“Say less,” Preston says. “I’m happy to dedicate a legal team to represent your people in court and will support any financial efforts to sustain your missions.”
I nod.
“I’ll get out of your way for you to handle…things. Maybe we can schedule a visit for us? You haven’t seen Sandro in months, and Madison would love to meet your wife, as would I.”
Day turns to evening in my office. The house is empty, except for Ares and Hades, who remain by my side.
Luiggi
Still with the team in Catania. We’ll find her.
Fuck.
“Tell me something, baby,” I say to Bianca’s HR murder board on the wall. String and sticky notes overlap with pictures of my men. Nothing in her reports or files on her desk lead me to any new answers.
She’s running out of time. There is no ransom or demand. Whoever has her will kill her.
Hades nudges my hand.
“We’ll get her back.” I pat his head and lift my scotch glass to my lips, then freeze.
The answer is in front of me.
My phone rings.
“We got a lead,” Andrea says. “Renata came through with surveillance footage. Michele Romano is the person Tino met with at Eden. He’s been making moves under Elio’s nose since he manages day-to-day operations. We got a hit off his cell in Palermo. Teams are moving to all known Preda safe houses around the capital.”
“She’s not downtown,” I say, standing for a closer look at the emails Bianca printed next to photos of my men.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know who betrayed us. Have Elio and Vince meet us at your house. I’ll text you where we’re going.”
Hades snorts, and Ares follows.
“Time to get your mother back.”
Chapter 44
Grit Porridge & No Washcloths
Bianca
“Iknow we might die, but who did you piss off to feed us this mess?” Stephanie’s face twists at the brown-gray slop dripping from her spoon. “I can’t tell if it’s grits or porridge.”
“It’s probably poisoned,” I grunt from the sliding glass door that refuses to budge.
A survivalist camp will see me. I’ll be damned if I go through this shit ever again.
We’ve been trapped here since yesterday. The gas that knocked us out didn’t wear off until this morning when we woke up on a bed. The room resembles a four-star hotel with a view of the sea, which would be a destination Stephanie and I would consider for a girls’ trip if we weren’t sitting ducks waiting to be killed.
Our phones are gone. So are our shoes, which is weird. Who gasses someone unconscious but cares enough about their future victims scuffing the floor with their heels?
I shift my weight to push against the glass harder. Damn this door.
Steph crosses her legs. “Any luck?”
“Negative,” I heave through another push. My pencil skirt strains over my thighs. “Come.”Grunt.“On.”Grunt.
