“Since one this morning. So…” Matteo checks his watch. “Almost eighteen hours.”
We all stare at each other in trepidation, and I know we’re all fearing the same thing. Eighteen hours in the hands of one of the most dangerous families in Malus. Eighteen hours of punishment for stealing the phones, or torture and interrogation to find out what the Vicis are up to.
The horrible thought crashes over me. What if Vincenzo is already dead?
“No.” The word comes out fierce, denying our unspoken fears. “No, he’s not dead. He can’t be.”
“Adora—” Sofia starts.
“He’s not.” I grip the edge of the table. “Dashamir was suspicious of us, and I’m willing to bet that it’s Dashamir who abducted Vincenzo. He wouldn’t kill him. Not yet.”
“How do you know?” Matteo asks.
“Because of what I saw last night at the fight.” I close my eyes, remembering those pale, perceptive eyes. The way he watched everything with such cold calculation. “Dashamir is smart, and he’d want to get information out of Vincenzo first. But we’re running out of time to get him back.”
Matteo pushes off the counter. “I’ll go. I’ll find out where they’re keeping him and—”
“No.” I straighten. “I have an idea. A better idea.”
They both stare at me.
“Will you take me to Dashamir Dervishi?”
“What?” Matteo looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Adora, that’s insane. You can’t put yourself in danger like that. If Vincenzo is still alive, he’ll kill me.”
Walking into the scorpions’ den is the last thing I want to do, but Vincenzo would do it for me. Though that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t racing with fear.
I take a deep breath, and say with more bravado than I feel, “It has to be me. I’m the only one who can do this, and I’ll tell you why.”
The Grind is exactlywhat it sounds like. A low concrete building squatting at the edge of the industrial district, neon sign flickering red against the dusk sky. The bass thumping from inside is so heavy I can feel it before we even get out of the car.
“I’m sorry about this,” Matteo mutters under his breath as we cross the parking lot. It’s packed with motorcycles and battered pickup trucks. “It’s the only place I knew to find Dervishi soldiers.”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to keep my legs moving forward.
Inside, the air is thick with cigarette smoke and the sour smell of spilled beer. Red and blue neon lights cast everything with a lurid glow. A stage dominates the far wall where a woman in almost nothing winds herself around a pole, but most of the men aren’t watching her. They’re watching me.
Every head in the place turns as we enter. Hard faces, leather jackets, tattoos crawling up necks and across knuckles. They stare at me openly, taking in my cream sweater and jeans like I’m a lamb that wandered into a wolf den.
A group of women near the bar snicker behind their hands. One of them says something I can’t hear, and the others laugh, their gazes raking over my outfit with open contempt.
I feel my cheeks burn, but I keep walking. This is for Vincenzo.
“There.” Matteo’s hand brushes my elbow. “By the pool tables.”
I recognize him immediately. The soldier with a scorpion tattooed on his throat, the one who brought us to Aleksander lastnight. He’s leaning against the wall, watching us approach with flat, assessing eyes.
“We need to speak to Dashamir Dervishi,” Matteo says when we reach him. His voice is steady and authoritative. “Tell him Adora Montoni and Matteo Vici are here.”
The soldier’s gaze slides from Matteo and lingers on me. I force myself not to shrink under his scrutiny. I wonder if he recognizes me from last night without all the makeup and the provocative outfit.
“Wait here.”
He pulls out his phone and steps away, speaking in rapid Albanian. I catch Dashamir’s name but nothing else. The music is too loud, the bass vibrating through the sticky floor beneath my feet.
The soldier returns, pocketing his phone. “Come with me.”
He leads us out the front to a black SUV.
