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I turn to Dutch. “Show him.”
Dutch walks over to him and shows him the live feed of his daughter riding in the back of a car. Enzo’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, and he strains against the steel cuffs. “Fiorella?” he cries before turning to me with desperate fear and urgency. “Please. Please, let her go. Please. I beg of you.”
I shrug carelessly. “Her life is in your hands.”
Sweat pours off him and his eyes plead with me. “You’ve walked away from this life and everyone knows you’ve gone legit. You don’t need to do this. You are a respectable businessman now. Please, Don Barone. You are a good man.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to go legit, but every fucking time I try to walk away, you and your low IQfamiliajust drag me back into this rotting pit with you. Are you ready to answer my question or is your widow going to attend her daughter’s funeral?”
“Please,” he cries desperately. “It’s not much, but I’ll tell you everything I know. All I know is before your wife’s father died, he tried to sell the land to Sal. They were negotiating the price when he died suddenly. Sal wants the land. One way or another.”
Suddenly everything made sense. Francesca’s father was a bigger scumbag than I had thought.
“It’s not just Sal. Vinny too.”
“Big Vinny?”
He nods.
So they are working together. I should have known Sal wouldn’t have had the finance or the smarts to handle such a big project on his own. I look at Enzo without interest. “As far as I’m concerned you were never here.”
He stares at me with a mixture of astonishment and disbelief, then violently shakes his head. “I was never here. I was never here,” he repeats frantically.
I nod.
“Thank you. Thank you,” he says, his voice shaking with relief.
“Release him,” I say and turn away.
“What about my daughter?” he asks Dutch anxiously.
“She’s probably been dropped off at her ballet class by now,” Dutch answers emotionlessly.
As I walk away, thoughts of Francesca immediately crowd into my head. What could the problem be? She is a willful little spitfire and would not have called me unless she had no choice. Something had to have happened.
I tear down the road, eager to get home and be certain that she’s alright. I’m not worried about her safety because there is a team of men keeping watch over her that she knows nothing about. What I’m concerned about is what could have happened when she went to see her mother. Did Franco tell her something?
I’ll have his head if he did. I swear it.
I meet Francesca in the foyer thirty minutes later, and the desire to pull her into my arms is so strong I have to clench my fists. She looks breathtaking in a white pleated dress. A black belt accentuates her tiny waist. Instead of complimenting her on her beauty, I school my expression into indifference as I approach her and I remind myself that I’m still mad at her.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” She nods meekly, and that immediately makes me suspicious. My little pearl is far from weak and submissive. She’s a spitfire who is not even afraid of me. Her soft gaze roams my face and I wish she would stop because those big blue eyes are practically begging me to ravish her.
“Valentino…” She sighs. “Can we please sit?”
I move towards one of the chairs, as far away from her as possible, and to my surprise, she daintily sinks into the one closest to me and smiles prettily at me.
I take a deep steadying breath. “I’m busy, Francesca. What don't you want?”
She winces at my tone. “I’d like you to tell me about Nina.”
What the fuck? She called me here for this shit. I frown. “Why?”
“Because I’m your wife and I deserve the truth.”
“Isn’t it a little too late for that?” I ask, pride swirling in my belly. I’ve been stabbed, shot, and tortured, but somehow, one wrong look from her can hurt more.