Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Saverio

T he man who almost puked makes a point of not looking at the entrails on the floor of the motel room when he asks, “Cleanup?”

Dante shakes his head. “It’s Raphael’s mess. Leave it.”

I remove my blood-soaked gloves and dump them in the plastic bag the man produces.

“I’ll take care of the street cameras,” Dante says.

Since Giorgio died, Dante took over the task.

“What about the door?” the man asks.

Dante’s tone is flat. “Leave it like that.”

This way, someone will find the body before the cleaning lady comes in tomorrow morning. That’s to say if they employ cleaning staff. It doesn’t look like it.

Dante dismisses the guard with a nod. When the man is gone, he says, “It’s a fucking dead end—literally.”

“We’ll find Raphael.” We have to. I clench and flex my fingers. “Let’s go.”

We can check the video from the street camera in the car to save time. I want to already be on the road by the time we have a new lead. There’s not a second to waste.

Urgency drives my steps. If I let it, fear will destroy my ability to think logically, to strategize, so I push it down and keep on moving.

My phone vibrates in my pocket when I exit onto the walkway.

It’s Nicole.

I tense.

The old man and his woman are still at it, fucking like bunnies.

I swipe the button and speak when I’m out of earshot, not that the couple will hear me through their noisy humping and moans.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Dante, who’s one step ahead, stops to look at me over his shoulder.

Nicole sucks in an audible breath. “Sav.”

The way she says my name—sounding uncertain and as scared as fuck—has the hair stand on end in my nape.

“What the fuck is wrong?” I repeat.

“Anya got a call.”

My spine goes rigid.

Hold on. Why isn’t Anya calling me herself? A terrifying feeling sweeps through me, leaving me weak in its wake.

I press the speaker button and hold the phone between us for Dante to hear. I have a feeling I won’t have time to repeat the message.

My voice rasps, my control about to snap. “Where’s my wife, Nicole? Put her on the phone. Now.”

“You need to listen to me.” Nicole adds with emphasis, “Calmly.”

“What’s going on? Spit it out, for God’s sake.”

“Raphael took Claire,” Nicole says.

Dante stills.

Mary just told me, but who told Anya? Morelli himself? And if it was him, there’s only one reason why he’d make that call.

Static noise rings in my ears and reverberates in my skull. I clench the phone hard. “Tell me Morelli didn’t convince my wife to meet him somewhere.”

“Anya and Livy left to get Claire back. I’m dropping you a pin with the location as we speak.”

My limp and aching knee forgotten, I cross the parking lot with long, frenetic strides. “How long ago?”

She hesitates.

“Nicole,” I bark. “How long ago?”

“Five minutes.”

Fuck.

Dante starts running, calling out an order to the men who follow us.

I pull up Anya’s location on the app that tracks her phone. It’s ten minutes from here.

“Why didn’t she call me?”

“Raphael said she needed to go alone. Well, with Livy.”

Nicole carries on explaining about the tracker they planted on Anya. While she talks, another call comes in.

Livy.

“Fuck,” I say, my throat so dry my voice is hoarse. “It’s Livy. I’ll get back to you.”

Dante is already in the driver’s seat of our car. A guard gets the door on the passenger side for me.

I answer the call while I get in. “Livy, where are you?”

Her voice doesn’t falter. She comes across as a woman who’s unshakable. “I’ve got Claire. She’s safe. I’m heading home. Anya is still with Raphael. There are five men with automatic rifles. Raphael has a handgun. Glock. I didn’t get the caliber.”

I go stone cold.

“Did you get the location?” she asks.

My answer is brusque. “Nicole just sent it to me. I’m tracking Anya’s phone. I’ll dispatch a car to meet you on the way. Wait for them before you approach the house.”

“Got it.”

“Livy.”

She waits.

Dante pulls off with screeching tires.

“Take care of my baby girl.”

“I’ve got her, Sav. Go get Anya.”

“Fuck,” Dante says when I hang up.

I send an instruction to the team at the house to trace Livy’s route via her phone and to get protection to her asap. Then I type out a quick message to Nicole to update her. I want her to examine Claire when they arrive to make sure she’s okay. I tell her the guests can leave. I want every-fucking-body except for the guards out of my house when my girls get home.

“You holdin’ up?” Dante asks.

I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Slamming a fist on the dashboard, I utter a raw cry. Pain shoots up my knuckles, sparks of electricity running through my bones. I barely register the ache. All I can think about is how angry I am with Anya for being so reckless. So stupid. For not letting me in on what went down sooner. For walking into Raphael’s trap. But most of that anger is directed at myself. For denying my feelings. For never telling her. For having waited too long.

Dante drives like a maniac, breaking every speed limit.

“That was a fucking dumb thing to do,” he says.

No. Anya got what she wanted. Our baby is safe. I know how Anya’s mind works. In her opinion, she did the only thing she could.

I can only pray we’ll make it in time. I’ll do anything to have another shot at this, just one more chance to tell her how perfect she is. That she was right. That I love her.

The dark outline of an old refinery comes into view. Knowing she’s inside there with the man who tried to blow us to pieces drives me insane. Imagining the things he could be doing to her right this very moment makes my blood freeze over. My bones feel brittle.

“We’re close,” Dante says, shooting me a sidelong glance.

Another few yards stand between me and my wife.

He puts his foot on the accelerator as a fence comes into view. We’re not going to stop to open the gates. We’re going straight through.

Just as I brace myself for the impact, an explosion blasts through the building, knocking roof plates into the air. Windows explode. Orange flames billow through every hole in the structure.

Dante swerves, almost driving us into a ditch. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

A second explosion rocks the warehouse. It nearly rips the framework apart.

I stare at the red and yellow tongues that lick the night sky, unable to process the sight. Unwilling to accept what’s in front of me. Refusing to believe that I’m too late.