A phone call can change your life. ~Devon Valentine

VALENTINE MANSION, MILAN

I spend the next few days plotting and planning with my trusty sentinel and Hadrian, plotting out any escape routes Santo Ferrari might have once he meets me. It is not easy, trying to kidnap a person, one that has as much protection as Santo Ferrari.

As it turns out, the man works for the La Cosa Nostra, under the Valentine family. How ironic is it that the man involved in kidnapping Scarlett is also involved with the Valentines? I wonder, not for the first time, if this is all a trap laid out to get me. I would not put it past Alexa Morgan to drag the Valentines into this.

“You should be getting ready.” Hadrian’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

He regards me with a cool look, one I am getting familiar with. Ever since I told him the reason I even landed in Milan, he has not been very happy about it. It baffles him that rather than to connect with them, I would be back to plan a manhunt.

“You don’t always need to have weapons on you, Hadrian.” I reply, “Santo Ferrari has no idea what is in store for him. He will regret it if he has anything to do with this.”

“Devon will not be happy when he finds out.” Hadrian warns, “And he will find out, Hope.”

“See if I care.” I challenge him. “Scarlett is family. I don’t appreciate my family being harmed.”

“You haven’t told me who she is.” He mutters, tucking a knife into his boots.

He is dressed in a black hoodie and a pair of black slacks. His hair is ruffled, a result of running a hand through too many times, his eyes still look at me cautiously. I have no doubt that there is a protective vest under his clothes. It might baffle a normal person, but for us, who were born in the Underworld, it is a necessity. One glance at him and I find the dozen different weapons on his body.

“Come in, Azil.” I call out.

Hadrian’s cautious gaze turns to a surprised one when Azil steps in. He looks at the two of us and I can practically hear the question that is on the tip of his tongue.

“Are we ready to go?” Azil’s low voice rings from behind me.

I hear the anger in his voice, knowing all too well that he is not happy with the way things are going. Once again, I have put him in a rock and hard place.

“Azil.” I say simply. One word is enough for him to understand.

When you have known a person for as long as I have known Azil, you do not need words to understand what they are thinking.

“I know.” He grits his teeth, the pent up anger and helplessness evident on his face.

“Why are you so angry about it, Sentinel?” Hadrian asks.

“I am her bodyguard.” He spits out the words. “It is my job to protect her.”

Azil is far more than a bodyguard but Hadrian will not understand the gravity of being a sentinel.

“Well, suck it up.” Hadrian snaps, “We have to leave now, if we want to be on time.”

I hate the fact that Hadrian is coming with us. It is not fair to drag him into this mess. Ever since I came clean about Santo Ferrari, he has been adamant about being involved in whatever I did.

“Hadrian, are you sure?” I ask.

He turns, his charcoal black eyes holding a blazing flame in them.

“I don’t trust you, Hope. You stepped into this mansion for all the wrong reasons. But, you are my sister and I will be damned before I let you be in danger.”

That burning intensity and the finality in his voice tell me that there is no way I can convince him to stay back.

“You and I, we aren’t that different.” A small smile curls on my face. “The reason for me stepping into this mansion is same as you coming on this mission.”

Hadrian stares at me, his gaze blank. For a while, silence reigns.

“You shouldn’t have come back, Hope.” He whispers. “You should have stayed wherever the hell you were. This is all messed up.”

“I know.” I admit softly. “Family, Hadrian.”

I turn, looking at myself in the mirror. A black leather jacket that holds about a dozen knives and daggers, a white tank top that conceals the protective vest, black pants that hide the Glock17 and my favorite, a pair of double-edged daggers.

“Stick to the plan.” This time, my voice is cold, detached.

The first shoe falls when we come face to face with Riven.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“I want to show her around.” Hadrian replies without missing a beat.

Riven nods at his answer.

“Be back before dinner. You don’t want to deal with Devon’s temper today.” He warns before wandering off.

Hadrian leads us to a black Sedan with tinted windows. Once we settle in, he drives off to the agreed location.

Santo Ferrari, a man of many questionable qualities, falls short in the realm of intelligence. This realization becomes painfully apparent as the location leads us to a remote, dingy motel for our meeting, a choice that any sensible person would have avoided in favor of a more public setting.

“Morons,” Azil mutters in exasperation. “This is the caliber of individuals we find ourselves dealing with.”

A black SUV rolls up beside our sedan, coming to a halt. Santo emerges from the vehicle, standing alone. Clad in a white shirt and black trousers, he exudes an air of disheveled indifference. The stench of cigarettes and smoke wafts toward me, forcing me to maintain a neutral expression. A swift gust of air beside me signals Azil’s disappearance.

I shift my gaze to Santo, and my initial surprise morphs into skepticism. Greasy hair, beady eyes, and a crooked nose adorn his unimpressive features. I cannot help but wonder if this is some sort of sick prank, as he falls far short of my expectations. Apparently, intelligence is not the only aspect in which he is lacking; personal hygiene has also eluded him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the youngest Valentine,” Santo drawls lazily. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

He produces a cigarette seemingly out of thin air and proceeds to light it.

“Let’s just say there’s something I need, Ferrari,” Hadrian responds, matching Santo’s nonchalant tone.

My attention flickers for a moment to the space behind the SUV, where I catch a glimpse of movement. In the next instant, Azil materializes, swiftly driving a needle into Santo’s neck. I watch as he crumples to the ground with a resounding thud.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” I murmur.

Relief flows through me for the first time since I stepped foot in Milan. Kidnapping Santo is a huge gamble, but with no other clues, I have no option.

Azil picks up the man with ease, dumping him into the back of our sedan. Then he jogs upfront, getting into the driver’s seat. Kidnapping Santo is the easy part; getting answers from him is the hard part.

“Where to next?” Hadrian questions.

He rubs his eyes, looking exhausted, and not for the first time, I regret telling him. With brothers as observant as ours, it is hard to hide things when you are drowning under them. I am used to hiding things and keeping secrets; Hadrian, not very much.

“Get in the car, Hadrian,” I say. “We have a long way to go.”

He gets in the car without another word. I take the front seat. Once I put my seatbelt on, Azil takes off.

Three hours later, we arrive at Base Six. Hadrian stares at the building in awe. I do not blame him. Base Six is a remarkable sight.

The exterior of the base is a striking combination of modern architecture and military accuracy. Its sleek design stands tall against the sky, exuding an air of strength and purpose. The walls, constructed with reinforced materials, give the impression of impenetrability, while large windows allow natural light to stream into the interior, adding a touch of warmth to the imposing structure.

As we step through the entrance, an atmosphere of efficiency and functionality immediately envelops us. The interior is a testament to meticulous planning and attention to detail. Crisp, clean lines guide our path, leading us deeper into the heart of the base.

The hallways are wide and well lit, adorned with high-tech displays and monitors that provide real-time updates and data. The sound of footsteps echoes softly, a constant reminder of the activity and purpose that thrives within these walls. It is a carefully choreographed dance of personnel going about their duties with precision and discipline.

Despite the undeniable military presence, there is an unexpected sense of familiarity and comfort that permeates the atmosphere. The air carries the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The walls carry memories in the form of countless photos.

Base Six, like its sister Bases, embodies the perfect fusion of military exactness and a homey atmosphere.

“What is this place?” Hadrian breathes.

The awe in his voice evokes a feeling of pride. I spent countless days and nights, going over every minor detail, perfecting the plans multiple times for Project X.

“Welcome to Base Six, the sixth enclosure of Project X,” I reply.

Azil walks behind us. Santo dangles on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The man slumps in his arms, drooling slightly from the shot of sedative. We walk into one of the interrogation rooms. Azil dumps him into the metal chair. Once his weight lands, automatic restraints snap around his arms and ankles. A sleek metal strap fits itself around his waist.

“Nova, alert me when he wakes up,” I issue the command.

“Yes, Ms. Valentine,” the artificial intelligence replies.

Nova is an advanced AI system infused into Base Six, a cutting-edge technological platform. Nova represents the culmination of years of research and development in artificial intelligence. With its transformative capabilities, Nova serves as a powerful and dynamic intelligence at the core of Base Six. However, Nova is far from Orion, the AI that serves Base One or Atlas serving at home.

“You have an AI in the walls,” Hadrian whispers. “Do you know how complicated the algorithms are?”

This time I do not bother hiding the sad smile that curls up on my face. I do not respond to his question. Instead, I face Azil, and a chuckle escapes me. Azil is glaring at the wet spot on his shirt, a courtesy of Santo Ferrari drooling.

“I’m going to shower,” he grumbles, sprinting out of the room.

“Come on,” I tell Hadrian. “I’ll show you around.”

Hadrian agrees with a slight nod. He peeks at Santo Ferrari one last time before following me out. I walk him to the kitchen.

The kitchen is spacious and well equipped, with stainless steel appliances and marble countertops. A large island dominates the center of the room. A woman sits at the island, holding a cup of tea.

“Want one?” She asks me, holding out a steaming cup of tea. Her bright blue eyes stare at me, amusement swirling in them. She winks at me, knowing all too well that I hate tea. Her blond locks are up in a messy bun, her green tee stained with paint and her pants rolled over multiple times to avoid tripping.

“Hello, Sawyer,” I grumble, taking a seat at the island.

Sawyer clears her throat, her gaze finding Hadrian, who stands at the door awkwardly. When she faces me, the question is clear in her eyes.

"We found Santo Ferrari," I reply, addressing Sawyer's unspoken question.

"Maddox is going to have so much fun," Sawyer exclaims, her excitement palpable as she rubs her hands together. She then turns to Hadrian, offering him a warm smile. "Come in, I'm not going to bite."

Hadrian, appearing somewhat out of place in Base Six, joins me at the kitchen island. He scans the room with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"Sawyer, meet Hadrian, my twin. Hadrian, meet Sawyer," I introduce them briefly.

"I've heard a lot about you," Sawyer chirps. She gets up and heads to the stove, and within a few minutes, she has brewed cups of coffee for Hadrian and me.

"So, what's next?" Sawyer inquires, taking her seat and leaning in with interest.

I sip my coffee, avoiding her question because, at that moment, I honestly don't have an answer. My focus has been solely on Santo Ferrari, and when my focus wavers, mistakes are made. A surge of anger courses through me, directed both at myself and the unfortunate circumstances I find myself entangled in. 

There's a small part of me that yearns to give up, exhausted by the constant turmoil, the struggle for survival, and the responsibility of protecting those I care about. But every time I consider surrendering to that fatigue, faces flicker in my mind—faces of people I've loved, both those who are no longer here and those who are still part of my life. Those faces serve as a stark reminder of why I've embarked on this journey.

"Hope?" Sawyer's voice jolts me out of my reverie.

"I don't know," I admit candidly. Lies have become a complex web I'm all too familiar with.

The atmosphere in the room crackles with tension even before he enters.

"What have I missed?" He asks, appearing in the doorway.

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