83

Portia.
I blink my eyes open, looking up at the ceiling of a dimly lit, small room. It takes me a moment to remember what happened. To remember that Callahan is dead. And that his brother handed me off to David who will now sell me back to the cartel.
This is my punishment because they think I betrayed Callahan.
Not that either of them would have let me live, even if I could have convinced them that I hadn’t. They hate me because I am an Esmeralda.
At least Nathan is safe. But is he? How long has it been? Is he still in Naples waiting for me to come? I turn my head to look around the room. I’m alone but there’s a camera set up directly across from the bed. The red light is blinking. I’m either being recorded or someone’s watching me now.
There’s a chair in the far corner and two doors, both closed. The wooden doors are old, splintering.
This whole place feels forgotten. A red neon light blinks outside from a street sign. The ratty yellowed lace curtain, only half-hanging off the rod, barely filters the red light as raindrops tap softly on the glass.
I try to pull my arm in, but I can’t. I look up to find my right wrist is handcuffed to the bed.
At least I’m not naked. That’s something, right?
“Hell, if he’s really smart, if he really wants to make that example hit home, maybe he’ll just have the men line up and take turns. Just think about that.”
My eyes fall on that camera again.
Maybe he already sold me. Maybe Felix has me here awaiting my fate, the camera ready to record every minute of my degradation. Ready to broadcast for anyone who misses the live show.
I shudder, sit up, drawing my knees in toward my body. It’s cold in the room. My arm hurts where he gave me the shot and a tiny bruise has formed. But that’s the least of my problems.
This can’t be about me anymore.
I’m dead, I know that. The only thing standing between me and death was Callahan and he’s gone. I can’t think about that now. I can’t think about the loss of him.
At least I got Nathan out, I tell myself again. Turning my face away from the camera so they don’t see the few tears slip out before I can stop them.
What had David said? There’s an auction.
Is it the same auction that boat of women was heading to? Women and girls. And Lenore’s granddaughter, Mara is there. If David is telling the truth, that is.
Why wouldn’t he, though? Why would he lie about that? There’s no reason to lie to me about it.
But he knew about Mara all along and never told Callahan or Antonio or even Lenore? He knew she was alive?
No. It’s worse than that. He’d planned it. They’d just screwed up and taken the wrong little girl. He’d planned for Elizabeth to be kidnapped. Callahan’s little sister.
His niece. Which means he was involved in their massacre.
Why?
I drop my head, shake it. The why doesn’t matter, not anymore. Did Callahan find out at least? Before he died? No. He couldn’t have.
I steel myself and raise my head. No time to mourn. I look straight at the camera. Straight at the cowards on the other side of it.
I can die quietly. Or I can try to do something to help Mara. To help those women. To avenge Callahan at least a little.
So, I settle into my seat. I look straight into that lens and I plot, raising my middle finger at whoever is watching.
Because I’ll fight.
Because I’ve never been the quiet type.
–
Callahan.
I don’t know how long I fight for. All I know is every time I regain a modicum of consciousness, I’m right back where I was when I heard Antonio. Diamente.
Right back to fighting this fog.
David has Portia.
Those are the three words that repeat in my head every time I feel the weight of life. Of waking. That and dread. Dread for her.
Something cold and wet touches the back of my hand. I turn my head toward whatever it is even though ] can’t yet open my eyes. That cold and wet turns warm and soft and I realize it’s Cerberus. He’s nuzzling his head into my hand.
I feel myself smile just a little.
This one comfort. I move my fingers as much as I can, and he must feel it because I hear him whine then let out a small bark.
“Callahan?”
Keeping my hand cupped around Cerberus’s head, I draw my other arm up. It feels like I’m dragging it through mud.
“Fuck,” Antonio mutters, but I hear his relief.
I touch my face, my head. And somehow, I force my eyelids to open. I see my brother peering down at me, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for hours. Shadows darken the skin beneath his eyes. He hasn’t slept.
“How much time?” I ask as I try to push myself up to a seat. It’s fucking impossible. My side hurts like a mother fucker. I push through it and Antonio adjusts the pillow then hands me a glass of water.
“Three nights since you killed Fernando.”
“He’s dead.” It’s a fact. I don’t need confirmation. I will never forget his eyes. I won’t forget the feel of the knife cutting into his throat.
“Yeah. He’s dead,” Antonio confirms anyway.
I take a sip of the water then push it away. I look at Cerberus who is half sitting by the bed, tail wagging behind him as he nuzzles his nose into the palm of my hand. I pet him but turn to my brother.
“Portia,” I say.
He runs his hands through his hair again. Turns away momentarily. “He stabbed you where you’d been shot. It’s why it’s so bad.”
“Portia.” I think about how she calls me a Neanderthal. I sound like one.
Antonio turns back to me, expression dark. “Gone.”
“Of her own free will?” I’m not sure why I ask. I know the answer.
He shakes his head. “David took her.”
“And you let him?”
He has the decency to look down. “Diamente told me what he thinks about David. But it can’t be true, Cal. He wouldn’t do anything against us.”
I push the blanket off. The pain when I swing my legs off the bed causes the room to go black for a minute.
“You’re in no shape – ”
“It was him,” I cut Antonio off, shove his hand away and grip the edge of the nightstand. “It was him who ordered it.”
“Ordered what?”
I stand. Stop again. Wait for the room to stop spinning. I press my hand to my side. It feels hot but a glance down confirms it’s not bleeding.
“Ordered what?” Antonio asks again this time through gritted teeth. Because he’s got to have put some things together too if Diamente talked to him.
I look at my brother. I swear there’s more gray around his temples. Fuck. He’s only twenty-six.
“He was behind it. He ordered it. He murdered our family.”
Antonio’s eyes betray his emotion, betray what he knows deep down, but he closes them, shakes his head.
“No, brother. Fernando lied to you.”
“He knew that bastard had – “I stop. Antonio doesn’t know about the rape. I hadn’t realized my uncle knew and he’d been so smooth in covering up how when I’d questioned him.
“No, Callahan.”
I walk to my closet, pull on the first pair of jeans I see along with a T-shirt. It hurts like fucking hell when I raise my arm to do it. I pull on socks and a pair of boots.
“Where did he take Portia?” I ask him when I’m back in the bedroom and open the drawer where I keep one of the Glocks. I slip the holstered weapon onto my shoulder before pulling on a jacket.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” my brother asks.
“I’m going to get my wife.” I change direction, head toward him. “Where did he take her?”
He doesn’t back away. “You can’t go anywhere. You need to heal.”
I get in his face. “You let him take my wife.”
“She betrayed you!”
“She did not! And I told you that you don’t lay a fucking finger on her, not if I’m alive and not if I’m dead. You knew that. You promised me you’d protect her. You fucking promised me.”
He doesn’t back down, not at first. But then steps back, drops to a seat on the chair and wraps one hand around the back of his neck before shifting his gaze out the window.
There’s a knock on the door then and Dante opens it, the expression on his face urgent.
He stops just inside the door when he sees us.
“Callahan,” he starts, looking me over. “Are you – I’m fine.”
“I have a location in Rotterdam.”
“Fuck,” Antonio says.
I only glance at him. I’m so pissed at him I could kill him.
“Is my wife there?”
“There’s some buzz that would suggest she is or will be soon.”
“And my uncle. Where exactly is he?”
“The plane he took landed at a private airfield outside of Rotterdam three nights ago,” Antonio answers.
We both turn to him. “I had it tracked.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do that if you don’t believe he’d betray us?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Antonio shakes his head, runs his hand through his messy hair yet again.
“You do fucking know.”
“He’s always done right by me. By us.”
“No, Brother. He hasn’t. And he owes me some answers.” I turn to Dante. “Have you arranged transportation?”
He nods once.
“And Nathan? Any sign?”
“Tunnel was accessed recently,” Dante says. I told him where to look. “The vehicle you mentioned on the other side gone.”
“Good.”
“You want me to put men out looking for him?”
“No. Better if the kid disappears.”
“All right.”
“Let’s go.”
“I’m coming with you,” Antonio says.
I stop, look back at him. “Why?”
“Because if you’re right then Uncle David owes me answers too.”
“Fine. But if you get in my way I’ll fucking hurt you, brother or not.”
“Understood.”
Dante walks out first and just before I step away, Antonio puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I just thought… I thought I’d lost you again.”
I pull my arm away. “You can apologize to my wife when we get her back and we’d better get her back, Antonio. Alive.”