me, ready to engage, but I subtly waved him off. This wasn’t Roberto’s play. This was something else entirely.

The figure walked deliberately towards our table, ignoring the standoff, seemingly unfazed by the weapons or the stares. They moved with a fluid grace that spoke of lethal confidence. As they drew closer, stopping just short of our booth, they slowly raised their head. The hood fell back, revealing hair as black as a moonless night and eyes that hit me like a physical blow – deep, stormy blue, impossibly cold, yet holding an ancient, weary knowledge. Eyes that promised violence and hinted at unimaginable pain.

It was a woman.

A faint tremor went through me, recognition sparking not from memory, but from Marcus’s earlier words… a girl they call Nyx. Could it be?

She held my gaze for a long moment, an eternity packed into seconds, then let out a soft sigh, almost bored. Placing a sleek, dark handgun nonchalantly on the table beside my contract, she pulled out one of the chairs opposite me and sat down as if joining us for coffee.

“Hi there,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft, yet carrying easily in the tense silence.

Her gaze flickered to me. “You must be Aiden. Nice to meet you.” A small, chilling smile touched her lips.

Then, her attention shifted to the terrified, sweating man beside me. The smile widened, becoming predatory. “And you must be Roberto. You and I,” she purred, leaning forward slightly, “are going to have so much fun.”

She leaned back again, her cold eyes sweeping over me, Marcus, and Lucas.

“How rude of me,” she continued, the chilling smile still in place. “You must be wondering who I am, right? Well, I won't keep you guessing.” She paused for dramatic effect, letting the name hang in the air like a death sentence.

“I’m Nyx. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

Recognition slammed into me, hard. Nyx. The name Marcus had mentioned. The figure whispered about in the underworld, associated with untraceable violence and chilling efficiency. I glanced at Marcus, saw the confirmation in his tight expression. Lucas let out a barely audible curse beside me.

Shit. What the hell had we just walked into?