Chapter 165
Alexander Kingsley knew the situation had escalated beyond containment, attracting police attention.
Yet even law enforcement found themselves staring at an impossibly tangled mess.
The precision of the attack screamed professional assassins, and with the crime unfolding across borders, jurisdictional complications loomed large.
On the phone, an officer spoke cautiously. “Mr. Kingsley, we need you prepared for what’s coming.”
“Understood. I’ll cooperate fully,” Alexander replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.
James Pembroke watched him, his expression etched with pain and helplessness. Having raised Alexander, he recognized the signs—the colder his demeanor, the deadlier his resolve. Once unstoppable in his fury, Alexander had tempered his rage since Isabella Sinclair entered his life.
But now, vengeance flickered in his eyes like a gathering storm.
Alexander never waited for fate. He shaped it.
Turning to Sebastian Harrington, he commanded, “Dig up everything on Burned Inds—especially the Mafia’s hideouts.”
Fragments of a foreign dialect he’d overheard replayed in his mind. The assassins had mentioned Burned Inds. The connection to the underworld was undeniable.
He still couldn’t piece together why Isabella had been targeted, but Burned Inds was where his brother had died.
And if not for Amelia, Isabella wouldn’t have been dragged into this nightmare.
His subordinates fumbled through reports, each vaguer than the last. The weight of his fury pressed down on the room, suffocating.
“So the Mafia wasn’t wiped out after all,” he muttered, eyes narrowing on the intel.
Then—his phone chimed.
A message from Isabella.
His heart nearly stopped.
But just as quickly, her signal vanished, leaving him stranded in silence.
The last location she’d sent?
Burned Inds.
Without hesitation, Alexander pushed himself from his wheelchair, changed swiftly, and concealed a tracker in his cufflink.
“Sebastian,” he said, voice sharp. “Her location could shift any second. She’s in the middle of nowhere—I have to move now.”
The coordinates led to an abandoned factory in the southern stretch of Burned Inds—a lawless wasteland where even the police tread lightly. The area was a maze of crumbling ruins, making any search a nightmare.
Sending a full team would only alert the enemy.
The only option?
Alexander would go in alone, letting backup follow the tracker’s signal.
“Once I’m there, mobilize our men. Arm them—firearms, explosives. Neutralize the assassins before the police interfere.”
Sebastian’s concern was palpable. “But sir, we don’t know if Ms. Sinclair sent that message. It could be a trap.”
“If it’s dangerous, let me take the risk instead. You don’t—”
Alexander cut him off with a raised hand.
Every wasted second put Isabella in greater danger.
“We don’t have time. This is our only lead. Even if it’s a dead end, I owe her this.”
His gaze darkened, chilling in its intensity.
“Coordinate with the police. Have our men ready to strike. If those bastards make a move, protecting Isabella comes first.”
Sebastian nodded. “Understood.”
He had never seen Alexander like this before.
