Carlo
I’m driving from the docks to the poker game when my phone rings.
I haven’t heard from Don Al since the night at Swank, but I go on as if I still belong in the organization. Until I hear differently, I still have responsibilities. A high-stakes game to run, managing the grappa shipment from my great uncle we smuggle in to avoid import tax. A new shipment of cell phones to be distributed to avoid taps or tracking.
I haven’t decided what to do about Vince. Probably nothing, since he had the don’s best interest in mind. I was in the wrong. He was right to call me on it.
I answer the call. “Uncle Junior.” He’s my one tie to my old life. I cling to my contact with Junior like a lifeline.
“Carlo. Mario paid me a visit.”
“Fanculo.”
“He seemed to think I’ve been sending your mom flowers on her birthday.”
I curse again.
“Of course, I didn’t tell him anything. He’s family too, but what he did wasn’t right. We had a stare-down over ammazzacaffe, and when he stopped questioning me over the flowers, he asked about my exports.”
Fanculo, fanculo, fanculo.
Mario’s made the connection. If he hasn’t already figured it out, he will soon.
“Well, if he comes, he comes. I’ll be ready for him.”
“That’s why I’m warning you.”
“Thanks, Junior. Everything on track for the next shipment?”
“Still on track. I’ll tell you when it’s in motion.”
“Thanks, Junior. Talk to you later.” I hit the end button and curse again.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I check it.
No one fucks with Alexei.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Clearly the Russian has been stewing. I let him live. My mistake. I need to talk to Al about taking care of this stronzo.
Of course, Al and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms right now.
I consider a few threatening responses but decide not to reply at all.
Of course, that brings in another text. You took my girl so I’m taking yours.
I slam on the brakes and swerve to the side of the road, my heart pounding. This can’t be… this has to be a bluff. How would he even know about Summer? Or where to find her?
I call Summer, wanting to rip the steering wheel off the car when she doesn’t answer.
Tracking.
Her dad has a location tracker on her phone, and I gave myself access to it. I open the app, hoping to God I’ll see her somewhere safe. At school. At her apartment. Anything.
But what I see turns my blood cold. She’s at my apartment.
Which means, Alexei might actually have her.
I hit call. “Where is she?” I snarl when Alexei answers.
Alexei laughs. “You got my message.”
“Where. Is. She?” I bellow.
He chuckles again. “You think we’re bargaining. We’re not. I’m not holding your girl hostage. I’m keeping her. I want you to remember. No one fucks with Alexei.”
“She’s not mine. You took the don’s fucking daughter. If you touch one hair on her-”
Alexei ends the call.
Fuck. I slam my fist into the dashboard over and over again.
Summer.
I have to get her back before that maniac does anything to her.
I have to rescue my girl, but I don’t even know where to start.
I force myself to push the red haze of rage out of my mind and drag oxygen in through my nostrils.
And then it comes to me.
There is one man who might be able to help.
I call Sonny, first. “Game is canceled,” I bark. “I need you and Vince on standby for a war. Gather weapons, be ready to move.”
“What is it, boss?”
“The cazzo Russian took Summer.”
“What? Fuck.”
I end the call and dial Detective Bailey.
“Carlo.”
“Alexei picked up my girl–the don’s daughter. I need help. A location. Anything you have.”
Detective Bailey blows out his breath.
“Please.” I’m not above begging. I did this guy a favor. He owes me one back.
“Yeah, we lost the tail on him earlier, but there’s a location he frequentswhere he buys his drugs. I’m staking it out now. I’ll text you the address.”
I screech into the road to find the drug dealer and make him talk. Every second feels critical. Every fucking second the Russian has Summer means… I couldn’t even go there.
My phone rings with a call from Bailey.
“He just dropped by and is moving again. I’m on his tail.” He gives me the street and direction he’s headed, and I make a screaming left turn across traffic to change my trajectory.
“Was she with him? Summer? Was there a girl with him?”
“Negative. He’s alone.”
My heart pumps. Was he bluffing?
Either way, he’s a dead man. I still have to chase him down and kill the motherfucker.
“He stopped. I’ll drop you a pin.”
Thank fuck.
“Bailey. When I get there, Alexei’s mine.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the detective says, “It may take me a while to get parked for my stake-out.”
“He won’t walk away from this.”
“I didn’t hear that.” Bailey ends the call.
I texted every soldier in the organization. Russians took Summer LaTorre. All guns needed at 5458 Palmer Drive.
I hit send and call Al before the don calls me. “What the fuck?” Al yells.
“I don’t know. Her phone is at my apartment. He must’ve found her there. He’s a junkie.” That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the shit-brain’s actions. “I’m going to kill every last one of them.”
“Not if I get there first.” Al ends the call.
I scream through the streets, running red lights and screeching the tires around curves. I only slow when I approach the house to avoid alerting the occupants.
The address is in a seedy part of town, not far from where he got his drugs. I grab my spare gun from the glove box and get out, a pistol in each hand. A half block down and across the street, I see a man sitting behind the wheel of a dark sedan.
I aim my Ruger, squinting in the darkness.
The interior light of the car came on, illuminating the face of Michael Bailey, the detective.
I lower the gun. Okay, then. He’s letting me have this. I don’t care if he comes in and arrests me when it’s over.
All I care about is saving Summer.
I should wait for backup, but I can’t. Every second Summer’s in danger takes ten years from my life. I go in alone, shooting the lock off the door and slamming my shoulder into the wood to break it open.
Someone fires on me, and I pull back, but not before I aim and fire at the guy pulling the trigger. He goes down.
I go inside as three men storm up a flight of stairs that must lead from a basement. I jump back when one of them fires. Wood from the doorframe splinters in my face. I shove my Ruger around the corner and risk a quick look to aim. I pull the trigger as more shots rain from them.
From the sound of it, one body hits the ground. I shoot and another falls. The third guy fires until his gun runs out of ammo, and I step out, shooting him between the eyes.
I jog past their gasping bodies.
In the basement, I find a dozen or more girls, scantily dressed and looking high. Alexei stumbles forward, fumbling for the gun in his holster.
Where in the hell is Summer?
I shoot each of Alexei’s kneecaps. The man screams, falling to the floor and writhing. I take his gun and two knives, then kick his ribs, hard. “Where is she?”
“Carlo?” I hear Sonny upstairs.
“Down here. Search up there for Summer.”
Alexei groans and mumbles something.
I kick him again. “Where is she?” I snarl between clenched teeth.
The bastard chuckles.
I drop to my knees beside him. Search his pockets. I find a bag of cocaine. I pull out his phone, but the last call made was to my phone. Nothing pertinent in the texts.
I grasp his shirt in my fist, pick up his head and slam it back into the floor. “Who has her? Where’s. My. Girl?”
Alexei’s unfocused gaze swings around the room, scanning the girls huddled on cots. He appears genuinely confused.
“What girl?” one of the young women says in a thick Russian accent.
“My girl,” I roar. “The one he came in with.”
“He didn’t bring a girl.”
Cold fear pierces my heart. “What?” I surge to my feet.
She shrinks, and I have to stop myself from advancing on her and scaring her further. “He came alone–no girl.” She shakes her head emphatically.
Fanculo.
“How long ago did he arrive?”
She looks at me blankly.
“When?” I tap my Rolex. “When did he get here?”
“Thirty minutes, no more.”
Thirty minutes. Was that time for him to have sold her to someone? His drug dealer, maybe, since he obviously has a fresh supply. But Bailey had said he was alone.
I run up the steps, two at a time.
“No sign of her upstairs, boss,” Sonny calls down.
“Go sit on the Russian, see if you can make him talk.” I stalk outside.
Outside, the detective still sits in his car, watching. Al’s pulling up. Oh God, how will I tell him his daughter isn’t safe yet? I want to kill the fucking Russian a million times over.
I push the rage down and try to think.
The trunk. The trunk of his car.
That’s where he had the last girl during the game.
I scan the street for the car and see it. I jog toward it without saying anything to Al.
“Where is she?” he snarls, jogging after me.
As soon as I get to the car, I bellow, “Summer?”
“Carlo!” The muffled sound comes from the trunk.
For fuck’s sake. The guy must’ve been so high he forgot about her in the trunk.
“Summer!” I yank on the handle to open the trunk, but it doesn’t yield. “Hang on, cara. I’m going to get you out.”
“Carlo, Carlo, please. Get me out of here.”
Oh God, the fear in her voice makes me want to rip the car apart with my bare hands.
Al shoots the window to the driver’s side out and reaches in to pop the trunk.
I throw it open. Summer lies inside, her hands duct-taped together. Blood covers her face. She blinks at the light, struggling to push herself up.
“Hang on, baby.” My voice shakes as I cut through the tape.
She throws herself into my arms the moment I have her free. “I knew you’d come for me.”
Her words cut me like glass. This was my fault. I’m not the hero here.
“Who did this? Is he still alive?” There’s murder on Al’s face.
My jaw flexes. “Not for long.”
“Where? In there? I’ll take care of it.”
I nod. “I’m getting Summer out of here.” I want to be the one to kill Alexei myself, but Summer’s my priority.
Across the street, Detective Bailey climbs out of his car. I hear sirens in the distance. We’re running out of time.
Al points his gun in the detective’s direction as he walks swiftly toward the door of the house.
“Detective Bailey gave me the address here,” I intercede.
Al drops his arm. “Detective,” he calls out. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“One minute,” Bailey warns.
“Appreciate it.” Don Al stalks into the house, his pistol in his hand, his two soldiers flanking him.
I pass the detective on the way to my Mercedes SUV. “The girls are in the basement. The rest of the house will be clear when we’re through.”
He nods.
“I owe you.”
Detective Bailey shrugs. “Glad you got your girl back.”