Let’s hope she does do something stupid today. With the amount of security I have, she’ll either be dead or captured. At this stage in the game, I’d be satisfied with either.
The service went by without a hitch, my nephews and niece crying prettily as commanded. I spent the whole time with my muscles clenched, just waiting for something to happen. It’s almost anticlimactic as we file out of the church, the warm spring sun shining down on us.
Guards surround me as I shake hands with the priest, thanking him for the excellent service. I notice the downward cast of his eyes, the slight hesitation and tremble in his hand before he clasps mine. A little thrill goes through me at the knowledge that even God’s appointed servants revere and respect me.
Throwing back my shoulders and puffing out my chest, I let the guards herd me to the limo. It’s a short drive to the cemetery, but the security cars still surround us, keeping us safe in case Daniella shows up. Although I keep my ears open for the sound of motorcycles, we arrive at the cemetery without incident. Again, a sliver of disappointment shoots through me.
Maybe she is unaware of the funeral?
As we gather around the gravesite, I make sure to touch a handkerchief to my eyes as the casket is lowered into the ground. People are watching, and they need to see a grieving brother and a united family.
They don’t need to know their every move is being watched by the snipers hidden in trees and behind gravestones; a trap laid to ensnare my wayward daughter.
Once the service is finished, I send Dante’s children off to ride with their other cousins, while Cesare and I climb back into our limo. Once again, I find myself surprised, and a little unsettled, that Daniella never made an appearance. I’m rarely wrong about people, my instincts honed from years of playing the game of survival. I know my daughter. She is brash and thoughtless, rarely bothering to think things through. She’s come at me so many times over the years, failing repeatedly. She doesn’t have the head for strategy or covertness and could never play with us big dogs.
She’s usually nothing more than an annoying terrier, yapping at my ankles. I’ve even found her attempts amusing in the past, but I’m over it now. After she tried to kill me in London, I’m no longer sitting back and letting her inconsequential cries for attention go ignored. She wants daddy’s attention? Well, now she’s got it. Although I’m not sure she’ll like what’s coming.
My phone pings, and I pull it out of my breast pocket, my back going rigid as I recognize the number. Cesare watches me with his brows lowered, my poker face slipping as I open the text. The picture shows a large man wearing familiar-looking bike leathers. His face may be covered in a helmet, but I recognize him as one of the people my men had chased in New Jersey. He’s one of Dutch’s men. When I stop focusing on him, I notice the shipping containers in the background.
"Figlio di puttana!”I spit. Leaning forward, I rap on the screen separating us from the driver. He lowers it, and I scream at him to head to the docks.
He does as I ask, doing an illegal U-turn in the middle of the road, causing other drivers to lean on their horns. The guards keep pace with us, the rest of the funeral party carrying on to the restaurant we booked for the post-funeral reception.
Raw fury slices through me, a red haze covering my vision as we speed toward the docks. She wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t dream of coming after my business like this.
Oh, princess, you’ve fucked up.
Chapter 42
Dutch
AndystayswithFrancis,who luckily has a pulse, while we wait for the backup Jase has sent. Kian and I remove our helmets, setting them on top of a nearby crate before turning to stare at the containers in front of us. A shudder works through me, but there’s no time to waste.
Knowing we won’t have long before either my father or Cesare show up, we sprint into action. Kian hauls the first container’s door open, the stench of unwashed bodies and piss and shit making us gag. I peer inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, and want to scream. How can anyone treat other human beings like this?
And how the fuck can I possibly be related to a man that would do this?
Women and children are stuffed inside like cattle. Some sob quietly, others moan, some just stare blindly ahead, their trauma written clearly across their faces. The youngest looks to be around three or four.
“Fuck,” Kian hisses as he breathes through his mouth. I hear some of the women whispering to each other. I can’t make out what language it is; Russian maybe, or perhaps Ukrainian.
“Does anyone speak English?” I call out, searching through the women. One young girl, maybe twelve or so, raises her hand. I beckon her to come forward, dropping down on my haunches so as not to frighten her. “Hi,” I say softly. “My name is Dutch. Don't be scared, I’m here to help you. Can you tell the others that we just want to help?”
She nods, her blonde hair filthy and matted, her dress torn and black with grime. She stands in front of the container and repeats my message, and after a moment, a few of the women come stumbling out, their legs shaky and eyes full of both terror and hope.
Kian opens the second container, and we find more of the same, just before his phone pings with a text. “Backup will be here in two minutes.”
Nodding at him, I go over to the girl that speaks English. “What’s your name?”
“Katarina.”
I smile down at her, wanting to keep her at ease while also needing to convey our urgency. “We’re going to take you to a safe place where you can have a bath, get clean clothes, and some food. My uncle will help you all get back to your families. But the bad men are coming, and we need to go.”
Katarina nods, wiser than her years. She remains calm and repeats what I’ve said, some of the women screaming while others run out of the container, eyes wild. We steer them toward the vans and help them inside.
I can tell they are scared to trust us, that they are worried it’s a trap. There’s no time for any further consolations; Vincenzo or his men will be on their way, and we need to get out of here.
The sound of an engine has me and Kian spinning around, our guns raised. The women behind us sob while others scream at the sight of the guns.
