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Silently, we roll up to the house. It’s enormous, a mansion similar to mine, with a sweeping driveway and a stone front. There’s a copper roof and wooden beams, giving the whole building the appearance of being rustic. I can just see the edge of the lake glimmering in the backyard, shining in the moonlight.
The whole neighborhood is entirely too still, the house included. There are lights on, but no security. The lack of armed guards,or even patrol of any kind, feels suspicious. For a minute, doubts hit me faster than bullets.
What if she’s wrong? What if we break into a civilian house, and I have to murder everyone inside and burn it down, so that there is no evidence?
I hate murdering civilians.
If there’s a wife or children, I’ll have to make Gia take them out of the country….
I huff out a breath. There are too many complications.
“Gia,” I say softly.
She shakes her head. “Trust me, Elio.”
I shut my eyes and send up another prayer. “Let’s go.”
We file out of the car.
When we get to the front door, Sal tries the handle. It’s unlocked, and the large oak door silently swings open.
Inside, the house is even larger. Marble floors grace the entryway, but there’s spots of something on them that looks a lot like blood.
A sweeping, swirling staircase leads up to a second floor, and I have no doubts there’s a third. The number of rooms in this home would be enormous, perhaps even more than the mansion I won.
The silence is pervasive, except for the occasional raucously strange noise. It’s almost like a wounded animal…
Sal looks at Gia.
She smirks at him. “She found the knife on his belt.”
The smile Sal has is genuine. “Just like I taught her.”
“You taught Caterina how to knife fight?” I ask quietly. I’m not shocked. I’ve met Caterina, and while she is small, she is fierce.
Especially when she is threatened.
“Sure did,” Sal says.
I swear in Italian.
Soon, the source of the noise appears. At the top of the substantial staircase on the landing to the second floor, the Irishman appears.
MacAntyre’s eyes are wild. He’s shirtless and bleeding, and by the looks of it, he’s been bleeding for quite some time.
The blood is a dark, gelatinous color, and his face is pale enough that I have a suspicion he’s lost quite a lot of blood.
“Where’s my wife, Irishman,” I snap.
MacAntyre makes a noise like a bull. “You,” he snarls.
He begins to run down the stairs.
The simultaneous noise of three weapons being cocked echoes through the loud atrium, and he freezes midway down the steps.
For the first time, it seems, he notices the people with me. “The fuck are you doing?” he roars.
I blink. “Where’s my wife, you fucking ingrate.”
