"Someone who wants to help you." A pause. "I'm calling on behalf of Desmond Moretti. He knows where you are. He knows about the deadline. And he's offering you a deal."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of deal?"
"Turn yourself in. Tell him where his wife is being held. And he'll make your death quick. Painless." The voice was almost kind. "Otherwise, when he finds you, he will find you, and it's going to take days for you to die. Do you understand?"
I hung up and threw the phone. They fucking knew. But they didn't know exactly where I was. If they did, they'd already be here. Which meant I still had time.
Three more hours until I had the money. I could still make this work. I just had to stay hidden a little longer.
At 4:45 PM, I walked back into Richard's office.
He looked terrible. Pale. Sweating. Terrified.
"Do you have it?" I asked.
"Yes." He gestured to a briefcase on his desk. "Three million. Cashier's checks, all made out to bearer. Fully liquid."
I opened the briefcase and counted. Three million dollars in negotiable instruments.
"Good man, Richard." I closed the briefcase. "Forget you ever saw me."
"Vincent—the police are going to ask?—"
"Tell them whatever you want. I'll be long gone." I headed for the door. "Thanks for your help."
I made it to my car with the briefcase, my heart pounding with relief. I had the money. I could pay the kidnappers. This nightmare was almost over. My phone rang. The distorted voice.
"Change of plans," they said. "We found a buyer who'll pay more than you will. In exchange, they’ll have the Moretti girl, find out where your wife and son are, and all the information I have on you."
"What? No! I have the money. Three million, just like we agreed."
"Desmond Moretti offered us five million. Plus immunity from any future retaliation." A pause. "Sorry, Vincent. Business is business."
"You can't!"
"We're meeting him tonight at midnight to make the exchange. The location is the old Boeing plant in Everett. If you want your deal, come up with the money quickly. If not, maybe Moretti will kill you quick."
They hung up. I sat in my car, the briefcase full of useless money on the passenger seat, and felt my world collapse. They'd betrayed me. Sold me out to Moretti. And now Angelina would survive. Would testify against me. Would make sure I spent the rest of my life in prison. Unless her asshole of a husband found me first.
Or I ran. Right now. Took this money and disappeared into Mexico or further south. Changed my identity. Started over. I pulled out my phone and made a call to the one contact who might still take my money.
"I need a favor," I said when they answered. "And I'm willing to pay very, very well."
By 11 PM, I had what I needed. 11:30, I was parked outside the old Boeing plant, watching for Moretti's arrival. So was someone else.
One way or another, this ended tonight.
Dez
The call came at 6 PM, eighteen hours after they'd taken Angelina.
Eighteen hours of hell. Of mobilizing every resource the my family had. Of systematically destroying Vincent DeLuca's life piece by piece while I hunted for my wife.
"Mr. Moretti." The voice was distorted, mechanical. "We have a business proposition for you."
I was in my office at the penthouse, surrounded by my father, Gianna, Marco, and Matvey. Every surface was covered with maps, surveillance footage, financial records—anything that might lead us to Angelina.
"I'm listening," I said, putting the call on speaker.
