Chapter Fourteen

"Macy!" Matteo yelled, although he knew no one was in her apartment. She never showed up at work, and that terrified him. She seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Running from her complex, he sped back to his office. A list of where she could be or who she could be with rolling through his head. Parking in the underground lot, he jumped out of his car as soon as he put it in park, determined to get men organized in the search for Macy.

"Sir!" said one of his guards. Matteo ignored him. "Sir!"

Matteo paused. "What? I'm in a hurry—"

"You need to talk to your father."

Something in the man's tone caused ice to sear through him. "Where is he?"

"His office."

He spun and entered his personal elevator, riding it up to the top floor. When it opened, Pietro sat behind his desk, looking over some papers.

"Father," he said.

Pietro raised his head. "Matteo. Sit down, son."

The words were soft. Regretful. Sorrow turned down at the corner of his father's eyes. Matteo did as he was told, knowing something wasn't right. Suddenly not sure if he wanted to hear it.

"There's no easy way to say this," he said grimly. "So, I'll show you instead."

He placed a necklace on the table, the aquamarine stone stained with dried blood.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Brace yourself, son."

His father held out his cell phone and Matteo took it, looking down. It took only a few seconds to realize it was Macy. His beautiful, funny Macy. Blood coated her hair, centering around the hole in her temple. His body went cold. His heart seized up. How could she be dead? He was with her last night. In her body. Loving her. Worshiping her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"Who did this?" he asked when he knew his voice wouldn't crack.

"My contacts tell me the Iannuzzi Famiglia is taking responsibility."

Matteo couldn't seem to stop staring at Macy. He felt detached, like he was outside himself. "Where's her body?"

"You know how these things go—"

"She's not a thing!" he snarled, getting on his feet. "She's the woman I fucking love!"

"Matteo," Pietro said calmly. "I know. But she's gone, son. They sent proof of death to confirm, and her body … you know we'll never find it."

Matteo dropped the phone on his desk, picked up the necklace, and left his office. He had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do, so he just kept walking. He'd walk right off the edge of the universe if it would bring her back. His world had gone dark and he knew there would never be light again. His heart would beat but all it did was keep a dead man alive.

He became aware of a person following him, and he turned, ready to kill the person behind him. But it was only Rocco.

"You're going after them," Rocco stated.

"Yes."

"Is that wise?"

"I don't fucking care," he turned and marched back to the parking structure to get his car.

"Is this what she'd want?"

Matteo spun and grabbed Rocco's shirt, hefting the big soldier against the wall. "I don't know because she's fucking dead!" Tears welled up in his eyes, and all the fight went out of him. "She's dead, Rocco."

"I know," Rocco said softly. Placatingly. "And we'll kill every one of those bastards, but you can't run in there halfcocked because they'll immediately kill you and then no one will avenge her."

Matteo crumpled, letting Rocco go as he slumped down, grabbing his head and giving a low, agonizing moan. He didn't care if it made him look weak. Didn't care who saw him. His heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, each shard slicing him to ribbons.

"Come on," Rocco said. "I'll drive you home so we can get drunk. Tomorrow, we'll start planning the destruction of the Iannuzzi clan."

"I want them all to suffer," Matteo said. "Their wives. Their children. All their soldiers and enforcers. And when we find the son-of-a-bitch who pulled the trigger, I want his death to be brutal. I want that bastard to be chopped up into pieces and sent to hell."

"Then that's what will happen. I promise you."