Ramona: The Alpha’s Nemesis

The casino was in chaos.

Andrew and Antonia barely managed to push through the panicked crowd, their ears ringing from the aftermath of gunfire. People shouted over one another, some frantically calling for their companions, others scrambling to flee before the cops locked the place down. Broken glass crunched under their feet as they moved deeper inside, searching desperately for someone—anyone—who might have seen what happened to Ramona.

But all they found were fragments of destruction.

Security guards barked orders, their expressions tense as they tried to control the scene. Some of them were ushering guests toward the exits, while others hovered near a group of well-dressed men—men who seemed unfazed by the violence.

Antonia's breath was shallow, her heart hammering as she grabbed Andrew's arm. "This is bad," she muttered. "This is really bad."

Andrew ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. "She was here. She was right here, and now—" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "We have to find her."

"How?" Antonia demanded, eyes darting around. "No one's going to talk to us, Andrew. No one even cares that a woman was abducted."

The weight of her words settled over him like lead.

Then, flashing red and blue lights poured in through the shattered windows, and the remaining commotion stilled.

The cops had arrived.

A handful of uniformed officers stormed inside, their presence commanding the room's attention. But instead of the relief Andrew expected to feel, an uneasy feeling crept into his chest. Something about the way they moved—the way the crowd reacted—felt off.

"Let's go talk to them," he said quickly, tugging Antonia forward.

She hesitated, eyeing the officers warily. "And tell them what? That my best friend was kidnapped by someone we can't even describe properly?"

Andrew exhaled sharply. "We have to try."

They wove through the remaining guests and approached the nearest officer, a man in his late forties with a sharp gaze and a tight-lipped expression. His name tag read Sgt. Miller.

"Officer," Andrew started, his voice strained. "We need your help."

Miller barely spared him a glance. "Everyone needs help right now. If you were involved in the incident, report to the other officers by the entrance."

"No, you don't understand," Antonia cut in, her voice shaking. "Our friend—Ramona, she is a reporter, for my company—she was here. And now she's gone."

That got his attention. His gaze sharpened, and he turned to face them fully. "Gone how?"

"She was taken," Andrew said. "By—by a man named Killian."

Miller's expression didn't shift. But something in his posture did.

Subtle. Almost imperceptible.

But Andrew saw it.

A flicker of recognition.

A shadow of something unspoken.

Then Miller's eyes darted to another officer standing a few feet away—a younger man with a buzz cut and a rigid stance. They exchanged a brief look, something silent passing between them.

And then, the younger officer leaned in, whispering something under his breath.

Andrew's stomach twisted.

Why were they whispering?

Miller straightened, clearing his throat. "We'll handle this situation," he said, his voice carefully measured. "You two should go home. Get some rest."

Antonia blinked. "What?"

"We appreciate you bringing this to our attention, but there's nothing more you can do here," he continued, already turning away. "Go home."

Andrew took a step forward. "But—"

"That's an order," Miller cut him off, his tone final.

Just like that, the conversation was over.

Two officers flanked them, ushering them toward the exit before they could protest. The moment they stepped outside, the heavy casino doors shut behind them, sealing them out.

The cold night air hit them like a slap.

Antonia stood frozen for a second, her fists clenched. Then she turned to Andrew, eyes blazing. "That was weird. Don't you think?"

Andrew rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. "Yeah. That was—" He shook his head, frustrated. "Why would they just chase us out like that?"

"Because they don't want us involved," she said, voice laced with suspicion.

Andrew looked at her, his jaw tightening. "You think they know something?"

Antonia crossed her arms, her expression grim. "I don't think the cops are willing to help in this case."

Andrew frowned. "Then what the hell are we supposed to do?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

Antonia inhaled deeply, like she was about to say something she wasn't sure she should.

"I think I might have to step in," she murmured.

Andrew's head snapped toward her. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "Remember, I work at a nightclub?"

He nodded slowly, unsure where she was going with this.

"Once in a while," she continued, "these men—the mafia guys—they book the VIP section. They drink, they talk business, and sometimes…" She trailed off, looking away briefly. "Sometimes, they get comfortable."

Andrew stared at her, his stomach sinking. "Antonia—"

"There was one," she interrupted. "One I… had something with."

His throat went dry. "What?"

Antonia lifted a hand. "It wasn't serious. It wasn't even much. But he—" She sighed. "He always told me that if I ever needed a favor, I knew where to find him."

Andrew didn't like where this was going.

"And you think he knows where Ramona is?"

"If anyone does, it's him."

Andrew exhaled, his mind racing.

Everything about this felt dangerous. Desperate.

But they were out of options.

And Antonia knew it.

She met his gaze, her voice steady.

"I think it's time to cash in that favor."

Andrew swallowed hard.

Because for the first time since this nightmare started…

It felt like they were about to walk into something even worse.