Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
My phone rings. It’s the guard from Bonifacio.
“Did you get the guy?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. He confessed. Marziale sent him to deal with the Remingtons.”
My command is clipped. “Get rid of him. Dump the body in the sea.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turn toward the SUV. My uncle looks at me through the open window. They moved him from the 4x4 to accommodate the kids. He stares at me with a mixture of dread and acceptance as I approach.
Fuck. I need a fag. A joint.
“Angelo,” he says before I reach the car. “You got them back. I know what has to happen. I’m not trying to dodge my fate. All I ask is that you spare Gianni.”
I don’t answer because it’s not a promise I can make.
“I beg you,” he says. “If we ever meant anything to you as family—”
The ringtone of my phone cuts him short. Taking the phone from my pocket, I check the screen, expecting it to be Sabella. It’s an unlisted number. I never take unlisted numbers, but given the circumstances, I swipe the screen. My gut tightens as I lift the phone to my ear. If it’s that motherfucker Marziale, I’ll tell him in detail how his very short future is about to play out.
“Mr. Russo?” a female voice says. “Mr. Angelo Russo?”
My tone is brusque. “That’s me.”
Hers is apologetic. No, sympathetic. “This is Dr. Casanova. I’m calling from the Saint Julia Hospital. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
I grip the phone hard. “My driver? Waldo Torre?”
“What? Mr. Russo, can you hear me?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m calling about your wife.”
Everything inside me goes still. The environment disappears. The night turns colorless. I don’t feel the cold. I don’t smell the crispness of the air or taste the dust that crunches under my teeth. My senses shut down.
I saw her. She’s in the shower. She has to be.
“Your wife,” she says again, gentler this time. “Sabella Russo.”
My words are harsh for no reason. I don’t have control over my voice. “What about her?”
“She’s been admitted with us.”
My brain refuses to make sense of what she’s saying. “Admitted?”
“Mr. Russo,” she starts in that way people do when they’re about to give you bad news. “There’s been an incident. I’m so sorry.” A hesitant pause follows. “Your wife was assaulted.”
Assaulted.
Assaulted.
The world tilts.
“Mr. Russo?”
I speak, but it feels as if the question comes from someone else. “What did you say?”
“Can you come down to the hospital?”
Assaulted.
My wife.
My Sabella.
Understanding hits me like an axe splitting my skull.
The cameras. The phones. They overrode them.
Kidnapping the kids was a decoy. It was nothing but a clever ploy to lure me and my men away from the house.
The real target was Sabella.
The brutality of that cold, hard truth steals my breath. Hitting me where I feel it the hardest turns out to be not the kids after all. And it’s far more effective than a bullet.
I can’t. I can’t fail her. I couldn’t have. I can handle anything but not that.
“Mr. Russo?”
Autopilot kicks in. My functions are mechanical. I ask what needs to be asked like a robot. “How bad?”
“I’m afraid it’s serious. She’s in a coma.”
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Angelo
* * *
The doctor’s words ring in my ears.
Ice fills my veins.
I call Gianni again and get the same response. Network error. I check my messages to verify his activity. He sent his last report a few hours ago.
I dial the call-in number.
A voice replies, “Everything clear. Over and out.”
“State your time,” I order.
Click.
The line is dead.
It’s a pre-recording. They jammed our system. Gianni or my uncles must’ve leaked the numbers. Toma and Nico had keys for the house. They could’ve messed with the camera feed while Sabella was out on a walk. Then again, anyone with access to the password could’ve done it remotely. But I’m the only one who knows the password, which leaves me with the first option.
My hands shake as I dial the guard in charge at the old house again. “Turn around. Take six men with you to the hospital in the village. My wife has been admitted. Guard her room. No one comes near her except the doctors. Even then, go in with them. Make sure nothing happens to her. The rest of the men stay at the house. The kids will be home soon.”
“Your wife? At the hospital?”
“Just do it,” I say through gritted teeth. “And tell the men to get ready for war.”
“Yes, sir.”
I walk on wooden legs to the 4x4 and open the passenger door in the front.
Fuck.
What do I tell the kids who’ve just been through a traumatic experience? How can I deal them another blow when the horror of tonight is still fresh in their young, vulnerable minds? How do I say those words out loud without going to pieces?
I rack my brain for an excuse, but no. I made a vow not to betray their trust. This isn’t a lie I can sweep under the carpet and hope they don’t notice.