Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Angelo

We've been tracking the spoor of the SUV for hours. We're only a hundred kilometers from Bastia. The kidnappers are driving in circles, my guess is to throw anyone tailing them off their track, but no one has a better tracker than me, that tracker being my traitorous uncle.

Despite the quarter moon, the dark of the night is thick. There's no light pollution from the city in the mountains. There are only stars and more stars in the sky. The air is crisp with cold.

My driver steers the 4x4 carefully down the dirt road, keeping an eye out for potholes and big rocks that can damage the chassis. Uncle Enzo sits next to me in the back, still dressed in his silk robe from this morning. We haven't stopped to eat. The men are drinking water to keep hydrated and snacking on the energy and protein bars they habitually carry in their backpacks.

My uncle's big stomach bounces as he's tossed around on the seat. He wets his cracked lips with his tongue. I don't offer him refreshments. He doesn't deserve the basic commodities of food and drinks. As for me, I don't register thirst or hunger. My only focus is on getting to the kids. It's all I allow myself to concentrate on. Until I get them back, it's all I live and breathe for.

We're catching up with them. The tracks are getting fresher.

"Left here," my uncle says. "Stop."

When the driver has complied, he gets out. I follow, pushing my gun against his side.

"Look over there." He points at the bushes on the bend. "The branches are broken." He crouches down to study the ground in the headlights of the 4x4. "The tracks are clear. The wind hasn't disturbed them. They went this way not long ago."

"Get inside," I say, dragging him up by his arm and shoving him toward the vehicle. Once we're seated, I tell the driver to continue.

While we make our way down the narrow road next to a dry riverbed, I use the satellite phone to dial my man in Bonifacio. The calls are encrypted, allowing us to speak freely. He's been on Daisy and Laura's tail all day, following them from shops to bars and finally to a restaurant. They dined alone, and then they left. He lost them in the traffic, but the drone pilot pinpointed the house they entered. It's a fancy address on the beachfront a short distance outside the city.

"I was just about to call you," he says.

"Did you find the Remingtons?"

"I found them, all right. I'm in the beach house they rented."

"Did you interrogate them? Do they know anything that can help us find the kids?"

"Someone beat me to it. Their throats are slit. He must've waited for them inside. I was five minutes behind them. Their bodies are not yet cold."

"Marziale?"

"Probably. It's his style. It looks like his men's work. I heard an engine and saw a jet ski take off from the private jetty just as I arrived. The drone pilot has a visual on him."

"Is he alone?"

"Yes."

"Go after him. Find out who sent him."

"Yes, sir. I'll intercept him on land."

"If he tries to board a boat, sink it, and pull him out. You have permission to use the drone guns. I want answers before you kill him."

"Yes, sir," he says again.

The driver slows the vehicle down. "Over there." He points toward the outline of a SUV that stands on the side of the road a distance ahead.

I hang up. Fighting instinct takes over. The familiar burst of adrenaline in my veins sends a rush to my head. "Stop."

My uncle shifts to the edge of his seat and cranes his neck for a better view through the windscreen. "Is that yours?"

I lift the powerful night-vision binoculars to my eyes and check the registration plate.

Yeah. That's mine.

"The vehicle is empty." I lower the binoculars. "Pull over here."

Once the driver has parked, I get out and survey the surroundings. The three SUVs that tailed us stop behind the 4x4. My men climb out, their movements quiet and their weapons aimed in front of them as they fall into a circle formation around the vehicles.

"Come with me," I tell the man who rode shotgun in the 4x4. "The rest of you follow when I give the signal." I wave my gun toward my uncle who's gotten out and is standing next to the 4x4 with his robe billowing in the icy wind. "Handcuff him to the wheel. Make sure you take the car key with you."

"Angelo," Uncle Enzo says in protest, but I'm deaf to him, already making my way to the abandoned SUV.

The man I brought with me is ex-military. French Foreign Legion. His expertise is explosives. He goes ahead with the portable explosive detector and thermal goggles, scouting the ground for landmines and other devices. Booby traps are Marziale's favorite hobby. It's his signature trademark.

My man lifts a hand to show the way is clear. At the vehicle, he scans the door handles, the body, and the underside.

He catches my gaze and gives a single nod. I open the back door. The interior is empty except for the four schoolbags stacked on the backseat. My gut clenches at the sight of Sophie's yellow bag with the fluffy white dog keychain on the zipper and Guillaume's blue one that's halfway unzipped to reveal the banana Heidi packed for his break-time snack.

I fit my thermal goggles and check the ground. Six sets of footprints—four small and two big pairs—run through the sand in the ditch next to the road.

At my signal, the men move. Four stay behind to guard the vehicles. Two go ahead to scout the area while we follow the tracks, my heart beating harder with every step I take.

After a ten-minute hike, smoke and the glow of a fire become visible. I raise a hand, signaling for the men to slow down. Not making a sound, we leopard-crawl to the top of the outcrop. A metal structure appears at the foot of the hill. The area around it is flat. Weeds grow tall around the building. An old well sits on the side. A quad bike is parked in the front. Two men sit not far from the bike, warming their hands over a fire.

I draw a circle in the air, instructing my men to surround the building. I want nothing more than to storm down there and kick the door open, but I wait patiently until the footmen have searched the area. I doubt Marziale planned an ambush. The landscape is too bare. The small bushes don't provide enough shelter to hide a grown man's body, not even if he's camouflaged and lying flat on his stomach.

When my guard's signal indicates the coast is clear, I give the order to go in quietly. The aim is not to scare the children if they're inside the building. As I make my way down the hill, careful not to dislodge the rocks and send them rolling down, I pray to any god willing to listen that the kids are there.

The explosives guy appears next to me, lowering the infrared binoculars and showing me four fingers. Four people inside.

Just the children, maybe. Hopefully. With the two outside, they're vastly outnumbered. I expected a man like Marziale to put more manpower into the operation. It strikes me as odd, but I don't stop to ponder his motivation. What matters is getting those kids home.

The men who sit next to the fire are careless. Their rifles are propped up against the side of the building. They're talking loudly, not paying attention to the night sounds around them. Their sloppy actions scream inexperience.

I study the building through the binoculars. The door is bolted from the outside. No lock.

We slip closer undetected, coming from the back. At the side of the building, I pause. Then I hold up three fingers.

One, two, go.

We're on them before they know what's happening. When the fat one opens his mouth to scream, I grab his head in the vise of my arms and twist to the side. His neck snaps with a satisfying clack, his body going slack in my hold. One of my men took care of the other one. I would've preferred to gut them, but I can't risk letting the kids see the blood.

My men are like ants. In a second flat, the rifles are snatched up and the bodies dragged away. The guys in charge of cleanup know what to do.

My heart keeps beat in my temples as I pull back the bolt and flatten my palm on the metal. I stop breathing when I shove the flimsy door open. It's dark inside except for a small circle of light that comes from a torchlight that stands in the middle of the floor.

Whack.

Something hard hits me on the head. The impact makes me stumble. Before I have time to come to my senses, a vicious blow on the back of my knees causes my legs to fold. I go down as another thwack rattles my brain in my skull. Someone jumps on my back and grabs my neck in a strangling grip.

My men's footsteps fall hard on the ground behind me. Their grunts sound in the dark as more punches rain down on us.

"Wait," a small voice calls from the corner. "It's Angelo."

Sophie.

The assault stops abruptly. My attacker lets go of my neck and jumps off me. A man switches on a torchlight and shines the light around us. The faces of our attackers are caught in the beams—my nephews.

Thank fuck.

"Sorry," Johan says, holding a plank in his hand. "I thought it was them."

I rub my head where an egg is growing. "So you decided to take them on? With your bare hands?"

He raises the plank. "Not with my bare hands." Squinting into the light, he leans closer. "I broke skin. You're bleeding."

Little rascal. Pinning him with a stare, I say even as my chest expands with pride for his courage, "You're never to put your life at risk again. Understand?"

The lift of his chin is obstinate. "We weren't just going to hang around here like sitting ducks."

I take in étienne and Guillaume's dirt-streaked faces. My relief is so great it leaves me weak in the aftermath. I feel like hugging the lot of them.

"Angelo," Sophie exclaims, running from her corner and throwing herself into my arms.

I hold her small body in one arm and slip the gun into the back of my waistband.

"I don't like the men who brought us camping," she says. "I'm hungry."

My chest squeezes. It's the first time she's taken ownership of her feelings without projecting them on her doll. I'm so fucking grateful I can only stand there for a moment, pulling Guillaume under my other arm.

"I want to go home," Sophie whines.

"We're going, darling. Heidi can make some cocoa and fix you a warm meal."

"I want Sabella," she says, sounding close to tears.

"You'll see Sabella. I promise."

The men have finished searching the room. The one in the lead gives me a nod. I tilt my head toward the door, indicating that they can give the green light. The driver will bring the vehicle. Two men stay just outside the door. The others will remain in position just in case.

When the kids and I are alone, I lower Sophie to her feet. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. "They were mean, but they didn't hurt us."

I look at the boys. "You?"

Johan puffs out his chest. "We're fine."

"Waldo?" I ask with caution.

"Dunno," Johan says, the set of his jaw hardening. "They grabbed him in the parking lot at the school. They put bags over our heads."

Fury rises in me.

"They only took them off when we were outside the village," étienne says.

"They had guns." Contempt sparks in Johan's eyes. "Otherwise, I would've taken them on sooner."

I take in the fuzzy hair that thickens along his sideburns. I'll have to teach him how to use a razor soon.

"Come on," I say. "Let's get out of here."

The 4x4 pulls up as we exit. A man jumps from the passenger side with blankets and water. Once Johan is settled in the front and the other three in the back, I instruct the driver to go back to the road and to wait for us to catch up on foot. The terrain is too rough for the SUVs.

While we trek the short distance over the field, my priority is calling Heidi so that she can prepare for the kids' arrival. I let her know they're uninjured lest she calls the doctor out in the early hours of the morning.

"Oh thank you, dear God," she says, gushing about how grateful she is in my ear.

That makes two of us.

She ends her long reply with, "I've been going out of my mind. I wanted to go over to Sabella, but the guards didn't want me to leave."

"I didn't want you or Sabella on the road today. Once I've dropped off the kids, I'll go to the new house and fetch Sabella myself. The kids can do with a warm bath and a meal. It's been a long day for them. They must be starving."

"They didn't feed them?"

I clench my jaw. "No."

"Dear God. They're children! What kind of people do that? Who took them?"

"It doesn't matter. It's over." I check the surroundings out of habit, ensuring no new dangers are lurking. "Their psychologist is going to have a field day with this."

"Kidnapping. Children? Really, Angelo. What's next?"

"From now on, they're going nowhere without a fucking convoy."

She blows out a long breath. "Just bring them home. I'll be waiting."

After hanging up, I dial Sabella, but the phone only rings and finally goes onto voicemail. Uneasiness assaults me. Why doesn't she answer? Like I know her, she would've waited with the phone glued to her hand.

"I've got them," I say. "Call me."

I open the app with the video surveillance of the new house, but all the rooms are empty. The bathroom door is closed. The camera in the bathroom shows billows of steam coming over the shower cubicle and the fuzzy shape of Sabella's body behind the glass.

Only marginally reassured, I dial one of the guards at the new house, but I get a network error alert. The same happens when I call Gianni. The signal is often bad when there's strong wind or storms, but this doesn't make me feel better.

I call the guard I left in charge at the old house. "How are things there?"

"Everything is quiet, sir."

"How long since you've checked in at the new house?"

"Thirty minutes, sir. We call in every ten minutes."

"And they reply promptly?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm getting a bad signal. Go over there now and let me know what the status is."

"Pronto, sir. The drone may be faster."

"The drone is in Bonifacio. It'll take too long to fly it back."

"We're having strong winds. The signal is fine here, but it's always been iffy on that side of the mountain. What's the status quo on your side, sir?"

"Tell the men the kids are safe, but I want them to keep vigilant." My voice drops an octave. "Waldo isn't with them. Can you spare two men?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send them to search for him starting with the area around the school. I'll send you the route the kidnappers took. When you get to the new house, tell my wife to call me. Don't leave until you've spoken to her in person."

"Yes, sir."

"Call me back with an update in five," I say before hanging up.

As I cross the field, I allow myself for the first time to consider how things could've ended. If I'd thought about what could've happened to the kids, I wouldn't have been able to operate like a soldier going to war. This could've easily gone a whole lot worse. I'm lucky to have the children back in one piece. It was almost too easy. Hurting or killing children isn't beneath Marziale. He wouldn't have hesitated to slit their throats just to get to me. Instead, he paid those inexperienced rookies to pull off the job.

Perhaps the kidnapping was meant as a warning. If my uncles made a deal, Marziale is coming for me. That's a given. He's bargaining on joining forces with them and outnumbering me. But I know how he operates. I make it my business to know my enemies better than I know myself. Marziale likes to play psychological games. He first hits his rivals where it hurts them the most. Then, when their defenses are down, he goes in for the kill.

If that stunt was meant to put the fear of the devil in me, it worked. I have an advantage over him though. He doesn't know I'm aware of my uncles' betrayal. He doesn't know I already eliminated their armies. He's counting on the fact that I'll rely on their numbers when he attacks. He thinks I'll be taken by surprise. Well, the surprise is on him. He crossed a line when he touched the kids. I'll be on him before he can say attack. I'll find that bastard, and when I do, he'll pay in ways that'll make him cry for his mother. I swear that to myself as I climb through the ditch. Before the sun goes down tomorrow, he'll be strung up like a turkey, hanging from his feet.

Johan hops from the 4x4 and meets me on the shoulder of the road. He eyes me from under his fringe. "Are they dead?"

The hardness of his expression reminds me a lot of myself. "Don't concern yourself about that. I took care of everything."

"I'm not a kid. I can handle it."

I place a hand on his head to ruffle his hair but catch myself. He won't appreciate being treated like a child. "Like I said, stay a kid for a little while longer. You have enough time ahead of you to be a man."

His nostrils flare. "What did they want?" He spits out the word. "Money?"

"Yeah." It's best I keep my thoughts about that to myself. My tone is gentle. "Get back into the car. We better get your sister home."

The responsibility I just put on his shoulders is something he can work with. He straightens his spine, nods his agreement, and goes back to the vehicle.

My phone rings. It's the guard from Bonifacio.

"Did you get the guy?" I ask.

"Yes, sir. He confessed. Marziale sent him to deal with the Remingtons."

My command is clipped. "Get rid of him. Dump the body in the sea."

"Yes, sir."

I turn toward the SUV. My uncle looks at me through the open window. They moved him from the 4x4 to accommodate the kids. He stares at me with a mixture of dread and acceptance as I approach.

Fuck. I need a fag. A joint.

"Angelo," he says before I reach the car. "You got them back. I know what has to happen. I'm not trying to dodge my fate. All I ask is that you spare Gianni."

I don't answer because it's not a promise I can make.

"I beg you," he says. "If we ever meant anything to you as family?—"

The ringtone of my phone cuts him short. Taking the phone from my pocket, I check the screen, expecting it to be Sabella. It's an unlisted number. I never take unlisted numbers, but given the circumstances, I swipe the screen. My gut tightens as I lift the phone to my ear. If it's that motherfucker Marziale, I'll tell him in detail how his very short future is about to play out.

"Mr. Russo?" a female voice says. "Mr. Angelo Russo?"

My tone is brusque. "That's me."

Hers is apologetic. No, sympathetic. "This is Dr. Casanova. I'm calling from the Saint Julia Hospital. I'm afraid I have bad news."

I grip the phone hard. "My driver? Waldo Torre?"

"What? Mr. Russo, can you hear me?"

"I'm here."

"I'm calling about your wife."

Everything inside me goes still. The environment disappears. The night turns colorless. I don't feel the cold. I don't smell the crispness of the air or taste the dust that crunches under my teeth. My senses shut down.

I saw her. She's in the shower. She has to be.

"Your wife," she says again, gentler this time. "Sabella Russo."

My words are harsh for no reason. I don't have control over my voice. "What about her?"

"She's been admitted with us."

My brain refuses to make sense of what she's saying. "Admitted?"

"Mr. Russo," she starts in that way people do when they're about to give you bad news. "There's been an incident. I'm so sorry." A hesitant pause follows. "Your wife was assaulted."

Assaulted.

Assaulted.

The world tilts.

"Mr. Russo?"

I speak, but it feels as if the question comes from someone else. "What did you say?"

"Can you come down to the hospital?"

Assaulted.

My wife.

My Sabella.

Understanding hits me like an axe splitting my skull.

The cameras. The phones. They overrode them.

Kidnapping the kids was a decoy. It was nothing but a clever ploy to lure me and my men away from the house.

The real target was Sabella.

The brutality of that cold, hard truth steals my breath. Hitting me where I feel it the hardest turns out to be not the kids after all. And it's far more effective than a bullet.

I can't. I can't fail her. I couldn't have. I can handle anything but not that.

"Mr. Russo?"

Autopilot kicks in. My functions are mechanical. I ask what needs to be asked like a robot. "How bad?"

"I'm afraid it's serious. She's in a coma."