Chapter 24

LORENZO

I was on a video conference with one of our clients in London when a call bearing Mauri's ID came through.

With an impatient grunt, I swiped the incoming line to voicemail.

My hackles rose when he rang right after.

‘Un momento,' I murmured to my client, placing him on mute.

I flicked the screen to take Mauri's call.

‘Boss,' he groaned.

I froze at his tone.

‘What is it?'

‘It's Mia. She's -.' His voice trailed off, severe and tight with tension.

‘What's happened, Mauri?' I demanded, sharp with worry, the sound echoing in my study.

After sending a message to reschedule, I disconnected the conversation with London and held my breath, waiting for Mauri to continue.

His answer was slow, halting, as if he was trying to find the words. ‘She's gone. She went into the rear of her place to grab her things while I remained outside. Next thing, shouting. I ran as fast as possible on my bust knee to her place. But something was off. The back door was ajar and tagged her lying in the hallway, unconscious, with blood on her face. I rushed to get to her, and they got me as well. They wiped me with a bat, perhaps, and I blacked out. When I came to, she and they were gone. We had the Mancini crew out front, and they must have known that, so they escaped through the rear lane.'

My heart pounded as I tried to process this shocking news. ‘They? Who were they?'

‘The kid Tony. He's the only face I recognised before I blacked out.'

‘Where is she?'

‘No clue. Like I said, I woke up in her apartment, but all three of them had disappeared. I'm sorry, padrone, I -'

Mauri was injured. I tagged the pain in his voice and interjected, ‘You hurt?'

‘Just a concussion. Don't worry about me; focus on your woman.'

I rose to my feet, my mind racing. ‘Fuck! We need professionals. What of your friends from the night of the shoot?'

‘They're just a clean-up crew, not sophisticated enough for a search and rescue.'

‘The Mancinis?'

‘They've already proven useless given they were the front crew at Mia's, plus they're not trained like our crew in Naples.'

‘Cozza,' I growled, thinking fast. ‘You stay put, mobile close by. There's an angle I think I can explore. Alessio and I will drive to you, and we'll go after her.'

I rang off, thoughts whirling.

A few weeks ago, one of my European contacts, hearing about my woes trying to find reliable security in Sydney, mentioned a local private entity, the Sovereign Group.

I called out for Alessio, even as I typed up their details and searched for their website.

I found an elegant, discreet page with just a paragraph and a phone number - signs of high-level discretion.

Hell, these types of firms needed an introduction.

I growled as I dialled my Euro contact, not caring what damn time it was in Paris.

He answered at once even as Alessio dashed into my office, dragging on a shirt and jeans, eyes bleary.

‘Che cosa?' he groaned.

The fucker was still dealing with jet lag.

I barked my question to my associate in Paris, and he mumbled back in acquiescence.

He promised to call straight away, the urgency in his voice evident as I stressed my need in no uncertain terms.

I gave him Mia's address and asked my connection to request a representative from Sovereign to meet us there.

I hung up and turned to Alessio. ‘Shoes on. I'll catch you up on the way.'

Nabbing weapons, ID and wallets, I led him to the garage, where a second set of wheels waited.

We jumped into the dark silver Range Rover Sport and took off with squealing tyres.

Although we had speed and the blessing of Alessio's advanced driving skills, our journey to locate Mauri was a joke.

Alessio and I were two clowns, with my brother behind the wheel and me riding shotgun.

We shouted at each other, neither of us with much experience navigating Sydney's one-way streets and confusing labyrinth lanes.

Car horns blaring, brakes screeching, and yells of frustration serenaded us to the Inner West as we made a myriad of crazy, chaotic dodges and slid by near misses.

Alessio's hands gripped the steering controls, his knuckles turning white as he tried to maneuver the tight roads and dodge oncoming traffic while my fingers tapped with some angst on my phone screen, checking and rechecking the GPS directions.

Alessio, bless him, grew committed to the ask, leaning forward and squinting at the street signs and map, his face tense and concentrated.

Still, I repressed curses as he drove like a drunken, lost driver weaving through the tumultuous madness of Sydney's urban sprawl.

With dogged persistence, we pressed on, making our way through the metropolitan chaos until we got to Mia's address, where we found Mauri slumped on the front sidewalk.

I exploded from the car before Alessio skidded to a halt.

‘Hey,' I called out as my consigliere glanced up.

One eye was purple, showing promise of turning even darker in hue.

I sucked my teeth. ‘You look like shit.'

‘Fuck off, ‘ Mauri mumbled.

Standing over him was a sizeable man who turned to face me with slow precision as he tagged my approach.

I slowed my roll, taking all of him in.

He was part Māori, colossal in size, with muscles for days, solid arms, a trim waist, and thick thighs gloved in tailored black slacks.

The skin of his upper arm and chest was inked in traditional art. His head was bald and smooth, his jaw unyielding, and his lips slashed in a stern grimace.

He was pure muscle, but this was no jock.

When he whipped off his designer sunglasses, I marked his unusual silver-charcoal eyes and the keen glint of freakish intelligence behind them.

I made an executive call. ‘Sovereign?'

He jerked his chin and reached out a hand. ‘Name's Saint Tahana, CEO.'

I thought, ex-military, paramilitary, firmly in the grey as I noted his discreet weapon tucked away on his waistband.

My kind of man.

I folded his hand into a firm handshake. Well aware that, even though our heights matched, given his sheer muscle mass, he had the power to crush my bones to smithereens.

‘What's the deal?' he rasped, getting straight to the point.

I liked his lean.

‘Can I expect discretion?' I checked.

His eyes raked over me. ‘Can you afford it?'

‘Send me the invoice,' I growled. ‘No question.'

His nostrils narrowed as he took a breath and, then, nodded.

‘I've got your back, whoever you are. The only reason I'm here is pure curiosity. I might have sent one of my crew. However, when the head of Paris' notorious Chasse Syndicate called and told me to hustle to this address in my neck of the woods, you bet I was keen to make an acquaintance in person.

I arched a brow and huffed. ‘I'm not here to make trouble. I want my woman found. Can you help?'

‘I need everything you can give me. Name, face ID, most recent photos, breakdown of what she wore when last seen, a full description of her kidnappers and anything else you're willing to divulge. In the meantime, my team will utilise a few secret back doors in the city surveillance cams for what we find. I also require access to her house.'

I glanced up at the apartment's front egress, gaping open. ‘It appears you can walk right in.'

Saint gave me one more sweeping study, then turned away to make several calls.

Alessio and I helped Mauri to his feet. Damn, the poor man had taken a few hits on my behalf. I made a note to double his pay as Alessio aided him back to our vehicle.

I had a sudden thought. ‘Mauri, where's the SUV? Your wheels?'

Mauri paused midstep. ‘Fuck, they must have stolen it. I left the keys in the ignition and leapt out when Mia called and went after her. I didn't think.'

I turned to Saint, who'd inclined his head toward us. ‘Caught that?' I asked him.

He gave me a terse nod.

‘Car plates?'

Mauri rattled them out to the giant, who relayed them to whoever was on the other side of the call.

‘We'll soon have eyes on it,' Saint replied, holstering his phone. ‘Do you have any leads or suspects who might have taken her?'

‘We've got some idea,' I said, running a hand through my hair. ‘A young man called Tony, whose cousin was my woman's housemate.'

‘We need to get off this street before the neighbours become too curious,' Saint growled. ‘Jump in the car with your men; I'll do a five-minute house sweep for clues and be back. Sounds like this was personal, am I right?'

He gave me a keen glance, and I took a ragged breath.

‘I'm new onshore and might have brought some heat with me,' I confirmed.

Saint lifted a brow. ‘Of the Italian variety?'

I nodded, and to his credit, he didn't push further.

We exchanged assessing looks, and I discerned he had ways of digging up all my dirt if he wanted to.

I granted him a chin lift, and he got the memo.

‘You take care of your heat, and I'll find your woman,' he murmured.

‘I intend to. Grazie.'

While he jogged to the apartment on light feet, I turned to Alessio and Mauri.

‘What did we uncover on that Tony bastard?' I asked Mauri, reminding him I'd tasked him with doing some background checks.

‘Let me check with my contact. They were having trouble tracking down specifics, but they might have an update,' Mauri murmured.

He made a call, pushing through his pain even as Alessio and I paced the street, keeping an eye out.

Soon, Mauri called out. ‘Boss, you won't believe this.'

‘Given the clusterfuck that is my current life, I'll hold onto anything,' I clipped, wound up with tension about my woman.

‘Tony's real name is Antonio Abrazzio Gaetano. He's a nephew of Ricco and Carlo.'

‘Fuck me,' I breathed. ‘And Linda?'

‘She's a cousin. Her mother is also an Abrazzio, married into a local mob family hiding in the wilds of northern New South Wales in some town named Tamworth. My contact says Tony landed in Sydney about three months ago.'

‘Round about when Bianca passed,' I growled.

‘He was sent here to sniff around and leg work for his familia,' Alessio proposed.

‘Sounds plausible,' I murmured even as Saint drew up close, striding along in uncanny silence.

‘Follow me,' he ordered in a deep rumble, tracking past our car heading for a late model, dark Defender tucked beneath a tree a few hundred metres away.

‘I'll drive this time,' I groused to Alessio. ‘I've had more practice with left-hand side driving, having practised in London.'

‘Sfigato!' Alessio cursed under his breath, raising a finger in my face.

With Mauri settled in the backseat, we took off after Saint's fast-disappearing SUV.

Saint led us towards a sleek, high-rise edifice overlooking the infamous Bondi Beach.

The seashore below the skyscraper heaved with bodies.

Rushing waves filled our ears as we disappeared into the underground parking.

We parked next to Saint, exited the car, and, in silence, joined the towering Māori man in the elevator.

He punched a floor number, and we flew up. The transparent cage gave us 360-degree perspectives of the interior, which exuded elegance and gravitas. Its windows reflected the fading sunlight.

The lift opened to a high-tech, glass-walled office with an ocean panorama beyond.

It was a breathtaking set-up, but I had no time for it.

Saint stalked toward one of the large executive offices at the end of the corridor.

He paused at one. ‘You,' growling at Mauri, ‘inside here.'

‘Babe,' came a soft, provocative voice.

Alessio, Mauri and I whipped around.

Saint, too, his eyes flaming, stern mouth softening.

For the woman who'd rolled up was a sight to behold.

She sported a feathered bob haircut, which framed a face so stunning and sultry that I was convinced she more than stopped traffic; she caused multiple vehicle collisions and pile-ups.

My woman was hotter, so this siren didn't move my needle, but judging by Mauri and Alessio's reaction, she was beautiful.

Regardless of her gear - jeans, sturdy boots, a plain shirt and a battered leather jacket - she resembled a model off a Paris runway.

Saint sliced a warning glance our way.

She was his, without a doubt, going by the soft peek she shot his way and the way his eyes smouldered when they hit her.

‘Doja, we have guests,' Saint announced to her. ‘Didn't get your names,' he growled.

I reached a hand to his woman. ‘Lorenzo and Alessio Calibrese. The man moaning in pain is Mauri Russo, our consigliere.'

‘Mama, Mauri needs some patching up,' Saint rasped, his voice shifting down a few gears into gruff emotion.

She smiled at us, then Mauri, who clutched his heart in a beauty-imposed angina. ‘With me.'

She led my second in charge away as Alessio fought to close his mouth again.

Saint raised a slow brow, which Alessio tagged with a swallow before we followed the man into a second glass-walled office.

The Sovereign man sat in a chair behind an expansive desk.

He waved a hand at the long wall alongside him. ‘Coffee, tea, refreshments. The bathrooms are at the end of the hall. I'll be getting into it with my crew in the meantime.'

Dispatched, Alessio and I availed ourselves of some much-needed nourishment.

I poured myself a cup of strong black coffee and settled across from an intense Saint who was hunched over a computer, staring at a bank of screens.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts. Still, my hands wrapped around my mug trembled as I sipped on the hot liquid, unable to shake the unbidden images of Mia either injured, bound, and in the wind without me.

Alessio stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon, lost in his musings. Normally a paragon of calm energy, even he appeared unsettled by the turn of events.

From my vantage point, I spotted Mauri seated on a leather couch in the adjacent room, his wounds being tended to by the stunning woman who'd left Alessio and Mauri dumbstruck.

She worked with precision and care, her movements confident and practised. Still, our consigliere's pained groans filtered to us as she applied antiseptic.

I turned my attention to the urgent and hushed voices drifting from Saint's desk, indicating that discussions were underway with an unseen crew.

After a few minutes, Saint glanced up, face grim. He motioned for us to join him at the workstation, where a map of Sydney was spread out with various locations marked.

‘CCTV shows the pair of assailants carrying Mia from the rear of her building and shoving her into the boot of your Range Rover.'

I sucked my teeth, holding back from growling out loud with frustration.

‘I've sent a car to track them, and my people report that your SUV was just spotted by my crew, who gave chase. The assailants have panicked and are racing to the private jet airfield, so we're checking the planes there to see who he's trying to reach. But for now, he's spooked, driving dangerously, and we need him off the roads.'

‘I have to go after her,' I growled. ‘I can't sit here doing shit when she's out there.'

Saint sliced his eyes to me. ‘I respect that. I'd run to the ends of the world for my woman.'

He rose to his feet. ‘With me.' Saint announced, his voice rumbling and intense. ‘We need to motor.'

‘Alessio, stay behind with Mauri while Saint and I head after Mia,' I barked to my brother.

I chugged down my coffee and, giving Alessio a nod, followed the Māori hulk out of his workspace. He slowed at his woman's doorway.

‘Got to dash, mama,' he rasped.

His woman gave him a soft look and sliced her eyes to what I hadn't spotted before. A stroller was parked in one corner of her office.

Inside was nestled the sweetest-looking baby, and I melted.

‘See you at home,' Saint's woman murmured.

They exchanged a hot look I envied, aching for Mia.

I nodded to a resting Mauri.

Alessio turned to me, placing his hand on my arm. ‘In bocca al lupo,' he whispered. ‘May you escape the mouth of the wolf,' wishing me luck.

I jerked my chin in acknowledgement and strode after the fast-vanishing Sovereign leviathan, moving with silent menace through his office.