Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Anthony

I fucking missed her the second she started to walk away from me.

Which, I was pretty sure, meant it was safe to say it was more than just interest in her. That it might be a fuckuva lot more. The kind of more that would mean my mother would be expecting to see Saylor seated at her table.

I tried to tamp down those thoughts, though, as I stood there watching the ferry take off before making my way back to Matej's house.

I found him plugging his way through some of the meat sticks we'd picked up for him, chasing it down with a water bottle filled with two electrolyte packets, desperate to regain his strength. To help us, I think. But to a much bigger degree, to be able to take on his brother and the assholes who'd betrayed him and killed people he'd loved.

Elio was already mostly done with the kitchen, black bags sitting up on the island filled with bloody paper towels, the whole room reeking of bleach.

I propped the back door open to let out some of the fumes before getting myself changed, strapping on the booties and gloves, and getting to work on the living room. It took actual work not to feel sick as I found myself literally picking up pieces of skull and brain matter.

I mean, sure, I'd done some cleaning up of crime scenes before. But this sort of heavy lifting usually went to Silvano. First, because he knew every trick in the trade, and not even an intense forensics analysis had ever produced evidence to suspect, let alone convict, any of us. But, to a lesser degree, it was because the man had a steel stomach. Picking up severed body parts, eyes, teeth, brain matter, that shit just didn't affect him like it did the rest of us.

Elio worked with a sort of practiced precision that made me think that they might not have their own Silvano in their Family to clean up shit for them.

I reminded myself that we weren't trying to pass a criminal investigation here. We just wanted Matej to be able to move around his home without seeing blood or pieces of his loved ones.

My gaze slid to him often as I cleaned up the living room, finding him sitting there, stiff-backed, staring down at the floor, his expression seeming, at times, haunted or furious.

I couldn't imagine his grief.

We'd had some men injured, of course, but we hadn't had a murder in… fuck, I don't even know how long. Maybe since Lorenzo's old man. Though, no one grieved his death.

I couldn't imagine the pain Matej was going through. The deaths alone were terrible. But to have heard it? To feel the guilt of feeling responsible for it? I couldn't believe the man wasn't a fucking puddle of grief on the floor.

I'd just tied off the black bag I'd filled when there was a knock at the door, making Matej and I both stiffen and look toward each other.

"It's my mother," Elio said, coming out of the kitchen, his gloves and booties off.

"Your mother?" Matej asked, brows furrowing as I moved myself behind the door, so she wouldn't see me in all my bloody clothes.

"Thanks for dropping this by, Ma," Elio said after he opened the door, pulling in something that resembled a vacuum, but I figured was the carpet shampooer.

"Do I want to know why you need it?" she asked. Then, thinking better of that, "Never mind. Don't answer that. But you owe me a new one," she warned him before I heard her footsteps moving back down the front steps.

"You asked your mother for her carpet cleaner?" I asked, shaking my head. "I think I'd have to pry my mother's from her cold, dead fingers."

"To be fair, she probably agreed because she wants a new one anyway," Elio said, looking down at the thing. "Either of you know how it works?"

"Guess that's me," I said, reaching for it. "She didn't bring solution, huh?"

"Can't you use… soap or shit?"

"Sure, if I want the entire room full of bubbles. I can use laundry detergent, though, since you don't care if the machine gets fucked up in the process."

With that, I set to making a homemade solution, then dragged the thing upstairs to work on the mattress until there were no visual signs of blood, though I imagined there would be a ton of it deeper in the material. Then, just to cover our bases, I did the carpets in the room and the hallway leading to the bathroom. Clearly, Jan had used something to carry the bodies up to the tub to prevent too much transfer, but I didn't want Matej to find any unpleasant surprises because I wasn't thorough.

By the time I was done with that, my ears were ringing from the racket the fucking machine made, and I made my way back downstairs to get more supplies to start to work on the horror scene that was the bathroom, only to hear several voices where there should only have been two.

My gun was in my hand when I slowly moved down the stairs, only to find that Elio's brothers had untangled themselves from whatever had them occupied earlier and had shown up for a briefing.

Gio was there, as I expected, but so was the next eldest. Ciro was tall like his brothers with the same swimmer's build, brown hair, and dark eyes. He was always had dressed in a clean, expensive, but understated suit, unlike Elio's willingness to wear bold colors or fabrics, and Gio's style that kind of screamed ‘mobster' to most people. He had the same brown hair and eyes. He had one dimple, but he never fucking smiled, so you didn't get to see it.

If Gio was the more outgoing, social brother, and Elio was the edgy, alternative one, Ciro was the smart and standoffish one. He was the one who handled all the finances and shit like that.

"Gio, Ciro," I said, tucking my gun away, so I could reach out to shake their hands.

"Sorry you had to be called in on this," Gio said.

"It's all connected to why I came to you in the first place," I said, shrugging.

"Is Saylor here?" he asked, glancing around.

"She was. But she has a dog. She needed to get back to her."

"If you want to get changed and head back, we can handle it from here," Ciro said.

"It's mostly done anyway," Elio agreed.

"The bathroom," I said to him, watching him wince at the memory.

"Got a change of clothes in the car," Gio said. "I can handle it. You've done more than anyone could expect of you."

"Like I said, this is part of the job I'm on. I didn't mind lending a hand."

"Yeah, about that…" Ciro started. "Obviously, we are going to be in touch as soon as we know more or need more information. I understand you know where Jan is."

"Yes. I mean, to be fair, I don't exactly know who any of them are. I just know that Saylor and I are staking out the place where the men who stole from her are hiding out. We have reasonably good sources that say it's a Czech crew, but we have no proof of that. Beyond the tattoo on one of their forearms."

"A flag?" Matej asked, his gaze pinning me.

"Yes."

"That's Jan," he said. "The others, I am sure, are other men who once belonged to my organization."

"I can get pictures," I offered. "If that would help."

"It would," Matej agreed. "I need to know exactly who we are dealing with."

"Done. They aren't very active when it comes to leaving the house, but we will keep a close eye. I'll send the images to you?" I asked, looking between the brothers.

"Yeah, that works," Elio agreed.

"I know Saylor has a vested interest in this," Gio said. "But I think we can all agree that this is now Matej's place to decide what happens next."

"Unless they make a move on my Family, I'm not under any obligation to do anything right now," I told them. "And she might be a stubborn-ass, but I can reason with Saylor about it too."

"I expect an invite to that wedding, by the way," Elio said, shooting me a smirk.

"It's not like that," I said, shaking my head.

"Yet," he said.

"Yet," I agreed.

Because while I would never say it aloud to Saylor—since I was sure it would freak her skittish ass out—I had a sneaking suspicion that was exactly where this was heading.

Maybe not next week or month or even year. We were both still reasonably young. I had a career to get up and going still. But, you know, eventually.

Suddenly, when I glimpsed my future, it was Saylor sitting beside me at my ma's Thanksgiving table. It was Saylor in my bed each morning. It was Saylor with my ring on her finger and my future in her hands.

"Come on, man," Gio said, clamping a hand on my back. "Go get changed, and I'll take you to the port, so you can get back to her."

With that, that's exactly what I did.

It wasn't until I was in the passenger seat next to Gio that I finally reached for my phone again.

And found I had three missed calls from an unknown number. With one voicemail.

I went to my inbox to find a familiar, but unexpected voice in my mailbox.

"Hey, Anthony. This is Sam. Saylor's mother. She gave me your number in case you turned out to be a serial killer or something. Anyway… are you with Saylor? I've called her four times today and she hasn't answered. It's just not normal for her. Sorry if you two are, ah, occupied and that's why. Just my job to worry, you know? Anyway, let me know. Thanks."

"Who was it?"

"Saylor's mom," I said, swiping out of my inbox to find my contacts.

Sure, maybe Saylor was busy. Or taking a nap.

But my stomach was twisting into knots.

Something felt… wrong.

I called once.

Twice.

Three times.

All went right to voicemail.

"Fuck," I growled, trying again.

"What's going on?" Gio asked, posture stiffening.

"Saylor, when you get this, call me," I told her voicemail before ending the call.

"She's not answering?" Gio asked.

"No," I said. "Fuck."

"Okay," Gio said, glancing at the clock on the dash. "We've got ten until the next ferry. Let's swing back, get Ciro and Elio, then all go across together. From what Elio said, you don't want to be facing these fucks alone."

"I'll wait here," I said, feeling like a vice was closing around my throat as I climbed out of the car.

I shouldn't have sent her back alone.

I should have been there with her.

Now I was half an hour away. And fucking useless.

Lifting my phone again, I dialed Miko, remembering his earlier offer to help.

"Anthony. Everything alright?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"Okay. Lay it out."

"I'm on Staten Island. Long story. But Saylor had to go back across without me."

"Who is Saylor?" he asked.

Fuck.

"She's working with me on this case with the Czechs. We came here to do research. But she had to go back early without me. And now she's not answering. I'm coming back with the Morellis, but I am half an hour out. I need—"

"Give me an address."

"You can't go alone," I told him. "We walked into a horror movie that these fucks created on Staten Island today. You need backup."

"Yeah, don't worry about that. I'll sort it out. Text me an address."

With that, he hung up.

With shaking fingers, I sent him the address to the safe house, explaining that the Czechs lived across the street, that they had to be careful.

He texted back to tell me that he had it covered.

And, honestly, if anyone could, it was Miko.

Which left me twiddling my fucking thumbs as I waited for the ferry.

"Yo, wait up," Gio called as I started to walk toward the building.

I turned, finding not only Gio, Ciro, and Elio, but Matej walking toward me. The latter's face was a mask of pure fucking fury.

"Matej, you could have stayed. I don't even know if there's a problem yet," I said, even as my stomach twisted tighter with each passing second that I didn't hear from Miko. Even as my common sense told me he was likely twenty minutes out from the studio himself.

"There's a problem," he said, voice tight.

As we all boarded the ferry, I had to admit that I believed that as well.

We were exiting the ferry when my phone finally started to ring.

"Miko," I answered, hearing the desperation in my own voice.

"There was no one at the studio," he said. "And before you ask, Venezio, Brio, and I checked out the row house. It's empty."

"Fuck," I hissed.

"Could she be home?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, giving him that address. "Anywhere else you want us to look?"

"She has a warehouse in El Barrio," I told him. "I'm on land now. I'm going to head there."

"If there's nothing at her place, we will head that way too."

I relayed the information to the Morellis and Matej as we went toward the row of cabs.

I gave one cab the address before climbing into another with Gio.

"Hey, we're going to find her," Gio insisted.

Yeah.

I had no doubt about that.

But what if we found her too late?

What if her apartment or the warehouse looked like Matej's kitchen?

Visions of Saylor writhing around in her own blood, hands gripping at the walls, spreading bloody handprints all over the surfaces spread across my mind, becoming more vivid with each passing moment as we drove from the port all the way up to Spanish Harlem.

We had the cabs drop us off a block away and started out on foot.

There was no one around that seemed out of place, so I rushed toward the warehouse.

But it was no use.

The doors were locked.

I didn't know the code.