She hadn’t just been startled and calmly walked out at gunpoint. She hadn’t been ambushed and drugged to be carted off quietly. She’d been attacked. Someone had gone out of theirway not just to abduct her from the home she had been promised was safe, but to scare the hell out of her—to give her a brand-new trauma.
So why the fuck was he standing around?
“Boss. Luca’s awake.”
Santino flexed his fists at his sides. That was why. Because he needed to hear Luca’s recounting, and the useless shit had been too out of it when they’d arrived. Santino had had no choice but to call in emergency medical. He wasn’t letting Luca, or anyone else, leave until he was sure where every damn one of them stood.
He followed Armando back down the stairs and into the comparatively quieter room they were using as improvised triage. Most of the late-night staff insisted they hadn’t even known there was a problem—that they thought Reiko had gone up to bed—until Luca had rushed through shouting about an intruder. So, most of them were being sequestered in another space, under guard but alone. Their stories were too similar to ignore.
Luca had the answers. Or the best answers Santino could hope for.
The doctor met him in the hall outside Luca’s temporary recovery suite, a bag on his shoulder and furrow to his brow.
Santino slipped his hands into his pockets. “What do I need to know?”
Dr. Ivers kept his voice equally hushed. “He might have a sprained wrist, however, most of his wounds are superficial.” He made a vague, mimed scratching motion. “Not dissimilar to claw marks, or cat scratches. They bleed and sting for a minute, but nothing will scar. Technically, there is risk of infection, so I left the usual antibiotic on the nightstand for him. He’s got a bump on the head, but nothing serious.” Ivers tucked his hands awayas his brow furrowed more. “But that gunshot wound to the leg … I gotta be honest, Guerra. It’s suspect.”
Santino kept his jaw locked tight for five long seconds. This was not the time to be losing his head. “Suspect how?”
Ivers cut a narrow-eyed glare toward the closed door just beyond where they stood before answering. “I don’t have the equipment to perform a residue test here, and probably he’s got a story to explain any findings on his hands, regardless. But some things you learn to see with your eyes over time.” Ivers shook his head. “Denim burns a particular way when you hold a gun up against it and pull the trigger. More than that, it leaves specific trails in the skin underneath, like flash-tattooing.”
“Are you saying Luca shot himself?”
“I’m saying the gun that shot Luca was up tight to his leg.” Ivers moved his right hand into position, like a gun, and pressed his extended fingers into his own thigh. “And from the angle of the bullet’s trajectory, it was about held like this. So, if itwasn’tLuca, the shooter was pretty up in his space.”
Santino ground his teeth until he just about saw stars. “You’ve been around the block, Ivers. If you had to lobby a guess, where would you put your money?”
Ivers sighed. “No one else saw or heard anything, but somehow Luca got into a big, knock-down fight. A fight that left him with a plethora of nothing and somehow resulted in him becoming delirious. I wouldn’t trust it, if I were in your shoes.”
Santino clapped a hand on Ivers’s shoulder. “Appreciate the house call, Doc. You’ll have your payment tomorrow, like always. But for now, you might wanna find your way home. What happens next is beyond your purview.”
Ivers gave a curt nod.
Santino stepped up to the door that barred him from Luca, rolled his neck side-to-side, and walked in.
Luca was reclined in the bed, propped up by several pillows, Band-Aids on his face and arms. His left leg was propped up on yet more pillows, his pants cut high enough to turn them into a half-pair of booty shorts. His eyes were clearer than they’d been the last time Santino had seen him. Calmer. His head was downcast and his fists curled in his lap as if he were frustrated. “Boss,” he said, his voice cracking, “I’m fucking sorry. I don’t— I don’t have an excuse.”
Uh-huh.Santino dropped onto the footstool he assumed Ivers had been using previously, since it was still closest to the bedside. “No one else has a goddamn clue what happened,” he said. “I need it from you, Luca. How did you get shot and where thehellis my fiancée?”
Luca heaved a breath, his jaw jumped, and he spoke in a low and steady voice. “It had been quiet, so I made the assumption the upper level was secure. And maybe half an hour after she turned in, I thought I heard something while patrolling past a stairwell. So, I ran up to take a look, and next thing I’m seeing a body that’s too”—he gestured like a fucking mushroom—“bigup-top to be a regular body, and I justknew. So, I chased. They took the northside exit out of the house, I caught up to them in time to see Miss Reiko go into the trunk, and I tackled the fucker. I didn’t wanna turn it into a shootout and risk a bullet going too wide, not with her so close. We wrestled in the fucking bark next to the driveway, the bastard pulled a knife, and by the time I got that out of the way I see he’s got a partner coming out of the car with a gun on me. The one who grabbed her jumps off, sprinting for the car, and as soon as I’m on my feet, the other guy pulls the trigger. I don’t know if his aim fucking sucks, or if he can’t see in the dark, or maybe they wanted me alive to tell you all this.” Luca paused, swallowing hard as if to restabilize himself before wrapping up. “I just know I went down, they peeled out, and it was all I could do to raise the alarm so someone would signalyou.” His shoulders sank with a deflated exhale. “I’msofucking sorry, Boss! I don’t know how they got in, but—”
“Yeah,” Santino said, cutting off the rest of Luca’s bullshit. “We both know that’s not how it happened.” Santino stood, put one knee on the bed, and pressed his still-bloodied knuckles into Luca’s collar until Luca was forced as far backward as he could go.
Luca’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring.
“Youfucking hurt her,” Santino growled. “And maybe you had a conspirator to drive her off-property, but you know what else I know forgoddamncertain?” He didn’t wait for Luca to respond. “I know you weren’t shot by some asshole with perfect opportunity and shit aim.Youshot you, Luca. And don’t think that hole in your leg will spare you now.”
Fear flared in Luca’s eyes and the color drained from his face. “No, Boss, I didn’t—”
Santino latched on to Luca’s wrapped wrist and twisted the wrong way. “Where is she, Luca?” He maneuvered himself until he was straddling Luca’s imbalanced legs, his ass resting on Luca’s left knee, and leaned forward. He wanted Luca to see the fury in his eyes, and he wanted to feel every tremor of terror. “Where. Is. My. Reiko?”
Luca grunted, his body tense as he fought his natural need to squirm and retreat from the pain. But there would be no retreat. “I-I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know!”
“Not good enough.” Santino released Luca’s fully broken wrist, reached between them, and tore at the wrapping around Luca’s leg.
“No,” Luca panted, finally squirming. “No, wait, Boss, please—”
Ivers had stitched the wound itself, of course, so there wasn’t an actual hole hiding beneath all the gauze. But that was of little concern.
