Page 173 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Charleston.”

“You mean that fucker crossed the country?”

“We’re still verifying it,” Marco says carefully. “But the description matches, and the guy used one of Sal’s old aliases checking into a motel outside the city.”

I go quiet for a second, staring through the glass doors at the parking lot outside the theater. That sneaky little fuck.

“I want every contact we have on the East Coast watching bus stations, airports, train terminals, all of it. Tighten the fucking reins, Marco.”

“We’re already moving people.”

“Move more. Find him before he gets comfortable.”

“We will.”

“No,” I correct quietly. “You and Luca are going to catch the motherfucker before I have to.”

“Yes, Boss.”

I end the call and stare down at my reflection in the dark phone screen for a second before slipping it back into my pocket. Sal knows better than this. He knows what kind of man I am. He knows what happens to people who go behind my back.

The fact that he ran anyway tells me he’s desperate. Desperate men are dangerous, but they’re also sloppy. Which means it’s only a matter of time before we catch the motherfucker.

A scream echoes faintly through the theater walls followed by Katie’s terrified shriek, and just like that, the tension in my chest loosens. I shake my head and head back toward Theater Six where my girl is probably halfway into a panic attack over a man in a plastic prom crown with a chainsaw.

When I slide back into my seat, Katie abandons Sarah and curls into my side instead.

“You abandoned me,” she whispers dramatically.

I chuckle. “I was gone five minutes.”

“Seven,” Sarah corrects from the other side of her.

“Traitor,” I mutter.

Katie huffs and settles deeper against me. “I almost died while you were gone.”

I glance at the screen where a teenager is actively being chased with a chainsaw.

“Seems like someone else has that covered.”

By the time we make it back to the estate, it’s already after midnight. Sarah and Luca stopped in for a bit when we got home because Katie insisted Sarah needed to see some outfit she bought.

Luca lingers in the foyer with me.

“Marco called,” I say quietly.

Luca’s expression hardens. “What’d he say?”

“Someone saw Sal.”

“Where?”

“Charleston.”

Luca mutters a curse under his breath. I lean against the wall and look up the stairs for a second. Sal really crossed the entire fucking country trying to run from me. It almost would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so stupid.

The motherfucker wasn’t just feeding information out for money. He was creating pressure in places that normally stayed quiet. Harbor Street has become a constant issue. Inspectors are paying closer attention to shipments tied to my docks. Containers that should’ve moved through clean are being slowed down just enough to be noticed. None of it’s catastrophic on its own, and that’s what makes it smart. One problem gets ignored. Five problems start creating patterns. Patterns turn into investigations. Investigations turn into subpoenas. Subpoenas turn into federal eyes on my docks. Sal knew exactly what he was doing.