Cesar:Claim her. The Mexican Cartel is no more.
Closing my phone, I grinned.
Finally.
She was mine.
What no one knew aboutla mia piccola vendettawas that she wasn’t Jackson Williams’ sister. Yes, she was with him when they escaped the Trick Pony, but she had no blood ties to the club brother called Ravage. In fact, Miranda Williams wasn’t even her real name, nor was the name she was currently going by now, Savannah Scott. Nope,la mia piccola vendettawas none other than the daughter of Crispin Sinclair and Veronica Meeks, the woman he beheaded before he and the others escaped from the Trick Pony, but more importantly and what only Reaper and my brother Cesar knew was that Veronica Meeks was the last surviving legitimate child of Armando Pisano, the very motherfucker who ordered the assassination of my brothers and raped Tomasso, leaving him for dead.
As I slipped through the crowd, cloaked in the anonymity of the night, I could feel the weight of the impending revelation growing heavier on my shoulders. My heart raced, not with fear, but with the anticipation of what was to come.
I had meticulously planned every detail, every move, anticipating each possible outcome. I knew that once the curtain was pulled back, there would be no turning back for either of us. The world as she knew it would shatter, and I would be there, ready to piece it back together in a form that suited my desires. I observed the way she moved, the way her laughter lit up the room despite the storm brewing on the horizon. She had no idea of the legacy she carried, the bloodline that tied her to a dark and violent past. All she knew was the life she had built for herself—a life that was about to be irrevocably changed.
The shadows whispered secrets of the past as I watched her, the woman who unknowingly held the key to a vendetta years in the making. Her innocence was a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded me, and I couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction knowing that soon the truth would unravel her world.
As I moved closer, the scent of jasmine and something purely her invaded my senses. She glanced up, her eyes meeting mine briefly, and in that moment, I saw a spark of recognition. It was fleeting, overshadowed by the carefree nature she exuded, but it was there, a glimmer of understanding that something was amiss.
I let the distance between us shrink, each step a calculated measure towards the inevitable confrontation. The room seemed to close in around us, the noise of the crowd fading into a dull hum as my focus zeroed in on her. She was a delicate thread in the intricate tapestry of my revenge, and soon I would pull it tight.
When I finally stood before her, the world fell away. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, locked onto mine. I could see the questions forming, the silent inquiry of who I was and what I wanted. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to shatter the illusion she clung to so desperately.
“La mia piccola vendetta,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the pounding music. “It’s time you learn who you truly are.”
Her eyes widened further, uncertainty giving way to a dawning realization.
The game was about to begin, and I was ready to play it to the very end because if it was the last thing I ever did, the little bitch would pay for her family’s crimes.
Bane
Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, Diamond Creek, Nebraska.
Laying on my bed, I looked at her face. The picture was warn, but I could clearly see the love on her face as she looked up at me. We were so young. So in love. All we wanted was each other. Had I known then what I knew now, I would have run away with her, changed our names and disappeared from the world. Instead, that motherfucker took her from me and even after all these years, I had no idea where she was.
Every night, I replayed our last moments together in my mind, wondering where it all went wrong. We were just stupid kids in love. We didn’t know any better, but when George Stone walked in on us, I knew we were screwed and not in the good way.
He took her from me that night and ordered me to keep my mouth shut or he would kill me and my entire family. I fucking believed him.
That was the night my world changed, all because of George Stone.
As the years passed, my heart grew colder with each passing day, but I never gave up. I never stopped searching. The pain of losing her never dulled, and the anger toward George Stone festered inside me like a wound that refused to heal. I spent every waking moment searching for her, trying to piece together the fragments of a shattered past. I looked for traces of her in every corner of the world, holding onto the hope that one day, I might find her and reclaim the life that was stolen from us.
But hope had a cruel way of transforming into obsession. My pursuit of answers consumed me, driving me to the brink of madness. Friends and family drifted away, unable to understand the darkness that enveloped my soul. I became a shadow of my former self, haunted by memories and whispers of a love that was mercilessly snatched away.
Despite the isolating grip of despair, there were moments when I could almost hear her voice, feel her presence. Those fleeting instances kept me going, fueling the fire within me to never give up. I would find her, and if that meant sacrificing everything I had left, then so be it.
Over the years, I’d played my part well.
I became a master of deception, hiding my true intentions behind a mask of indifference. The world saw me as a broken man, but I was far from it. Beneath the surface, I was calculating, relentless, and determined to find the woman I gave my heart to all those years ago. The hunt for her had become my driving force, the only thing that kept me sane.
In the shadows, I found allies among those who had suffered at the hands of George Stone. They shared their stories, their pain, and their desire for revenge. Together, we formed a network of informants and spies, each piece of information bringing me closer to her. The clues were often cryptic, leading me on a wild chase through cities and towns, but I followed them with unwavering resolve.
Time had turned me into a seasoned tracker, able to sift through lies and deceit to find the truth. My reputation as a relentless pursuer grew, and even those who had once doubted me began to take notice. But none of it mattered; the only thing that mattered was finding her.
A few months ago, a whisper reached my ears—something about a place, a hint of her presence. It was a long shot, another fragile thread in the tapestry of my search, but I couldn’t ignore it. I packed and embarked on yet another journey, driven by the hope that this time, I might finally uncover the truth. Only this time, my journey led me to Diamond Creek, Nebraska, and the land of endless horizons and hidden secrets. Somewhere in the vast expanse, amid the dust and echoes, lay the answers I sought. I could feel it in my bones—the end was near, and soon, the shadow of George Stone would no longer loom over my existence. While everyone thought I was here because some nutbag forged my signature on some documents, that was the farthest thing from the truth.
I knew she was here. Somewhere.
Since I arrived at the Silver Shadows MC, my instincts screamed I was onto something real. The pieces were falling into place, and the final act was about to begin. The path to her was clear, and I would walk it, regardless of the cost. There were times when I could hear her voice, hear her laughter, sense her presence, but when I turned around, there was no one there. It was almost as if she lived within the walls of this clubhouse. But that made no sense. The Silver Shadows weren’t from Nebraska. The club originated in Arkansas. This chapter had only been here for five years, yet I could feel her essence around me.
