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My gut churns and blood pounds in my ears when we reach the exit at the end of the hallway. I kick the doors open, but all we find is a bald guy standing in the middle of the side street, staring down at the main road.
“Did you see two women come out here?” I shout at him.
He spins around. “Yeah. I thought it was kinda strange, but—”
I cut him off with a snarl. “Where the fuck did they go?”
“That way.” He points to the road.
Romeo grabs him by the lapels of his scruffy jacket. “In a car? On a bike? What?”
“In a Decadent Delights catering van. The caterer put the other woman in the back of it.”
“Was she struggling? Screaming? Anything?” I bark.
“No, looked like she was passed out. The caterer said it was her boss, that she was drunk.”
I stare in the direction he indicated. Of course she had to be unconscious. Otherwise she would have called for help. And if she was dead… Nausea punches me in the gut. No, Mia isn’t dead. A live Moretti is a whole lot more valuable than a dead one.
“They just left like a few minutes ago.”
Romeo pushes him aside, and we both run down the street, but there’s no sign of any catering van in the distance. Out of sheer desperation, or maybe fear for my life, I keep running in the hope that I’ll see the van up some side street that we pass. After eight blocks, I double over, my hands planted on my knees as I suck in harsh, rasping breaths. My lungs and thighs burn from exertion. Pounding footsteps behind me signal that Romeo has caught up.
“Fuck, Ace!”
Sucking in another breath, I stand up straight and take my phone out of my pocket.
“What the fuck are we gonna do?”
I don’t reply. Instead I scroll through my contacts and bring up Lorenzo Moretti’s number.
“Ace!” The panic in Romeo’s voice has me looking up at him. “We lost Mia.”
Rage and betrayal, shame and guilt roll in my gut, each fighting for dominance. But I can’t let any of them take over right now. We fucked up. More than fucked up. We screwed up our only fucking job. The thought that Lorenzo Moretti is likely to put a bullet in my head for this crosses my mind, and I consider running. But we can’t. We need to alert Lorenzo so we can get as many boots on the ground as possible. So we can find his wife.
Romeo’s eyes are wild as he glances between me and the passing cars, like he thinks that bitch might turn the van around and bring Mia back. Like this was all some fucking joke.
“I know. We have to tell Lorenzo before someone else does.”
His throat works as he swallows, his blue eyes dark and his brow furrowed. After a few seconds, he nods his agreement. There’s no other option. We have to let Lorenzo know, and then we need to do whatever the hell it takes to get Mia back.
Chapter
Thirteen
KERES
Glancing in the rearview mirror as I slip the van into park, I chew on my lip and study the sleeping woman on the floor at the back of the van. Lorenzo Moretti’s wife. Why the fuck was she at that event instead of Joey? I screw my eyes closed and shake my head to clear the cacophony of self-doubt and negative thoughts. I don’t have time for this right now.
The sedative will wear off soon enough, and she’ll wake frightened and confused and… Opening my eyes, I blow out a breath. Not my fucking problem. She’s a means to an end. While I have no beef with her, her husband and his family have something I want. No, something I need. And I will do whatever the hell it takes to get it.
Nobody followed me, so I take a minute to catch my breath before I bind her wrists and ankles with rope and place a black nylon bag over her head.
A familiar gray station wagon rolls to a stop beside me, and Phoenix rolls down the window. “You got her?”
“I got someone. Not Joey; one of the brother’s wives.”
She climbs out of the car and offers a cursory glance at our hostage. “All the same,” she mutters.
