"Vincent DeLuca hired us to acquire your wife. He was supposed to pay us two million dollars. His accounts are frozen, nice work on that, by the way, and he can't pay. Which means we have a very expensive asset and no buyer."
"Get to the point."
"We're willing to sell her back to you. Three point five million dollars, wired to an account we'll provide. In exchange, we give you your wife, unharmed, and the location where DeLuca will be meeting us tonight to try to make payment that he doesn’t have."
Every muscle in my body tensed. "How do I know she's alive? How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"Check your email. We're sending proof of life now."
I pulled up my laptop. The email came through—a video file. I clicked it with shaking hands. Angelina appeared on screen, still unconscious, lying in what looked like a hospital bed. Medical equipment surrounded her, monitors showing her vitals, an IV drip, proper setup. She had a fresh bandage on her temple. Her face was still bruised but she looked stable.
"As you can see," the voice continued, "we've been keeping her properly medicated and monitored. The head injury required professional medical care. We brought in a real doctor, a former army medic, very discreet. She's been receiving appropriate treatment for her condition."
"Let me talk to the doctor," I demanded.
"One moment."
A new voice came on the line—male, older, with a slight Southern accent. "Mr. Moretti, I'm Dr. Rhodes. I've been monitoring your wife's condition for the past eighteen hours. The subdural hematoma is stable, showing no signs of expansion. Her vital signs are good, blood pressure 118 over 75, heart rate 68, oxygen saturation at 98%. The pregnancy is unaffected. Fetal heartbeat is strong at 142 beats per minute."
My father's hand gripped my shoulder. Hard.
"When will she wake up?" I asked.
"Could be anytime now. The concussion was moderate but not severe. Her brain is healing. I'd estimate within the next 12 to 24 hours she'll regain consciousness."
"If I pay, how do I know you'll actually return her?"
The distorted voice came back. "Because this was never personal, Mr. Moretti. This was a job. DeLuca hired us to grab her, we grabbed her. He can't pay, so we're selling the contract to you. Once you pay, the job is complete. We deliver the asset and disappear. Simple business transaction."
"And DeLuca?"
"Will be at the old Boeing plant in Everett at midnight tonight, trying to negotiate payment with us. Except you'll be there instead." A pause. "Consider it a bonus. You get your wife back and the location of the man who tried to kill her. We get paid and walk away clean."
I looked at my father. He nodded once.Do it.
"I want her delivered to a hospital first," I said. "Swedish First Hill, where you took her from. Same floor, same room. You get her there safely, get her set up with proper medical care, andthenI wire the money."
"That's not how this works."
"That's exactly how this works. You've kept her alive this long, you can deliver her properly. I'm not wiring three point five million dollars on faith." My voice went cold. "You deliver her safely, I pay you and you disappear. You fuck with me, and there's nowhere on earth you can hide. Are we clear?"
A long pause. Then, "Clear. We'll have her at Swedish by 10 PM. Once hospital staff confirms she's stable and secure, you wire the payment."
"Will do."
The line went dead.
I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking with adrenaline and relief.
"They're bringing her home," Gianna said quietly. "Dez, they're actually bringing her home."
"We don't celebrate until she's safe," my father said. "This could still be a trap."
"It's not," Matvey said, studying his laptop. "I traced the call. It bounced through fourteen different servers but the origin point matches the crew we ID'd from the hospital footage. Former special forces, all of them. They're professionals. If they say they'll deliver, they will."
"Get every available man to Swedish," I ordered. "I want that floor locked down tighter than before. No one in or out without going through us. And someone find me everything on the Boeing plant in Everett. Every entrance, every exit, every place someone could hide."
"On it," Marco said, already on his phone.
