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My phone rings again. I glance at the screen, and it saysUnknown number.
Motherfucker!I answer the call and growl, "Where is she?"
A chuckle comes down the line. "You saw her only an hour ago. What’s the hurry?" By the accent, it’s clear it’s Alvaro.
"I am going to kill you for this, youtesta di cazzo!"
He merely laughs. Anger shoots up my spine and adrenaline laces my blood. I lean forward and dig my heels into the floor of the car. "Don’t you fucking hurt her, you hear me?!"
"Two billion dollars," he murmurs, “or you’ll never see her again. But first, maybe I’ll shoot off her finger like you did mine.”
"Youcarogna, you motherfuckingfiglio di puttana—"
The line goes dead. My heart slams into my ribcage. My stomach folds in on itself. I taste bile in my mouth and swallow down the taste of fear. She’ll be fine; she has to be fine.
Drawing his own conclusions from the call, JJ steps on the accelerator so the car speeds up even more. The countryside whizzes by. I dial Michael’s number.
"Pronto!" he answers on the first ring.
"He doubled the amount. I need to do whatever it takes to get that money," I say through gritted teeth.
"It’s going to take a while to get this together," Michael says in an even tone.
"I don’t have time." I roll my shoulders. "Do whatever it takes. Liquidate all of my assets, if necessary."
In the silence that follows, I sense him nod. Then, "I’m on it. Wait for my message." The line goes dead.
Twenty minutes later, we ease onto a side road and park next to the cars already there. Through the trees, the red-bricked Victorian building is visible. JJ busted all of the speed limits getting here. No doubt, we set off a lot of speed cameras on the way. And no doubt, he has enough clout with the cops to take care of it, too.
I get out of the vehicle and JJ follows. Peter walks over to join us. He’s the one who called to let us know when Alvaro’s men brought Via to the house.
"They still in there?" JJ asks.
The other man nods.
"We need to go in." I turn to head toward the house, but JJ steps in front of me.
"We need to think this through," he insists.
"That’s the problem with you Brits, you think too much," I growl.
"And you Italians are so intent on shooting from the hip, you don’t care if you end up hurting yourselves in the process," JJ retorts. "We need to figure out a plan to go in, or else we’re putting ourselves at risk."
"She’s at risk inside there. I can’t stand around doing nothing while that bastard is doing god-knows-what to her."
"And if you end up getting hurt, you won’t be able to help her at all."
I glance in the direction of the house, then back at him. He’s right, of course. I jerk my chin. "You have two minutes."
"There are two exits, front and back, both guarded. Guards around the perimeter, snipers watching the approach. He’s sewn down tight," Peter confirms.
"Are you saying there’s no way in there without being noticed?"
He hesitates. "It doesn’t seem likely, no," he finally says.
"Fuck." I turn away to glance at the house again. "I’m going in through the front door."
"That’s suicide," Peter says flatly.
