Page 83 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Eighty-Two

Luca

W e arrive at the Marcos estate forty minutes later, the sun high enough to bleach the stone walls in a hard white glow.

The gates open on command, wrought iron sliding back to reveal a stretch of pristine driveway. The grounds are manicured to perfection, hedges clipped into neat lines, fountains glittering in the late-morning light.

Guards stand at intervals along the path, their dark suits making no attempt at subtlety. Every move here is about presence, about reminding you whose territory we’ve stepped into and who calls the shots.

Inside, the temperature drops. Marble floors echo with our footsteps, the cool air carrying the faint scent of polish and money.

Aldo leads us into a conference room. A few men, capos I suspect, are already waiting. I ignore them.

A long, glossy table dominates the space, flanked by leather chairs. Along one wall, screens flicker with surveillance feeds, street grids, and compound schematics.

Maximo keeps us waiting. Deliberately.

Control the timing, control the room .

When he finally steps in, the silence tightens, every man in here straightening as if gravity just shifted.

Maximo’s posture is relaxed, but his expression is unreadable. There’s a glint in his eye, and I’d bet he enjoys a challenge as much as I do.

Maybe it’s the situation, but I suspect it’s Mia, with the carrot of her compliance dangling right in front of him.

He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. Turning to one of his men, he says, “I want eyes on every access point surrounding Carter Hale’s compound. Let’s get this done.”

His tone is smooth, but the steel underneath is clear. He’s motivated. Too motivated.

The man nods and disappears to make the necessary arrangements.

Maximo takes the head of the table, his gaze locking with mine as I take a seat beside him.

“What evidence do you have that Hale brought Isabella to his estate?”

I pull the satellite phone from my jeans pocket and flip it open, the screen casting a faint glow as I refresh the tracking app. I rotate it toward him, showing the unmoving red dot and the coordinates.

“A tracker?” His brow lifts. “Hale would have scanned her. He would not have relied on eyesight alone. He’s too calculating. For all we know, he removed it and left it at his estate to make you think Isabella is there while he moved her somewhere else.”

“Possible,” I allow, “but I doubt it. The tracker is ultra-small, implanted beneath Isa’s hairline, and smaller than a grain of rice.

Non-metallic. Body-temp activated. It sends a ping only when I call for it, so it doesn’t emit any signals the rest of the time.

A scanner wouldn’t have found it unless it was triggered at that exact instant. ”

“Isabella’s body language might have given it away when they searched her,” he suggests.

“She isn’t aware of it,” I say flatly, remembering I was about to tell her when the shit with Hale went down.

Maximo chuckles, tapping his index finger against his mouth like the thought pleases him.

I file the reaction away, along with the reminder that when the day comes that Mia decides she wants to vanish, I’ll have to check her for trackers. At least I’ll know what to scan for.

“So let’s assume Isabella is at Hale’s estate. We’ll still need confirmation.”

“I need access to your hacker team and their equipment. I’m sure I can find a crack in his security. Nothing is ever perfect. If I can access his cameras, I’ll get a visual of her.”

My hand tightens around the phone, longing to see my farfalla. I need to know she’s okay.

Hale better be treating her right. If I find her chained in some basement, drugged, or broken, I’ll make his death slow and torturous.

Still, I doubt he’ll go that route. Physical abuse isn’t his weapon of choice. Psychological manipulation is. Breaking her from the inside, turning her against herself, against me… that’s his style.

But Isa is smart. She’ll see through him. She’ll fight him in every way she can, and I hold on to that with everything I’ve got.

“Okay. Uberto and his team will be at your disposal.” Maximo cuts through the fury still burning in my veins.

“Uberto?” I still. “What is la famiglia’s top hacker doing in Chicago?”

Maximo leans back, pleased with my stunned reaction. “He approached me three weeks ago. Said he wasn’t happy in Sicily anymore under Niccolo Romero. Can’t blame him. The boy comes from scum.”

The Romeros. Arch-enemies of the Marcos family. Much like Molinaro was for the De Marcos in Sicily. Blood feuds don’t fade; they only trade names.

“I was happy to snatch Uberto up,” Maximo goes on, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “He’s one of the best.”

I can’t argue with that.

Uberto trained me, sharpened my instincts when I was still rough. He taught me how to see angles no one else noticed, how to bend the digital world until it gave me what I wanted.

But that was a long time ago.

I’ve preferred working alone ever since. Marlo might filter my jobs, but I do them alone. No one to slow me down or question my methods. No one to betray me.

I trust my own code, my own judgment. I don’t have to second-guess whether someone else will get careless or crack under pressure.

Partnerships can be useful, but they come with chains. And I don’t wear them anymore.

Though the fact that Uberto is here changes the equation. He knows how I think, knows my strengths. He was the closest thing I had to an ally once, but alliances are dangerous things. They give people leverage.

I’ll use his skills; I’d be stupid not to. But in the end, I’ll be the one who brings Isa home.