Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Saverio
* * *
The pain in my leg is relentless. It’s the only reason I take the glass of choice brandy that Nicole offers me. I’m about to lift it to my lips when one of the caterers I saw in the kitchen sprints into the tent with a wild look on her face. She skids to a halt in the entrance and scans the crowd with a frantic expression.
I only have to take one look at her owl-sized eyes to know something happened. I’m on my feet in a flash, the glass in my hand forgotten. It slips through my fingers, brandy sloshing over the rim. I catch it in reflex before it hits the floor, my gaze connecting with Dante’s where he’s chatting on the other side of the gazebo to one of the guests.
Like me, he’s already assessed the situation. Face drawn and muscles tense, he makes his way over to the woman. I’m slower in getting there. My limp delays me, but I miss nothing, not the panic in the woman’s body language as she gestures with her hands or the alarm in Dante’s eyes when I reach them.
We stare at each other for no longer than a millisecond, frozen in the way people are just before one of them delivers bad news, but it’s enough to tell me whatever is wrong is major.
The woman runs away without repeating her message.
Dante doesn’t make me wait. He gives it to me straight. “Claire is gone.”
Every one of those three little words slams into my chest like a ten-pound hammer.
No.
Impossible.
Someone misunderstood. Rosemary is walking her through the house because she woke up crying and wouldn’t go back to sleep. Yet even as my brain tells me there’s been a mistake, I act on instinct. Years of practice battle-hardened me enough to function like a soldier despite the shock blasting through me.
“Lock down the house,” I say under my breath as Dante and I hurry to the nearest door, which gives access to the kitchen. “Seal off the property. No one is allowed to leave.”
He hurries ahead to execute the order while I make my way inside as fast as my cursed limp allows. It’s only when I grip the door frame with both hands to lift myself up the step that I realize I didn’t take the cane. I don’t feel the pain. Adrenaline fuels my steps, killing the physical discomfort while fanning the flames of the fear that burns through me.
The staff stand at their makeshift workstations, looking scared and confused. I don’t make it to the hallway before a chilling scream pierces the space. The sound of that voice drives me harder. It’s a voice I know well, the voice of the woman I love, and it eats into my gut like acid.
Guards file through the front door as I take the stairs. I don’t stop to address them. Dante knows how this works. He would’ve told them to search every nook and cranny. Another team of armed men would’ve been dispatched to keep the guests from leaving the tent. Bathroom doors will be kicked open and every bed turned over. No one will be allowed to hide.
When I make it to the reading nook, Anya is gripping Rosemary’s shoulders, shaking her.
“Tell me,” Anya screams. “Tell me where she is!”
Rosemary’s head lolls to the side, her body like a rag doll under Anya’s assault.
“Anya.” I fasten my fingers around her arms and pull her off the woman. “She’s unconscious.”
“Tell me,” she yells again, fighting me like a wildcat.
I capture her between my arms, pinning her back against my chest. “She can’t answer you.”
She kicks and flails her arms, trying to push me away. “I want my baby!”
“Stop it,” I say, lifting her off her feet. “Calm down.”
My harsh tone has the desired effect. She stills, going limp in my hold.
Her heartbeat pounds against my chest, mirroring the wild galloping of my own.
Despite the anguish, I keep my voice even. “You’ll hurt yourself. I know what I ask is difficult, but you have to keep your head, tesoro.”
“She’s gone,” she says with a sob. “Gone.”
The sorrow and devastation in those words slice right through me. I turn her to face me, murder already coursing through my veins. “We’ll find her.”
Anya collapses in my arms, her knees giving out. “Sav.”
My name is a cry for help on her lips, a sound of agony that cuts me to the bone.
I press a kiss on the crown of her head, swallowing down my volatile emotions in lieu of rationality because getting our daughter back depends on my ability to think with a clear head. “We’ll find her. I promise you that.”
Nicole comes running with Livy on her heels. “What’s going on?”
Anya pushes away from me, trying to stand, but her knees wobble again. She stabs her fingers through her hair and looks at her friends with ghost-white, tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s gone. Someone took Claire.”