Kane and I head that way, both of us eager to leave the burned-out car behind. Once the identities of the corpses have been verified, I’ll have to call their loved ones.
I survey Carlo’s corpse. It’s lying in a pool of congealed blood, with a gunshot wound to the head, like Tucker.
There’s a note pinned to his jacket, written in fancy cursive on heavy cream paper.
One word.
Checkmate.
I stare at Kane. He seems just as confused as I feel. Then I spot a shoe. It could be any shoe left behind by a random hooker, but upon closer inspection, it’s a pink sneaker, a designer brand. I recognize it as one half of the pair Chiara wore today.
She refuses to wear business attire when she comes to the office. I don’t mind. I’d rather she dressed down so I don’t have to kill any employees for staring at her too long.
Fina gifted her these sneakers last week. They’re pink and sparkly, which is the exact opposite of her. Chiara is not sparkly.
Kane draws the same conclusion as I do. His jaw clenches.
Whoever has taken my wife will die.
“Yes?”
Kane’s phone rests on my desk, on speaker. I left Vinnie and two other guys at the warehouse to wait for the cops. DetectiveConstanza promised to fast-track the ID check on the car corpse to confirm it’s Tucker. His wife deserves to know his fate.
He’s also agreed to keep the case on the down-low. The last thing I need right now is overzealous reporters up my ass.
Fina’s due here any minute. She knows about the FBI raid but not that Chiara’s missing. I need her to get ahead of any bad press, which is why I’ve called her.
“Milo. We have a problem.”
“And?” The guy Kane’s been working with sounds like a massive dick. Worse even than Orliov. I feel sorry for their wife. Kane doesn’t rise to the bait, though. He’s used to the guy’s shitty attitude.
“Angelo’s wife’s been taken. We need to find her. Money’s no object.”
There’s a pause. Fingers clack on a keyboard.
“I don’t need your money,” the dick scoffs.
My temper flares. “Look, you fuckhead, can you help us or not?”
“Of course I can help you,” the dick says in a condescending voice, like he’s explaining a simple concept to a toddler.
A female voice butts in. “Ignore Milo.”Orliov’s Italian wife, Thea. Her accent is a hybrid of Italian and American. It reminds me of my father, who immigrated to the US as a teen.
“Milo has no people skills. So you’ve lost your wife? Or has she run away again?”
“We’re wasting time.” Chiara could be anywhere. I have no clue who’s taken her or why. Other than the strange note left at the scene, there’s been no ransom note or phone call. Nothing.
There’s a muffled scuffle, and then Milo comes back on.
“Tell me what you know.”
I explain what happened. He already knows about the accounts stuff because Kane has him looking into the source ofthe deposits. Something I was unaware of until he mentioned Milo’s name and I put two and two together.
Orliov will be asking for my firstborn child in payment next.
“Is she chipped?” Milo’s question takes me by surprise.
Kane’s brows knit together. I shake my head.
