Page 31

P iotr

W hen I was a child, my uncle Boris disappeared for three days, taken prisoner by the Irish mafia.

My grandmother did her best to assure me that everything would be alright, but even then, long before I was inducted into the Bratva, I knew what my family’s enemies were capable of.

I’d seen evidence of the pain they could inflict.

Thinking of what my uncle might be going through had driven me mad.

To this day, I remember the fear and helplessness I’d experienced.

My uncle was safely returned to us and I vowed never to allow myself to sink into such despair again.

Today, I’m breaking that promise. The dread I feel at the thought of what Olivia is going through is almost too much to bear.

It’s been six long hours since Antonio Volante banged on the door of the honeymoon suite to tell me his brother and my wife were missing. As we drove here to the office in his home, he relayed the details of her phone call to him. He’d heard the crash, her screams, then silence.

We’ve pooled our considerable resources to search for Leo and my wife, but we’re still no closer to bringing them home safely. We have no idea who took them, whether this was an attack against the Volantes, or me. Perhaps we were both targets. We have several enemies in common.

Our phones ping constantly with messages from our men, letting us know they’ve hit dead ends or are pursuing new leads.

Olivia’s brother, Matteo, has been out with Jimmy, hunting for Dario Maroni.

My gut tells me he has something to do with this.

It’s too much of a coincidence that he turned up at the hotel tonight before my wife went missing.

Dante Parisi is helping my right-hand man, Josef, to scour through footage from security cameras around the site where Leo’s car was found wrecked.

There wasn’t a camera at the scene, but they picked up two black Mercedes SUVs and a gray truck following Leo and Olivia along another street.

They haven’t found any decent images of the men involved yet.

The vehicles were last caught on camera heading for the George Washington Bridge, so we have men out kicking down doors in New Jersey, looking for anyone who knows something about the abduction.

Alessandro Volante has been tasked with the job I would want the least. Along with my uncle Boris, he’s ensuring the safety of the women of the family.

Apart from Antonio’s wife, Isabella, who insisted on staying here, the women have been taken to a secure location just outside of the city.

The last thing we need is another kidnapping.

I can only imagine how high emotions are running at the safehouse. Vinnie Volante is no doubt distraught that her husband is missing. I’m barely holding on myself. It’s the lack of progress that gets to me the most. Everything that can be done is being done, but we’re getting nowhere.

When I get my hands on whoever took Olivia, I will kill them in the most brutal way imaginable.

I’ll take my time to flay the skin from their bones.

They’ll pay in blood for the terror that grips me at the thought of losing my wife.

Anyone who so much as touches her will suffer a slow, agonizing death.

If Olivia comes out of this alive, I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for the way I treated her last night.

When I saw her with that sukin sym , I lost all sense of reason.

I should have given her a chance to explain why she rushed out of the party to speak to him.

Instead, I used her mercilessly and threw my possession of the photographs in her face.

Needing fresh air, I slip out through the French doors onto the terrace at the back of Antonio’s house.

As I stare into the darkness, I fight back tears.

I haven’t cried since I was a boy, but tonight I may succumb.

If I don’t get the chance to kneel before Olivia and beg her to forgive me, I may never recover.

“Regret is a waste of time.” A soft voice startles me as Isabella Volante joins me on the terrace. Her footsteps are so light, I didn’t hear her coming.

“I feel it anyway.”

She comes to stand beside me at the wooden railing. “Antonio told me what you and Livvy fought about.”

When Antonio asked me why his sister was with Leo and not safe with me, I spilled the entire story.

I admitted everything, right down to the shameful way I revealed I had the photographs.

Antonio looked as if he wanted to kill me and, in that moment, my self-loathing was so great I’d have let him.

Then he shrugged off his anger, telling me it was between me and my wife.

Clearly he didn’t mean that since he shared my private business with Isabella and fuck knows who else.

“Do you think Dario Maroni is the man in the photos?” she asks.

Though I still don’t have proof, I think it’s likely that the photos connect him and Olivia. I no longer believe she’s seeing him behind my back. I’ve replayed their encounters in my mind and realized something. She isn’t comfortable in Maroni’s presence. He makes her skin crawl.

“Antonio shouldn’t have told you about the photos.”

“I already knew about them.” Isabella smiles ruefully. “Olivia came to me when Joey Gallo tried to blackmail her into spying on her brothers. I did what I could to help, but ended up making a huge mess of things.”

This isn’t a story I’ve heard before. “How?”

“I let Joey and Vito into the house, thinking they just wanted to talk to Antonio.” She grimaces as I arch an eyebrow at her. “I know. It was stupid, but sometimes when we’re trying to help someone we care about, we don’t think things through.”

I nod in understanding, though I doubt I would ever be so na?ve. “What happened?”

“There was a fight. Antonio got shot, and I got sent away.”

That explains the year she was missing from her husband’s side. “But you and Antonio are together again.”

“Yes, we made up. It helped that Olivia told him the truth.”

“Ah.” Things are becoming clearer now. “That’s why he sent her to Italy.”

“Yes.”

“She should have told me all this,” I mutter, more to myself than to Isabella.

“Perhaps she was afraid you’d think less of her.” Isabella sighs heavily. “She’s a puzzle, that girl. So tough, so confident, yet so fragile.”

My wife is a contradiction, but I suspect given the right encouragement, she’ll triumph over her insecurities. She was already well on her way to proving herself a worthy partner for me.

“You think she’ll forgive me?”

Isabella nods. “She will, and she won’t force you to grovel half as hard as you should. She’s too generous to make you suffer.”

“I’ll grovel as much or as little as she wants. I just want her back safely.”

“Leo will protect her.”

I don’t frighten Isabella by telling her I doubt he’s in any condition to look out for Olivia.

Whoever has them will waste no time in making sure he’s in no fit state to fight.

The blood on the driver’s side of the car suggests he was already injured.

Leo’s a beast of a man, but he’s still human.

Subjected to enough brutality, his body will break.

I try to summon words of reassurance for Isabella, but I draw a blank. Thankfully, I don’t have to fill the awkward silence that descends as a commotion from inside draws our attention. Holding a hand up to Isabella to signal that I should go first, I open the door and walk back into the study.

Matteo and Jimmy are dragging a bruised and bloodied Dario Maroni into the room.

His wrists are zip-tied and he has a gag stuffed in his mouth.

His eyes are swollen shut and his nose is broken.

They drop him onto a wooden chair in front of Antonio’s desk.

Isabella pushes past me and stares down at him with disdain.

“Is this Maroni?” She glances at Matteo for confirmation. He nods, and she snorts in disgust. “You’re getting blood on the carpet, asshole.”

“Isabella.” Antonio places a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs?”

“First, I want to know one thing.” She yanks the cloth gag out of his mouth and tosses it on the floor. “Was it you who took the photos of Olivia?”

Maroni says nothing, but he twists his bloodied lips into a smirk. Isabella draws back her hand and slaps him hard. Then she turns and strides from the room. She’s not a patch on my wife, but she’s still magnificent.

Jimmy grabs a handful of Maroni’s hair and pulls his head back. “Tell them what you told us.”

“It’s Leo she wants, and him.” He tips his head toward me. “And anyone else who was there the night her son was killed.”

“Whose son?” I demand. “Who are you talking about?”

“Zita.”

There’s only one woman I can think of with that name. I furrow my brow in confusion. “Zita Balogh?”

“Yeah.”

At Maroni’s confirmation, I exchange a look with Antonio and Matteo. They’re clearly as surprised as I am to hear she’s behind this. Her son was a small-time criminal. We didn’t expect there to be repercussions when we killed him.

“Who is she working with?”

When Maroni doesn’t answer, Matteo punches him, sending blood and saliva flying from his mouth.

“I don’t know anything.” Maroni coughs violently. “They’re from Europe.”

“Hungarians?” I muse, since that’s where Balogh was from.

Antonio nods. “Where did they take my brother and sister?”

“Don’t know.” Maroni’s answer is unconvincing, and from the expressions on the faces of the men around me, none of them believe it either. Antonio gives Matteo a nod. He takes a knife from his belt and rams it into Maroni’s shoulder. He screams like the pussy he is.

“Try again.” Antonio’s tone holds a menacing calm.

“Newark,” Maroni spits out. “Some warehouse near the airport.”

“Josef.” I look over to my Bratva brother, who’s already tapping away at the laptop. I turn back to Maroni. “What’s your part in all of this?”

“Joey paid me to get pictures of Liv. He gave them to Balogh to look after. When you killed him, Zita called me. I was supposed to bring Olivia to her. An eye for an eye and all that.”

The temptation to shoot this mudak in the head is almost overwhelming, but we may need more information from him.

“Get him out of here, but don’t end him yet.” Antonio clearly thinks the same as I do.

Jimmy hauls Maroni out of the room. I walk around the desk to where Josef is searching through property records.

“Here.” He taps the screen, which displays an image of a large industrial building. “Registered owner is an LLC owned by Katerina Balogh.”

“Katerina?” I ask.

“Yeah. Zita is a stage name. She used to be a cabaret singer.”

I clap Josef on the shoulder. I’m grateful to have someone who’s so adept at finding information on my side. “Send us the address.”

“Yes, boss.”

As Matteo and Antonio bark out orders to their men, I’m already heading out to one of the waiting SUVs. I’m going to bring my wife home and heaven help any man who stands in my way.