Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
“I’ll call you as I learn more,” Bruno says. “If the authorities are there, Amadeo, you can’t be, understand?”
“If Vittoria is there, I’m getting her out. Fuck the authorities. Get men out there. Men we trust.”
“It’ll take time.”
“Do it.” I disconnect the call and drive as fast as the car will go to the clearing. The chopper comes into view as we pull off the road. I stop the car, leaving the keys in the ignition when Bastian and I climb out. The chopper touches down, and we’re on board in record time and in the air in the next minute. Two of our men are already on board and one unzips the duffel bag to display an array of firepower. I have a feeling we won’t be getting even the smallest pistol into that building if Dmitri Anders is there. He and his men will be armed, and it's not like we can make a quiet entrance with the chopper.
Bastian points out the window to the road as, in the distance, the headlights of a row of black SUVs with official markings makes its way to our destination. They’ll be slower than us. We’ll have time to get Vittoria out, if she’s there.
If.
I don’t like the desperation I feel at the word. The anxiety. And a glance at Bastian tells me he’s just as anxious as me.
We watch out the window, the lights of that procession disappearing into the night. What feels like an eternity later, a lone building comes into view. It looks like it’s been abandoned for a very long time. Outside, three SUVs are parked along with one sedan. Two men standing sentry look up at us, readying their weapons as the chopper lands some distance away.
“Wait here,” I tell the pilot. “If you see Vittoria, pick her up. Get her out of here and get in touch with Bruno for instructions. Do not wait for us, understand?”
He nods.
I turn to Bastian. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready for fifteen years.”
We climb out, ducking our heads and sticking our arms in the air so the soldiers don’t shoot before we even get there. The chopper’s propellors stir up a dust storm, and once we clear it, we walk slowly toward the building, very aware of the machine guns pointing directly at us.
Once we’re near enough that they can hear us, we stop. “Tell Dmitri there’s a convoy coming for him. They’re about twenty minutes out at most. We came to warn him.”
The one looks at the other, who steps toward. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Amadeo Caballero. This is my brother, Bastian. He’ll know our names. Tell him we’re here for my wife. We’ll take him with us if he wants, but we won’t be leaving without her.”
He turns to his companion, who is on the radio with someone. Whoever was on the radio must have heard our conversation because a moment later, two huge men come to the door and look us over.
“Search them,” one says.
Bastian and I stand still and let them take our pistols. We’re then escorted inside one man ahead of us, the other behind. I look into each of the rooms we pass, but the building is empty.
Just as we reach the door at the end of the corridor, I hear a scream, a sound like nothing I’ve heard before.
Vittoria.
I thrust the door open, slamming it against the wall, and Bastian and I charge inside, the sound of a fury so hot it carries over that of weapons being drawn, armed, and what I see, fuck. What I see stops us both dead.
28
VITTORIA
I stare into the ice-blue eyes of my mother’s lover, and he stares right back into mine. He walks toward me, stands a few inches from me, and I look down at his arm, at the ink that I recognize, knowing these were the arms my mother took comfort in.
His gaze moves to my brother’s hand. Lucien is still holding on to me. He cocks his head then looks at Lucien.
“Take your hand off her.”
“She’s payment,” Lucien says, thrusting me toward the tattooed man as I study him. This stranger who knew my mother so intimately. The man with whom she looked happy.
“Is she?” he asks, dragging his gaze to my face once more, searching it again before returning his full attention to Lucien. “What are you playing at, boy?” he asks, closing his calloused, scarred hand over Lucien’s wrist and removing it from my arm.
I rub the spot he held me and step away from them both. Just one step. I just need a little space.
“Not playing, Dmitri. She’s payment for the lost soldiers. Thought you’d want that, considering.”
Dmitri. I have no idea who he is. Never heard my mother utter his name. Dmitri’s eyes search my face again as if searching for something. Or more likely, someone, I guess. How could she have been with someone like this? He seems dangerous and cold. Rough. My father was elegant. Subtle. Although was he any less dangerous? Any less rough? What drove my mother into the arms of a stranger?