Chapter 310

Daphne

"Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!!"

I fall to the floor in laughter, clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face. I haven’t laughed like this in...I don’t even know how long. Possibly centuries.

Apparently, Vincent was robbed last night. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

Robbed.

Not his men, not his operations, not a shipment intercepted—him. Personally. In his own home. While he was out throwing a tantrum over Elliot ignoring his calls.

Someone broke into his penthouse, bypassed his security, and cleaned him out. Cash, jewelry, weapons, documents—the kind of documents you don’t want falling into the wrong hands.

You can’t make this shit up.

Is this the big bad mafia? The terror of the underworld? The Viper who’s supposed to be one of the most powerful Alphas in the city?

Robbed.

Like a tourist who left their wallet on the beach.

[He’s trying to stop the news from spreading.]

I lose it again.

"OH MY GOD." I’m howling now, rolling on the floor of my room, not caring who hears.

I finally calm down enough to sit up, leaning against my bed, a stupid grin still plastered on my face.

"So Vincent is being haunted by a ghost that may or may not be me, his empire is crumbling, his Omega is ignoring him, and now he’s been robbed in his own home."

[Correct.]

"And he’s trying to cover it up."

[Desperately.]

I stand, stretching, a new energy coursing through me.

"Yeah, I’ll let that happen."

***

Vincent

"...have finally caught the notorious omega criminal at the border trying to flee the country. She has time and time again eluded authorities, targeting wealthy Alphas in their own homes. The list of victims includes—"

The television drones on, but I’m not listening anymore.

I’m staring.

At my face.

Plastered on the screen among the other dumb Alphas that bitch robbed. All the security feeds they compiled,blurred faces of victims, carefully edited to protect identities—except somehow, somehow, there I am. Clear as day. Full view.

Everyone who knows me can recognize me.

Everyone.

I was trying to keep this quiet. Contain it. Bury it before it could spread.

And now this.

This—

This—

The world goes black.

*

I wake up to beeping.

Machines. Fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic.

And a fucking needle in my arm.

"Boss! Thank God, you’re awake—"

Luca. Hovering like a nervous fly. I try to sit up, but something holds me back—tubes, wires, restraints.

"Boss, don’t disconnect it. You passed out. High blood pressure. And hunger. And stress. The doctor said—"

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

The glass of water on the bedside table is in my hand before I fully register picking it up. It flies across the room and shatters against his face with a satisfying crack.

Luca staggers back, blood mixing with water, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Good. Let him be afraid.

"Get. Me. Out. Of. Here." Each word is a bullet.

"Boss, the doctors—"

"I don’t give a fuck about the doctors! Get me out of this hospital before every news crew in the city finds out I’m here!"

Luca nods frantically, already on his phone, blood dripping down his cheek. I rip the IV out of my arm, not flinching at the pain, and swing my legs off the bed.

The room spins. I grip the edge of the mattress until it passes.

When I look up, there’s a nurse in the doorway, face pale, eyes wide.

"Sir, you really shouldn’t—"

"Get out."

She gets out.

I find my clothes in a cabinet, dress with shaking hands, and walk out of the room like I own the place. Like I wasn’t just hooked up to machines. Like my face isn’t on every screen in the city.

Luca catches up in the hallway, phone still pressed to his ear.

"Car’s waiting, boss. Back entrance."

"Good."

The second we step outside, the world explodes.

Cameras. So many cameras. Flashing, blinding, everywhere. Microphones thrust toward my face like weapons. Reporters shouting over each other, a wall of noise and light and fucking vultures.

"How do you feel now that she’s been caught?!"

"Is it true you’re in the hospital because you couldn’t handle the stress?!"

"Vincent! Vincent! Over here! Any comment on the robbery?"

"Sources say you passed out from panic—is that accurate?"

Luca tries to shield me, but there are too many of them. They swarm like locusts, pressing closer, their questions getting louder, more personal, more humiliating.

"Did you know the other victims?!"

My vision tunnels. The flashes blur into one continuous white light. The noise becomes a roar, then a buzz, then nothing.

I’m moving. Shoving. Pushing through the crowd with elbows and shoulders and the sheer force of rage. Luca shouts something behind me, but I don’t hear it. Don’t care.

I reach the car. Yank open the door. Throw myself inside.

"DRIVE!" I roar at the driver. "DRIVE NOW!"

The tires screech. The crowd scatters. We peel away from the hospital, leaving the cameras and the questions and my humiliation in the dust.

The ride is silent except for my breathing—harsh, ragged, uncontrolled. Luca doesn’t speak. The driver doesn’t speak. They know better.

I stare out the window at the city blurring past and see nothing but my own reflection. Pale. Wild-eyed. Weak.

They saw me like this. All of them. The whole city.

My hands are shaking. I press them flat against my thighs to make it stop.

It doesn’t stop.

Back at my safe house—not the penthouse, never going back there—I pace like a caged animal. Luca hovers near the door, ready to flee at the first sign of violence.

I don’t blame him. I might kill him anyway.

"Find her." My voice is low, controlled, dangerous. "The omega who robbed me. Find out where they’re holding her. Who’s talking to her. What she’s saying."

"Boss, she’s in federal custody. We can’t—"

"I don’t care if she’s in the goddamn Vatican! Find a way! Bribes, threats, whatever it takes. I want to know everything she knows. Who hired her. Who sent her."

Luca nods, already backing toward the door. "On it, boss."