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Maybe I did, though. I could have left him, but that’s not a thought I’m going to entertain.
Dad puts his arms around me and holds me as the first biker whips off his helmet. He’s a tall, muscular Italian man. The other biker does the same, and I can tell straightaway they’re brothers.
Two other men file out of the car, then more come. They’re carrying guns.
We can’t escape. We can’t even try…
What will happen now?
The first biker comes closer, and Dad holds me tighter.
“Salvatore, please. Salvatore, Gabe, please just let my girl go,” Dad begs.
I’m shaking so much I can’t think. I can’t.
The first guy he referred to as Salvatore doesn’t answer. He just pulls me from Dad’s arms, and I scream. He’s strong. Too strong.
The other guy called Gabe counters Dad.
“Please, Gabe,” Dad says.
“Mark, you really stepped over the line,” Gabe answers.
“I know—”
Gabe hits Dad, and he falls to the ground. I scream again, but my screams are muffled when something pungent hits me. It covers my face and strikes my mind.
My lids grow heavy, and it’s like my mind is folding in on itself.
“Call the boss. Tell him we got Mark,” I hear someone say. Then darkness surrounds me.
Chapter Two
Vincent
I already know I’m not going to like what’s to come from the minute I pull up outside La Volpe Rossa.
The place looks like an ordinary Italian bistro. It’s massive and could hold about two hundred people. The interior and exterior are stylishly decorated too, like the other restaurants that line Main Street, but what goes on behind those doors is anything but ordinary.
Pa bought the building and built it up over twenty years ago. Before that, it was a rundown dry cleaner with the signs falling off, and home to all kinds of vermin.
Now, it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant listed as one of Chicago’s finest. The top section is for the elite. For bosses in our alliance to hold meetings. Some of the most top-secret alliances and plans have taken place in here, and in true La Costa Nostra style, they’ve been secret as fuck.
The bottom, the basement, has seen me there far too often over the last few months. I’m there almost as much as I am home or at The Dark Odyssey. Some dumb shit is always rubbing me the wrong way, or maybe it’s just that I’ve gotten more vigilant and I’m not as tolerant as I used to be.
I’m older. I’m forty-four, and I’m not the lighthearted boss I was when I first got the title.
The men outside look tense, like they always do when they see me. It’s respect and fear mixed together. Most of them are long-time patrons who knew my parents right from Italia. Some work for Pa, others are associates in some other way.
They bow their heads when I approach, and I do the same.
I walk in through the glass doors that swing inward when I push them open. I’m greeted with the aroma of food that reminds me that I haven’t eaten since lunch. There’s only a handful of people in here tonight.
Good.
I’m already too worked up to be around a crowd and probably should have gone through the back. I’m furious as fuck about Mark’s daughter tied up in this. In all honesty, there’s only one way I should handle the shit of the situation. Too many have already suffered because of his selfishness and recklessness.
I go through theStaff Onlydoor and walk down the corridor past the kitchen, where the chefs are joking around about who’s doing the late shift.
