“...This is highly unacceptable. You don’t just grab someone off the street, drag them down here, and keep them in this filthy—filthy—place!” Carmella Johnson, the reporter who’d been snatched right outside her house, squirmed in her restraints and glared at the men around her like they were roaches in her apartment.

“Can someone shut her up? I can’t take it anymore,” Rico muttered, retreating to the far side of the dingy white room.

He hadn’t even said it quietly.

Carmella whipped her head toward him and shot him the nastiest look she could summon—one that could peel paint off a wall.

Leonardo stepped forward.

She turned her eyes to him,...