Relief slams into me when I see the dot appear on the map, but it’s quickly consumed by real fear when I see exactly where the dot is.
In the middle of Lake Michigan.
Gio Marchetti answers my call, his irritatingly calm voice breaking through the roaring in my ears. “Checking up on the body disposal? Don’t worry, Russian, I dealt with Pagano. I even let Cosenza yell at me so he wouldn’t have to call you and do it.”
I skip all the pleasantries. “Where is di Salvo? Tell me you have eyes on him.”
There’s no concealing my tension and Marchetti focuses instantly. “I can get his live location. Give me two minutes.”
I can’t tear my eyes off the dot in the middle of the water. Snow is swirling outside. The air temperature is frigid; the water will be glacial. Sera can’t survive out there. There’s no way.
My legs start to shake. I brace myself against my desk, forcing my lungs to keep collecting oxygen. I can’t find her if I pass out.
Think, motherfucker. Think.
Through sheer willpower, I kick my brain back into action. It clunks and sputters but slowly I clear the panicked fog and realize: if her phone is still sending out a signal, it can’t be nine hundred feet below water.
I refocus on the dot and see what I missed the first time. It’s moving. Too fast for waves. It’s traveling quickly, on something like…a boat?
That’s when Marchetti chimes in, “Di Salvo’s phone places him at a shitty little marina on the south-western side of the lake.”
I zoom out on the map. The dot is heading in the samedirection, to the west bank of Lake Michigan, south of the Wisconsin state line.
There’s no way in hell it’s a coincidence. I have no clue why Sera would sneak away and hop on a boat in the middle of a fucking snowstorm, but the evidence points to her doing exactly that.
“She’s heading straight for di Salvo.”
“Who is?” Gio asks.
“My future wife.” It comes out of nowhere and while Gio grunts in surprise, the words settle into my chest cavity with absolute rightness.
“Then we better get her back before things go completely tits up,” the Italian says. “Get your ass in gear, Valentin. I’ll drop you a pin. Meet me as soon as you can.”
I grunt in agreement before disconnecting the call. It only takes seconds to make sure my weapons are strapped in place before I sprint to the garage and jump onto my motorcycle.
One last look at my phone confirms that Marchetti has sent di Salvo’s location, and Sera is headed straight for it. Her boat has the advantage of traveling in a straight line. My route is full of back roads and snow-covered turns that I take way too fast. Every second it takes to get closer to Sera feels like a lifetime.
By the time I get to a straight stretch of road, I’m driving into a wall of snow. Everything is white and heavy, and every few feet I feel like I’m doing the slalom. I just catch myself from wiping out after a particularly treacherous slide when a car races up beside me. The driver’s window goes down and Gio appears, pointing ahead of us. “Di Salvo is on the move,” he shouts. “They’ve got to be in a car.”
We have to go faster.
Marchetti and I both accelerate as much as we dare, speeding down the empty asphalt at a reckless rate. With the storm, every sane person is inside, so the road is blessedly empty.
Another mile, then another, and then I see the tap of brake lights ahead. Neck and neck with each other, Gio and I share a look. It has to be di Salvo. I drop my eyes to my phone long enough to confirm that Sera’s dot is within shooting distance of where we are. Straight ahead of us.
She’s in the car with him.
Anticipation and adrenaline start a pissing match in my bloodstream. I’m so close to reaching her. I’m so close to destroying her father, once and for all. Grim with determination, I gesture to Gio, indicating that I’m going for the right side of the car. He nods, steers to the left. We’re going to flank di Salvo and maneuver him until we can stop the car without Sera getting hurt.
Please, God. Don’t let her be hurt.
I’m a few yards away from my target when di Salvo’s car suddenly slows. I brake fast, skidding as I wrangle my bike to avoid rear-ending them. I get the machine under control just as a body comes flying out of the dark Mercedes ahead.
It breaks against the road, the thud loud enough I can hear it over the engines. The limbs flail and twist in unnatural directions, the torso corkscrewing until it’s a mangled mess of flesh and bone.
It’s too dark for me to see who it is.
Oh, God. I can’t see who it is.
