He lifts a fussing Ripley out of the crib.

I swivel a knob. Static breaks the line, and then I hear the Omega boss.

“Akara to Omega, meet in the courtyard. Immediately. There’s an emergency. If you’ve heard this message, respond.”

Shit.

Maximoff is not slowing. Baby in arms, he aims for the door. His forest-greens pulse like he’s about to heave an entire mountain, just so his family can crawl beneath and reach the other side.

I’m next to him. Step for step in sync as we leave our room.

“On my way,” Oscar says.

Thatcher answers, “Copy.”

“Me too,” Donnelly replies.

I click my mic. “Same.”

The line goes quiet, and Akara speaks. “Thatcher, wake up the men who’ve turned off their comms for the night.” Banks and Quinn.

“Roger copy.”

Maximoff and I descend a marble staircase and skip steps on our way out of the villa. Outside, pathways glow from fog lamps dug in the dirt. Not that bright with the dark sky.

“Is it the media?” Maximoff asks me, picking up our pace.

I’m unsure. “No one is giving more intel.” I’m on the same frequency as Epsilon and Alpha too, but they’re not divulging shit.

I fit my earpiece in my ear, and we curve around a pomegranate tree.

Four men come into view, huddled together on the path. The parents. Lo, Ryke, Connor, and Garrison talk animatedly. Flashlights beam in their fists. Well, only three carry them.

Garrison is using his cellphone light.

“Moffy, Farrow!” Lo waves us over, seeing us approach.

We enter the late-night huddle.

Maximoff adjusts our baby on his waist. “What’s going on?”

Lo has a murderous gaze in the dark. “When’s the last time you spoke to Kinney or any of the younger girls?”

The girl squad. These four men are the fathers to those four girls, and they’re all protective of their youngest daughters.

Maximoff shakes his head and turns to me. “Dinner, right?”

“Dinner,” I nod.

“Fucking A,” Ryke curses.

The Epsilon lead suddenly blows out my fucking eardrum. “No one freak the fuck out! Calm your crybaby asses! We’ve got shit to sort out, and we don’t need any of you pussyfooting around!”

Fucking hell. I spin the knob fast, decreasing the volume.

Jon Sinclair took the panic on comms from a one to a twelve. And I don’t need anyone to tell me to calm my ass.

Garrison reaches into his pocket, and Connor delivers the news. “No one has seen the girls since dinner. Rose went to check on them before bed, and they weren’t in their room.”

“What?” Maximoff says in a growl and gestures towards the sea. “They couldn’t have just disappeared.”

“Security is so fucking tight,” I tell them. “No one could’ve come in and taken them.” I hop over the word kidnap because Ryke looks like a freight train about to slam into brick wall.

“We know,” Connor says.

“They snuck out,” Lo declares, his voice edged. “Do you know how long they’ve been begging us to have their own villa here? Oh but I’m fourteen, Dad. You just need to trust me—what the fuck are you doing?” He cuts himself off when he sees a pack of cigarettes in Garrison’s hands.

Garrison blinks. “I’m knitting a sweater.” He puts a cigarette to his lips, and Lo plucks it out and chucks it across the path.

“Smoking’s not helping anything,” Lo snaps.

“My kid is out who-the-hell-knows-where at one a.m. on an island,” Garrison refutes. “Smoking is helping me.”

“Fuck off, both of you,” Ryke swears. “We need to talk to security and start looking for them.” His hard eyes narrow on me and my earpiece. “What are they saying?”

Okay, as hilarious as it’d be, I’m not repeating what Sinclair shrieked. “It’s quiet, so the leads are most likely talking and waiting to tell the team.” I straddle the line between being a part of these families and being a bodyguard. And I need to join SFO soon.

Connor checks his phone. “The longer they’re in the city without bodyguards, the worse it’ll be. We have to find them as soon as possible.”

Villa doors start opening up, famous ones and more bodyguards spilling onto balconies, some onto the paths.

Everyone is waking.

The stone is wet in the courtyard, sprinklers watering beds of violets and oleanders. Security and the famous families have congregated around tables, most dressed in pajamas or like they just jumped in sweats. Urgency hangs in the air.

A decision is made to split into multiple search parties.

Boot on a chair, forearm on my thigh, I lean over a table where Akara spreads out a map of Capri. SFO listens as Akara says, “Half of Epsilon is searching the town, the other half is staying behind at the villas. Alpha will be with the parents, and Omega is taking the coastline. Guys, remember—we might be looking for the youngest girls, but your first job is to protect your client.”

Thatcher tells us, “Extra security is being spread out in a wide net, so they’ll cover the most ground.”

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