“You got it, boss,” he says, sounding panicked, before the line goes dead.
I swear and call Scorpion next.
He answers on the third ring.
“What’s up?”
“Bomb,” I bite out. “Sergio’s.”
“Christ.”
“Courtesy of your Russian friends. About to go off in less than four minutes. I called over there and told them to evacuate.”
“Fuck. I’m headed that way now.”
“Be smart and be safe.”
I end the call and then turn back to Isla, who’s still wide-eyed and naked, handcuffed to my bed. Sheer rage rockets through me again.
How dare they fucking do this to her?
“I’ll get you out of those cuffs. Hold tight.”
I backtrack through my place, pistol drawn in case I get any more unwelcome surprises today. In my office, I find what I’m looking for in my desk drawer—a paper clip. Taking it out, I start to unbend it into a makeshift tool as I rush back to my bedroom.
“Where’s Cid? Did the Russian do something to him?”
Typical. Thinking of everyone before herself. Even the cat. My only thoughts were for Isla. I rushed into the apartment, forgetting about everything else.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly, bending over the handcuffs so I can pick the lock with my paper clip.
Luckily for her, this isn’t my first rodeo.
“What are you doing? You have to look for him.”
“I’m opening these handcuffs,” I tell her, frowning as I concentrate.
“Look for Cid first,” she demands. “Then worry about me.”
I ignore her because Cid can wait. I didn’t see any signs that anything happened to him, and he’s probably hiding under a chair or a bed.
“Alessio, I mean it. If something happened to Cid…”
I feel the familiar give as I open the cuffs. “Got it. Now get some clothes on,tesoro. I’ll go look for the cat.”
She rubs her wrist, drawing my attention to the red mark marring her skin from the way she was thrashing to escape. “Thank you.”
A cauldron of rage seethes inside me, bubbling and boiling. Those fucking bastards.
“Don’t thank me,” I grind out past the fury. “This is where you were supposed to be safe. I brought you here, and now look at what’s happened.”
As incensed as I am with the Bratva men responsible for what happened to Isla and for the bomb they planted at ourrestaurant, I’m every bit as angry with myself for this shit happening on my watch.
“This isn’t your fault,” she tells me.
“Yes, it fucking is,” I snap. “Look, just get dressed.”
Any other time, I’d be only too happy she was naked. But I can’t bear to see her in this state, knowing how vulnerable she was.
