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Kate is gone.
I’m about to slip the handset into my pocket when another message appears.
Her cousin shot at me and took her.
My eyes narrow. How did the old man know they were related? I picture him trying to interfere with the abduction, but I can’t imagine Galliano pausing to make introductions.
Holding onto the phone, I walk to the slaughterhouse and wait for the superintendent to get to the point.
I followed them into New Alderney.
My steps falter, and I gape at the screen. Galliano took Emberly where?
Lost them when I crashed the car into a ditch.
My gaze snaps to the clock. Two minutes to go. I send a message to Benito, Cesare, and Gil to order everyone back to New Alderney and to keep circulating the video clip of Emberly to see if anyone else recognizes the room.
I could leave, knowing that Emberly isn’t close, but I would lose my chance to lure that scaly bastard out from hiding. She and her baby will never be safe as long as he’s alive.
After slipping my phone back into my pocket, I walk through the slaughterhouse’s open doors. The rancid tang of death and decay coats my sinuses as I step into a chamber illuminated by flickering strip lights.
Up ahead, rows and rows of gutted carcasses hang from steel joists. I glance around, searching for signs of life. Even though I’ve arrived on time, Galliano is still playing games.
His chuckle echoes across the walls, setting my teeth on edge. I knew that psycho bastard wouldn’t miss the chance to watch me die.
This is a suicide mission, but Emberly and the baby will never know a moment’s peace as long as Galliano still lives.
“Roman.” His voice pipes in through a speaker. “How nice of you to finally cross state lines with an invitation.”
Translation: he knows I’ve been entering New Jersey to watch over Emberly.
My phone buzzes with two more messages, but I can’t afford to divert my attention. Instead, I turn to the source of the sound.
“You going to show yourself or keep taunting from the sidelines?” I snap.
A door creaks open and footsteps echo through the chamber. Galliano steps out of the shadows, flanked by a quartet of men in black.
He wears his usual leather blazer and black turtleneck with matching pants and green cowboy boots that click with every step. My hackles rise at the smirk plastered over his leathery face.
I thought I hated Frederic Capello, but the disdain I have for this asshole burns hotter than four funeral pyres.
“Release Emberly,” I say, already knowing that he won’t.
Galliano flashes his veneers. “You fucked up my plans when you took Freddy’s spawn. I waited patiently for you to kill her so I could get my inheritance, but you had to be greedy.”
“Stop whining about my assets,” I snarl. “Get to the point.”
He bristles, his gaze darting from side to side. Sweat glistens on his brow, and his breaths are labored.
My brows pinch. Is this motherfucker high?
“Keep talking like that and I’ll put a bullet through your skull,” Galliano says.
“Do it.” I slide off my jacket, revealing my waistcoat of explosives. “The moment I hit the ground, this slaughterhouse and everything within a three-hundred-foot radius will be reduced to ash.”
Tommy twitches, his gaze darting from side to side.
The men surrounding him stiffen.
