44. Stephano

44

STEPHANO

The fucker gave us the slip.

Franco Fiore arrived this morning on a private jet from Naples and got stamped in with his regular passport at the airport.

It's as if he is teasing us. A sane crime overlord would have come into the country with a fake passport. This guy has been lying so low under the radar in Europe, he isn't even on Interpol's most-wanted list, which we also scoured to see where he's at. Franco Fiore isn't on any fucking list. In fact, he's almost a myth. He slipped out from the underworld only once Randazzo was dead.

For Gigi, he is very real, and as soon as Benedict's border control contact let us know he'd checked in, we had multiple teams out to track him down.

But now… what the actual fuck? He gave us the slip. Drove out of the airport terminal without anybody spotting him.

"I don't care who you have to bribe, Dominic, or how much," I hiss into the phone, "but I want all security footage from the airport to see where the fucker outwitted us."

"I'm on it, Steph, for fuck's sakes. Benedict's already hacked into airport security footage."

I kill the call. Somewhere, someone fucked up, and heads are going to roll. Our plan worked—partially. Vincenzo, while he still had all his fingers, typed up an email for Franco, telling him he saw Gigi. If he wanted her, he had to come fetch her himself as she's married, and her husband won't give her up without a fight.

Damn right. A fight that will end with Franco's brains on the floor.

But the asshole was slow to bite. He insisted on a video call to verify Vincenzo was still alive and not bullshitting him. Instead, ‘Vincenzo' sent him solid proof: video footage from the gallery, where Gigi met Vincenzo, compliments of one of our security members who shot the clip. We made it look as if it had been taken by one of Vincenzo's Ukrainians. Vincenzo wasn't exactly presentable, but seeing Gigi on camera worked. There were more messages between the two men, orchestrated by us, but the only thing eluding us has been Franco's travel plans.

Now, the psycho is on the fucking loose in my city and on the hunt for my wife. I stride into Matteo's apartment, and as always, the place is eerily quiet. This high up with every noise-limiting feature in place he could install, it's like living in a vacuum.

"Gigi?" I call out when I don't spot her in the living area or kitchen. I hurry to the stairs to see if she is in our bedroom, and when it's empty, I go to Carla's. I freeze when I spot the laptop and phone discarded on the bed. That's Gigi's phone. "Fuck!"

My stomach turns as I reach for it and unlock it with the code she hasn't bothered to change.

The screen opens to her messages with Carla. Dread tsunamis through me as I glance over the last few lines.

We know Carla is pregnant, thanks to our spyware and the messages she sent to Vittorio Rossi two days ago. We were waiting for her to bring it out in the open, to tell her sister first, but not on the same day as the arrival of Franco Fiore. Talk about bad timing.

Now, the worst has happened.

"Both women are gone!" I call downstairs to Matteo and Luca who are with me. I flip open the laptop, my fingers trembling, blood rushing in my ears.

I want to be there for you, cara. Be on standby, I'll keep you posted. Send me your phone number.

I read the line again and check the time stamp. The last one was sent this morning while we were trying to intercept Fiore after he'd landed.

"Jesus Fucking Christ." I groan. We won't know about the latest calls made between Carla, Gigi, and Franco—not yet. "Franco is pretending he's Vito Rossi. He's lured Carla out, and Gigi has either gone with him or has left to save her sister." In some sick exchange.

"How the fuck?" Matteo grunts behind me. "When?"

I check Gigi's phone now, and my skin pops with chills as I notice the short video call from Carla's phone. Franco already has Carla, which means Tony is dead. And then, he phoned Gigi. Whatever he said to her, it was enough to make her drop everything and run. "Fifteen minutes ago."

"Shit. She just walked out?" Matteo says as he and Luca exchange glances.

We just missed her, and right on cue, Matteo's phone goes haywire with calls. Must be his security team in the basement trying to update him.

I don't have time. I'm already heading to the front door and the holding cell next door where Vincenzo has slowly been dying in his own sick and shit.

"Get Dominic to send you the security footage of this block. If Gigi and her sister just walked out, we'll see everything."

Their footsteps fall hot on my own, Luca already on his phone.

"Don't kill the fucker yet, Steph," Matteo warns. "He might still be useful!"

I'm ready to flip. Vincenzo will know. He must know. Or his cronies will. I open the secure steel door with my thumb print, and the guard stands, first wanting to block my way.

"Out. It's time these fuckers talk for real."

It's a shit show in here. The cleaner hasn't been in yet today, and the four Ukrainians we've taken on Friday night have been having the runs. Who knows what they ate before they went in for a job. The room has been hosed down a few times, but fuck it, the stench.

The five men are chained to metal chairs welded to the floor in a circle, their backs facing each other, holes in the seats and buckets underneath. They're naked and somewhat dead already. Vincenzo's head bobs as he becomes aware of us, peering at me through his swollen eyes.

I reach for his neck and choke him with my fist. "Tell me where Franco will be taking the women."

There must be an apartment or something he's bought or rented or who knows what the fuck. Vincenzo wheezes in a shallow breath and manages to shrug his shoulder.

"Think about it." I wait until his eyes bulge before I let go. I suppress the urge to punch him, but there are four more guys in the room, and these are local, for what it's worth.

"Keep your fucking cool," Matteo bites out, a warning hand on my shoulder. Unlike that time where I kicked Tatiana's assailant into the afterlife, destroying his insides in a tit-for-tat move, I have no objections to strangle these men with my bare hands.

"This is fucking war, Matteo," I snarl. "Fucking war, do you understand? With everybody who is helping that fucker. He has my wife !" And they still don't know what Franco Fiore is capable of.

"Don't finish them off yet, then," he says. "We'll smoke them out and eliminate them, but this isn't over until it's over."

I'm interrogating the second-last guy, now on the brink of losing my shit completely, when Luca's phone rings.

"Yeah, Benedict? You have? Send it through. We're on our way."

With a last squeeze to the fucker's throat, I turn to face my twin. "This better be good news."

Luca's phone pings a message, and he tilts his screen. "The footage is about two hours old. This is Franco Fiore. He disguised himself. And he's brought a woman with him. That's why we overlooked him."

Fucking rookie mistake.

I glare at the screen as the video plays, both Matteo and Luca watching, too. That could be anybody. The man in jeans and a plaid shirt with a fucking Stetson hat and cowboy boots gives zero Italian Mafia vibes. No visible bodyguards and not a tattoo in sight, even on his hands, but the woman he's holding onto gives the game away. He's walking fast, and she's lagging half a step behind, carrying a guitar case. It's her face that tells the story. She's petrified, even if she's trying to hide it.

"What the fuck," I hiss. "How did they leave the airport?"

"Took a fucking cab, like normal people," Matteo says as he reads something on his phone. "Come, Benedict is on it. He's tracing their route and will let us know where to go as he figures it out. They're not too far ahead of us."

I'm already dialing Dominic's number. His security company has cameras on every corner of all our buildings.

"Dom, I need the footage on Matteo's street," I bark as he answers.

"Already on it, Steph."

I bet Matteo already told him to keep eyes on movements from his building.

My heart is in my throat. Gigi is out there with a fucking monster on her trail. We waste precious minutes waiting for Dominic to share his screen with us. When we finally get to the salient portion—camera footage from the street—my body tightens as if fists are punching it from all sides.

Gigi, my darling, beautiful wife, is standing on the curb as a white van rolls up in front of this building. The street is busy. Suits and tourists are walking around, going about their business. It's peak tourist season in Boston. Four of our security detail are right there, guarding her, ready to pull guns and shoot.

Why the fuck didn't they notify me? I wasted precious time coming all the way up to Matteo's apartment when Gigi was probably already in the high rise's main foyer. She used the building's general entrance and not Matteo's private one, side-stepping our security guards and making sure to delay their response. Jesus. My wife thinks on her feet. She must have taken the penthouse's fucking fire escape which connects with the rest of the building on two floors, and only allows access out of the building, and not in.

And now, she'd said something to them to give them pause. Whatever it was, it was serious, because when one of the van's double back doors opens, she steps up to look inside, then turns and raises her hands to stop our guards. Something in her stance tells me she's begging. Begging again for them to do nothing.

Who knows what she sees inside the van, but I can imagine. Automatic rifles aimed into the street. Carla at the back of the van and that lunatic holding a gun to her head.

Gigi climbs inside, the door shuts, and the van pulls away.

"Track that fucker," I bark. "We're going on a road trip."

My kick-ass wife is back. She was never gone, only taking a much-needed break after running for ten years, but now, there are innocent women's lives on the line, and of course she's going to step in and stop the worst from happening. Gigi's going to need backup, and I'm not letting Franco Fiore slip out of reach again.

"Oof," Luca groans. "The real party is finally starting."