Giovanni follows me out to the garage, pulling out his gun to make sure it’s loaded. “What’s the plan?”
“Find Andretti,” I growl. “Kill him.”
“And kill Marcello?” Giovanni asks, as if that needs to be said.
I have a brief moment of clarity when I realize that we probably shouldn’t be saying these things out loud where anyone could hear, but the damage is done.
“Let me at least get some other men,” Giovanni says.
“All right,” I allow. He’s right. We need a show of force. I don’t want to run off half-cocked and get myself into an even worse situation. Marlena may be missing, but I’m not going to find her by losing my head.
As I’m waiting for Giovanni to return, I try to look at the problem with a more levelheaded approach. At this point, we are almost positive that Marcello is working for Andretti, and I know where Andretti lives. But that doesn’t mean that Marlena will be there. In fact, I would be surprised if Andretti took either of the two hostages to his home.
I’ve only got one shot at this. Even if I kill Andretti and all his men, that won’t help me find my wife. I have to be rational. I have to figure out where he’s taken her and show up there. Rescuing Marlena and Frankie is the primary concern; getting revenge is a distant second.
I glance around my garage and see that Marcello’s car is still here. Storming over to the guard tower, I shout at the guard.
“Did you see Marcello leaving?” I demand.
“Yes, sir,” the man answers, surprised at my tone. “Just fifteen minutes ago. I think Frankie was with him.”
“Son of a bitch,” I curse. “Was he driving one of my cars?”
“Yes, sir,” the guard confirms.
This is good. He probably thought he could piss me over even more by taking one of my cars when he has no idea of the surprise waiting for him. All my cars have GPS. I can track them from my office. I run back inside, bumping into Giovanni as he rallies the troops. Luca is there, concern painted across his face.
“What’s going on?” Luca demands.
“Later,” I snap. I don’t have time to explain.
Both Luca and Giovanni follow me back to my office. I sit down and open my laptop, cursing the seconds that it takes for the computer to boot up. When I’m finally able to access my home security system, I click over to the vehicles page. Every car is accounted for except the one that Marcello took.
Giovanni looks over my shoulder, intrigued. “Can you find it?” he asks.
The bright red dot is sitting right on top of one of Carlo Andretti’s bars. Got him.
“Let’s go,” I say, rising to my feet. I know exactly where that bar is, and I don’t need directions. I burst out the front door, flanked by a dozen men. We get into three different cars. I’m driving this time; I don’t want to wait for the limo.
On the way, I pull out my phone. There’s only one person I want to talk to at that particular moment, and it’s not Marcello. I have to track down Andretti’s current phone number, but it doesn’ttake me very long. The problem with having a high profile is that a lot of people have your number. Even those of us running criminal organizations need to be found. It’s that fatal flaw that allows me to contact my enemy while I’m on my way to his front door.
“Carlo,” I shout as soon as he picks up the phone.
“Francisco,” he responds, the joy in his voice making my teeth ache.
“I know you’ve got her,” I growl, pushing the pedal all the way down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andretti lies.
I narrow my eyes, pulling a hard right out of the gate. This game is far from over. I don’t care if Andretti knows I’m coming. In fact, that will make his punishment all the more effective.
CHAPTER 39
MARLENA
I’m not sure whether the fact that I can see where we’re going is a good thing or not. Half of my brain is trying to memorize all the turns Marcello’s taking, while the other half is screaming at me to wake up. He didn’t blindfold us, which means we’re probably not getting out of this alive. He doesn’t care what we know because we’re going to take it to our graves.
I can feel the panic welling up inside me. It tastes like bile, and it’s hurting my stomach. Frankie seems completely composed. I wonder how in the hell he can be so zen at a time like this, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. Our mouths aren’t taped either. Apparently, Marcello doesn’t care if we scream. I might try to call attention to myself, but something about the way Frankie’s handling this shuts me up.
