I take the long angle around a rusted drum and step out in front of him, blocking the path to the trucks. Edwardo skids to a stop, then spins to slip through the narrow gap between two stacked containers. Matteo meets him there, shoving him so hard histeeth rattle. Edwardo snarls, throwing a wild swing at Matteo’s ribs. For a skinny bastard, he fights like a dog.
Closing the distance, I grab him by the collar and drive my fist into his gut. He doubles over with a wheeze, clawing and cursing in Spanish. Matteo grabs his arms, pins them back, but Edwardo keeps kicking, until I punch him across the jaw. His head snaps to the side, and he collapses in Matteo’s grip.
***
When Edwardo wakes up two hours later, he’s flat on his back, stripped down to his undershirt, wrists and ankles bound to a metal table. His breathing comes rough, eyes feral as he tugs against the restraints. “Let me go! I don’t know shit!” he screams.
I stand at the edge of the table, staring down at the bastard. “Then why did you run?”
He shoots me a glare, thrashing against the table. “This is illegal. You can’t hold me against my will.”
“You were in the truck with Frederick.” It’s a wild guess, but he goes still, confirming my suspicion.
My hands twitch by my side, aching to squeeze his throat until he knows what it’s like to choke on his own life...I want him to feel the same pain Isabella felt when the bullet hit her.
But rage won’t get me answers. I lean in, close enough that he sees the murder in my eyes, and knows he’s alive only because I allow it. My voice drops, venom dripping through every word. “Your brother made the worst mistake of his life when he tried to hurt my wife.”
He jerks his head. “No one was supposed to get hurt. I swear—that wasn’t the intention.”
“Explain.”
“They wanted to poke you. Just a dent in the car. That’s all… I swear. I wish I could go back—”
“But you can’t.” The words come out as a growl. “What you can do, however, is tell me who gave the orders.”
He inhales, hiccupping. “I don’t know names. Freddy…Freddy said he got a deal. He was just supposed to drive the truck to South Pier, make a scene, and come back.” His eyes widen, like he’s just realized his brother was involved in something far more than merely driving trucks. “I didn’t know—” The sentence breaks into an ugly sob. “When he hit the car, I panicked and ran…”
“You have to believe me.” He tries to force himself upright against the straps. “Freddy’s only crime was mixing with the wrong crowd. He just wanted to pay off his debt—he was going to stop—he tried to stop, man, he tried to—” The grief on his face twists into the look of a man who understands he has nothing left.
Such emotions are useless here. What I need are answers, not tears. “Looks like I have no use for you.” The implication is fucking clear. He’s a waste, and there’s no need to keep him alive.
His head shakes violently, the sound of his harsh breathing suddenly the only thing in the room. “Wait—” he rasps, then jolts, as if remembering something too late. “There was a man. He used to come around, asking for Freddy.”
I don’t say anything. If he’s lying, I’ll find out eventually, and he’ll wish he had died along with his brother.
“He’s called Rino,” Edwardo says finally. “Always wearing a leather jacket with a wolf patch at the back. Last I saw him, he dropped a burner with Freddy about three nights back. Said it was already paid for. Said that’s how he’d reach him.”
“Where’s the phone now?”
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. I tried to find it, you know…to contact Rino…but it was gone.”
I slam my hand on the table, my patience thinning. “Did you ever see the number that called?”
Edwardo swallows hard. He stares at the ceiling like he’s trying to see the memory from another angle. “I don’t remember the whole thing. But it ends with —1347. That’s all I got...I’m telling you, I didn’t know Freddy was armed.”
“Keep talking, and maybe I’ll let you live.”
Chapter nineteen
Isabella
It’s been five days since I got shot. Five days holed up in this room like a prisoner, because my dearest husband has forbidden me from leaving. The only reason I’m staying put is that I don’t want the staff to get in trouble.
Speaking of the devil, the door opens, and Dominic walks in, looking every bit the intimidating bastard he is.
“Look who decided to grace me with his presence,” I mutter, lowering the book I was reading as I shoot him a glare. “Can’t find it in your busy schedule to check up on your injured wife?” The word wife drags out of my mouth like something sour.
“How’s your shoulder?” Of course, he ignores everything else I’ve said, focusing only on the wound that’s already healing faster than I want to admit.
