Dominic
“You have reached the voicemail—”
Throwing my phone on the desk, I walked back and forth in the bar of headquarters, wondering where the fuck my woman and men were. The last time they were seen was at the airport, picking up Ciara three hours ago. Even with heavy traffic, it shouldn't have taken them this long to reach their destination.
Something was wrong.
Vitya rushed inside with his phone close to his ear as I sent my byki to search for them and called up the entire Bratva so they could locate my woman. No way in fuck did I think it was too much under these circumstances. “Anything?”
“Nothing beside the fact they never made it to Moscow. No camera showed the car. They went missing somewhere between the airport and the bridge.”
“Fuck!” Hitting the bar stand, the glass shattered around me in tiny little pieces as the worst-cases scenarios played in my mind. Why the fuck didn't she listen to me? I told her it was dangerous, and she must have changed the route; nothing else explained it. I dialed Vito’s number, and he picked up on the second ring. “Dominic, this is—”
“Fucking shut up!” I growled. “Is Lucas in Italy?”
A long pause then. “Of course, in the basement.”
“Are you a hundred percent sure?”
“Fuck you, Pakhan. I’m the best at my job. One little rat doesn't define my mafia house.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I decided to share my worries. “Rosa and Ciara went missing.”
His reaction was real quick. “What?”
“So how certain are you they are safe?” I growled.
“Dom, it couldn't have been anyone else.”
Except the gut feeling that nudged my mind kept telling me I missed something.
The doors to the headquarters burst open as Melissa rushed inside, with Connor and Damian hot on her heels. Yuri got up quickly, but she ignored his ass. Guess she had no sentiments toward him either. “Dominic.” The way she said my name, I understood something went terribly wrong.
So I focused my attention on the one person who would not lie to me and would give it to me straight.
Damian, my twin.
Anguished amber eyes clashed with mine, as he said, “We have a problem, brother. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
Swallowing the bile in my throat, I reined in the beast inside me, keeping a cool head, and asked, “Plan?”
“We have one,” Connor replied, and I chuckled, even though it lacked any humor.
I barely held onto my tentative control, because it wouldn't do any good for Rosa. “Like the last time?” Their plans never worked out, and everyone involved became collateral damage.
“Last time, you didn't have me.” The voice from the doorway surprised me, as Oliver walked in as if he owned the place—wearing black cargo pants and a sweater with a bulletproof vest, holding a gun. “I suggest you listen to us and do exactly as we say. You did good eliminating everyone else in the past. Trust us this time.” The man resembled nothing of the lovesick dreamer I’d met in Italy, and I had no fucking time to dwell on his undercover work.
“She was a job?”
He nodded. “Angelica was.”
“To get Vito?”
“No.”
“Then who?” Who possibly went undercover but not to target a mafia boss?
“Ercole. He ran a child prostitution ring in France, took after his brother.” As in Ciara and Angelica’s father? “He specialized in little girls with dark hair and olive skin. Remind you of anyone?”
