“Let go!” I shout, but the man just tightens his grip and shoves me toward the van’s gaping mouth.
My shin collides with the metal frame, pain shooting up my leg. I hit the van’s floor hard, palms scraping against rough metal. Before I can scramble back toward the door, Austin is thrown in after me. He lands against me with a sob, fists clutching my shirt so tight the fabric twists between his fingers.
Someone outside shouts, “Stop!” Our bodyguard’s voice, closer than I expected. A scuffle follows, the heavy thud of bodies colliding. Then the door slams shut, cutting it all off.
For a moment, we’re both just breathing hard in the darkness. Austin’s little chest heaves against mine, hitching sobs breaking through the silence. The smell of motor oil and something sour fills the cramped space.
“Mom?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“I’m here, baby.” I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m right here.”
The van lurches forward, and we slide across the metal floor until we hit the back wall. I brace myself against it and keep Austin tucked against me. The floor vibrates with the roar of the engine, each jolt slamming my spine into cold steel.
My mind races. Who would do this? Why? But underneath the fear, anger starts to build. We were supposed to be safe. Alessio promised we’d be safe.
“Mom?” Austin’s voice is small and shaky. “Are we going to be okay?”
The honest answer isI don’t know. But that’s not what he needs to hear right now.
“Your dad will find us,” I whisper, surprised by how much I believe it. “He’ll come for us.”
Austin nods against my shoulder, and I feel some of the tension leave his small body.
The van turns sharply, throwing us to one side. In the darkness, I try to think. Try to remember anything useful about where we were when they grabbed us, which direction we’re heading.
Whoever took us made a mistake taking both of us. Austin makes me vulnerable, yes, but he also makes me deadly.
Anyone who threatens my son learns that lesson exactly once.
34
ALESSIO
Joey’s fathersits three feet away, and he hasn’t said a word since he walked in. Hasn’t looked at me either, which is probably for the best.
He lights a cigarette with shaking hands, every drag sounding like judgment.
If our eyes met, he’d see the truth written all over my face: I killed your son. Not with my hands, but with my arrogance. With my brilliant fucking plan that got a twenty-two-year-old kid poisoned with the very drugs we still can’t trace.
He’s mafia through and through, three generations deep, so he won’t say it. Won’t even let it show on his face. We follow orders, we accept losses, we move forward. That’s the code. But behind those dead eyes, I know what he must be thinking. If it were Austin?—
I cut that thought off before it can take root.
“Nobody named Aron.” Luca’s voice cuts through my self-flagellation. “Not in any of the circles I’ve been running with.”
“Fuck.” Lorenzo’s palm hits his forehead, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Dario flanks his father’s right side. “That name was our only lead.”
The thought spreads through my veins like poison. Joey died for nothing. Not even a breadcrumb to follow.
“You haven’t gotten any closer to finding a dealer?” The frustration bleeds through my attempt at neutral.
Luca’s jaw tightens. “Don’t you think I would’ve mentioned it if I had?”
“Maybe we’re coming at this backwards,” Dario interjects, fingers drumming against the table. “Bottom-up isn’t working. What about top-down?”
Lorenzo’s eyebrows lift. “Meaning?”
“Go straight for whoever’s running this operation.”
