Their Queenpin (The Ridge MC #6)

Chapter 36 Adelina

The room was a powder keg, ready to blow. Every breath might be the one to set the fuse.

Miguel’s smirk fanned the flames of the rage sizzling under my skin, like gasoline hitting a fire already out of control. Every inch of me tightened, ready to snap.

But what gutted me was Rafe—backing away from Sas, his movements deliberate, slow, and then shifting toward his brother. He was too close to my father’s side of the room, too damn comfortable there, like he didn’t belong with us anymore.

His arms folded across his chest, his posture too calm for the chaos around us. He wasn’t with the MC. He wasn’t with me. He looked like he belonged with them—like he fit over there. It twisted something deep inside me, something raw and ugly.

My heart hammered, but it wasn’t nerves. It was bitter betrayal, sharp and jagged, tearing at me from the inside.

The distance grew between us, spreading like a dust storm across the desert, and it wasn’t only the physical space he’d put between himself and Sas. Rafe seemed to be leaning into my father’s world, letting the Mafia pull him under, and disbelief struck me hard.

I couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

“Rafe,” I hissed, loud enough for him to hear. He didn’t even look at me, his gaze fixed on his brother like he was... or has always been aligning with him.

My stomach twisted.

And my eyes burned with unwanted tears. Angry tears. Hurt tears.

But goddammit I wasn’t going to let them fall.

“What gives, Rafaele?” I snapped, voice sharper this time. “You’re going to stand there, all calm, like you never had anything against him? Like the Mafia welcomed you with open arms.”

I zipped my mouth before I added, Like they didn’t consider you a bastard?

And I definitely wouldn’t voice all the hurt that severed piece after piece in my heart. I was the one there for you. You were mine. From when I was a kid. And I gave you all of me. Everything. And this... this is how you repay me?

I swallowed all that rage, hurt, and desperation. But Rafe didn’t flinch.

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping at his jawline, but his eyes stayed glued to Massimo, cold and unreadable.

“This is how it works,” he said, voice low, almost detached. “You play the game, or you get played.”

He wasn’t looking at me. He wouldn’t. And that cut deeper than anything else.

“You really believe that?” I bit back, my voice barely holding steady.

Rafe’s gaze flickered for a second, but then he was stone again. He hadn’t gone dark, per say, like he did when he was lost in some tormented past. But he’d changed in the blink of an eye.

He gave no answer. But that was okay, because there was none that I could bear. He stayed there.

Too damn close to my father.

Too damn far from me.

Miguel shifted, moving with that sick confidence that made my skin crawl. I hadn’t noticed the tablet in his hand until he lifted it, his smile widening like he’d pulled the trigger on a grenade.

“That thing got Bluetooth?” His voice dripped with amusement as he pointed at the large screen mounted on the wall to my right. “Time to show you what’s at stake.”

I froze, my heart stuttering in my chest. I don’t even know who moved, but someone flicked on the screen. The sound system flickered with static for a second, and then the screen lit up, a dark image, barely visible in the bright room.

“Catch the lights,” said Miguel.

The picture wasn’t perfect, shaky and dimly lit, but once it went dark in the conference room, it was clear enough. The moment it came into focus, the noise in the room died.

A woman in a chair.

Bou.

I recognized her immediately—not from her face, which was hidden beneath a dark hood, but from the unmistakable swell of her belly. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt the ground drop out beneath me. She was bound to a chair, ropes biting into her arms and legs. The way she sat—slumped, slow movements—told me everything I needed to know.

She was alive, but fragile.

The slight curve of her shoulders, the way her head drooped, that belly, swollen with life.

Wilde made a sound—somewhere between a growl and a gasp. My eyes found him, but his gaze was locked on the screen, his fists clenched.

The Prez shook with barely contained fury.

Miguel’s voice cut through the thick silence, smug and dripping with malice. “Like I said, El Tigre and his boys—I think you may know them. Caz, Acero, El Fantasma?”

Sas growled, his voice a low rumble, vibrating with barely contained rage. “Yeah, we fucking know them.”

The knife trembled at my husband’s side, his knuckles white around the hilt, like he was ready to tear through Miguel and anyone else who stood in his way. What he waited for, I couldn’t tell, perhaps the Prez’s word.

“They’ve taken out a little insurance policy.” Miguel chuckled, a sinister sound that made my skin crawl. “You didn’t think this would be easy-peasy, now did you?”

The room trembled with the weight of his words, and raw energy crackled around me. Wilde’s chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths, his eyes fixed on the screen as if willing himself to reach through and pull her out.

But my eyes narrowed in on that swollen belly, a life growing inside of her while she sat there helpless, at their mercy.

Breath wouldn’t come. My heart didn’t beat.

Wilde’s face paled, but his eyes blazed with fire. His gun was out in a blink, the barrel pointed directly at Miguel.

“Wilde, don’t!” I choked out, knowing that if he killed Miguel, we likely wouldn’t figure out how the hell to get her out.

But it was Angel who moved first, catching Wilde’s arm before he fired. The bullet hitting a speaker above his head.

“Not yet, Prez,” Angel whispered urgently, stepping between Wilde and Miguel. “We need him to talk.”

Wilde’s hands shook with rage, his eyes locked on the screen. His breathing was heavy, labored, but Angel’s words worked their way in. Wilde’s gun lowered, though his knuckles stayed white around the grip, every muscle in his body tightly coiled.

Miguel’s grin stretched wider. He knew he had us. He waved the tablet again, showing Bou’s helpless figure, same as the screen on the wall. Wilde unraveled thread by thread at my side, and the air around us thick with fury, violence barely held in check.

Miguel licked his lips, enjoying the show.

“A gunshot and you’ll never know where to find her,” he taunted, voice oily and smug. “I have terms, you know. And if you want her”—he pointed at the screen where Bou shifted weakly—“you’ll listen.”

Sas stepped forward, too quiet. Too focused. My gut twisted. I wished Graff were here to help calm him down. My father was watching my husband like a predator.

Don Massimo Parisi had been waiting a long time for his moment, and his intents were only now becoming clear. But why would he have wanted so badly to get to Sas?

“You want to make them pay, don’t you, VP?” The Don’s voice was soft, almost like a lullaby. “You can have that, and more. I have a special room for this messy business. I call it my Red Room.”

A shudder racked my spine.

Sas’s eyes darkened. I watched in disbelief as the tension inside him shifted, the rage taking hold. He wanted blood—wanted the violence Massimo was offering him. The chance to make Miguel and Ghost suffer, to make it all right in the only way he knew how.

“No,” I whispered, stepping toward him. “Sas, don’t.”

But he didn’t hear me. His eyes were locked on Miguel now, and there was nothing else in the room for him. He nodded, the decision already made, and my stomach dropped. He was slipping.

Slipping right into the Mafia world.

My blood boiled, rage clawing up my throat. “Sas, what the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t look at me. His gaze burned through Miguel, his fingers twitching toward the knife in his hand.

“I’m finishing this,” Sas said, voice low and hard. “My way.”

I turned to my father, fury bubbling over. “You’re manipulating him. You’re twisting this to your advantage, and you know it.”

Father’s smile was slow, calculated, that same expression I’d seen a thousand times. “He’s making a choice, mia figlia. The right one.”

I was losing them—Sas, and now Rafe too. Both of them, the way Wilde seemed to be losing Bou and their unborn child. Everything was shattering at our feet.

Quicksand pulled Sas and Rafe under, dragging me down too. I couldn’t stop it, no matter how much I tried.

Miguel’s chuckle cut through the room again, pulling my focus back to him. “So, here’s what you’re going to do.”

His voice grated like nails on a chalkboard, full of arrogance and malice.

But Sas wasn’t having it.

“Where is she?” Sas growled, his voice deadly calm. He took a step closer, the knife gleaming.

Miguel’s grin wavered with a flicker of uncertainty, but he covered it quickly. “Do you honestly think I’ll give up my advantage?”

Sas didn’t blink and kept his voice dangerous and low as he said, “I’m happy to bleed it out of you. Where are they holding Bou?”

Miguel hesitated, his eyes flicking to the tablet in his hand, the live feed still showing Bou’s helpless figure. Sweat dripped down his temple, the facade starting to crack.

“La Bocana,” he finally spat, his voice tight, “in Santo Tomas.”

The words hung in the air, the piece of information we needed, but it didn’t change anything. The second they left his lips, Sas moved.

He crossed the space between them. The knife flashed in the low light, and then it was in Miguel’s side, sliding between his ribs with a sickening precision and a sucking, slurping sound.

Miguel’s eyes stretched wide, shock stealing his breath. He gasped, sputtering, blood spilling from his mouth as he stumbled back, clutching the wound.

Sas twisted the knife, his face a mask of pure fury.

“Stupid, stupid man,” my husband said as he yanked the blade free.

Miguel clutched his side, choking on his own blood.

He staggered, his back hitting the wall, but his hand shot out, pointing toward the screen.

“Bou,” he croaked, voice barely more than a wet whisper, “will die… unless you... meet El Tigre’s terms.”

Sas took a step back, knife dripping red, his chest heaving with each breath. “Tell us. Now.”

Miguel struggled for air, wheezing as blood stained his shirt. He slumped lower, eyes flicking desperately around the room, knowing his time was running out.

“El Tigre... he wants the MC to pay... for the product.” Miguel gasped, his voice weakening. “But he’s... found another way to get what he wants.”

His breath hitched, blood bubbling up in his throat. He coughed, struggling to stay conscious, his eyes wild as he scanned the faces in the room.

“Let them have him.” Miguel pointed at Ghost. “And maybe... maybe you get her back.”

But Sas wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were locked on the Prez.

Wilde, who hadn’t moved, his eyes still glued to the screen where Bou sat helpless, vulnerable. The breaking point was coming, the crack in Wilde’s control as he slowly lifted the gun again.

Miguel’s eyes flickered with fear, his bravado crumbling, but Wilde was done. With a single step forward, Wilde pulled the trigger. The sound echoed in the room, loud and final.

My ears rang as Miguel’s body crumpled to the floor, his grin wiped away in an instant.

The room went deadly silent, the screen still flickering with the image of Bou—still alive, still out of reach.

Sas stood there, breathing hard, blood dripping from his hands. Wilde’s gun was still raised, but his control was slipping. His face was a mask, but fire blazed in his eyes, burning hotter with every second.

"Get the bikes ready!" Wilde barked, turning to the others. “Or the cars. Whatever. We’re leaving to find Bou!” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air, and he marched for the door. He waved the gun for the others to follow. “We’re going now. We’re getting her back. I want every fucking one of you moving!”

It seemed like the whole room paused.

Wilde pointed to the prospects, to Angel, and even Rafe. “Move!”

Angel latched on to his wrist, and Wilde brought the gun around. The VP of Park Ridge raised his hands.

Lanie said, “Wilde, we’re on your side. We’ll help you figure it out.”

The Prez didn’t seem to hear her words. And no one else responded fast enough for him. His hands shook as he paced, frantic.

“We leave now! No more waiting!” He spun back to Angel, eyes blazing. “Get the fucking men together, or I’ll go alone!”

But Angel stepped forward, his hands raised, voice calm. “Wilde, we need resources. You know we can’t rush in there. Not yet.”

Wilde glared, chest heaving, the urgency in his eyes twisting into desperation. “We don’t have time for this shit. My ol’ lady and our son are out there! In fucking danger.”

“I know,” Angel said quietly. “But we’ll lose her if we aren’t ready. As well as the rest of our brothers.”

Angel took a step closer to the Prez. “It’s stupid to go off on a whim, Wilde. You know this.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Pip, what’s Graff’s ETA? Also, get Ward on the line.”

“I can’t sit on my ass!” the Prez yelled.

For a moment, it looked like Wilde might snap. His fingers twitched, like he was ready to fight anyone standing in his way. Then, Angel moved forward, stepping between them.

“I’ll take care of it,” Angel said, voice steady. He met Wilde’s wild gaze, not backing down. “But you gotta cool off. I’ll send word when we’re ready.”

Wilde stared at him, fury still rolling off him in waves. His lips parted to argue, but Angel didn’t budge. After a tense moment, Wilde lowered his gun with a snarl, and Angel slipped it out of his grip.

“Be fucking quick.” Wilde stormed out the door. Angel and Lanie followed, leading him out of the room before the situation worsened.

I gulped down air, not realizing I hadn’t been breathing.

And with that, they left the rest of us standing in the room.

The weight of it all crashed down around me—Sas, drawn further into the darkness, and Rafe, too close to my father’s side. I was sinking with them. About to drown.

But the worst part hadn’t hit yet.

Sas didn’t even look at me. His eyes were locked on Ghost, who had stayed unnervingly quiet, like he knew what was coming. Sas’s knuckles around the bloody knife were still white.

Without a word, he grabbed Ghost by the back of his collar, dragging him forward. Ghost stumbled, but Sas didn’t stop. His movements were mechanical, full of purpose, and with every step, he slipped further away.

“Sas,” I called out.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t hesitate.

My father, watching it all unfold with a gleam in his eye, stepped forward and smirked at me. “The Red Room is ready and waiting.”

Sas gave a sharp nod, his grip on Ghost tightening as he dragged the traitor toward the door, not even glancing my way.

“Sas, no!” My voice cracked, but he was gone.

Rafe followed. Then my father and his men.

Until I stood utterly alone.

As the door clicked shut behind them, a sickening dread settled deep inside me.

I yanked out my phone and hit the speed dial.

When Graff answered, I asked, “How far out are you?”

“Maybe an hour, Adelina. What’s wrong?” Of course he could hear my terror.

“Hurry, Graff. I’m losing them both.” My body started to shake.

“Who?” he demanded.

“Sas and Rafe. Just get here so we can figure out how the fuck to stop this!”