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With the ransom money, he’d planned to charter a private jet and fly to one of the many islands in the Caribbean, but with just a few thousand dollars in his pocket that wasn’t going to happen. There was always Mexico. It was only a few hours to the border, and the cash he had would go a long way, but he sighed wearily at the thought. The Caribbean held much more appeal, and he was less likely to be to be found, but he’d have to get his hands on more money, and fast. There were a few people he could squeeze back in Vegas. That would probably pull in about fifteen thousand. With the twenty thousand he had stashed in a safety deposit box, he’d have enough to invest in a drug deal south of the border and haul in some serious capital.
“Hey, uh, Matt…”
Matt darted his eyes to the bedroom door. It was unlike Tony to be tentative, and as he studied Tony’s deeply worried expression, Matt instantly knew another problem had surfaced.
“Fuck, what now?”
But before Tony could answer, he was shoved into the room by a tall, muscled, dark-haired man wearing a lime green reflective vest. Bolting upright and catching his breath, Matteus watched the brute stride toward him. Though he looked familiar, Matt’s head was swimming and he couldn’t place him.
“What the hell? Who are you?” Matteus demanded, feigning a bravado he didn’t feel. “What the fuck do you want? How dare you come in here and—”
“The name’s Roland, now shut the fuck up,” the thug ordered, his voice deep and threatening as he strode to the bed. “Tony, you may be my fucking cousin, but you’re in deep shit,” he continued, giving Tony another push. “Stand against the fucking wall and don’t move.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Tony stammered as he staggered backwards.
“Okay, Matteus, are you paying attention?” the menacing man demanded.
“How do you know who I am?”
“I’m the one asking the questions. You and my idiot relative took Bianca. Mr. Albertini doesn’t know that yet, but—”
“I heard she’d been kidnapped,” Matteus stammered, suddenly recognizing Roland as Lorenzo’s head of security, “but that has nothing to do with me. You can see she’s not here.”
“Yeah, so where the fuck did you stash her?”
“I don’t know what—”
“Hey, boss, I found something.”
The urgent shout had come from the doorway. Shifting his gaze, Matt saw a powerfully built young man holding a woman’s cardigan.
“What the fuck is this, asshole?” Roland snarled, snatching it up and throwing it at Matteus.
“Hey, this place is a short-term rental,” Matt answered earnestly. “The owners didn’t clear out all their shit.”
A sneer crossed Roland’s face.
“Jimmy, check that closet,” he barked, jerking his head to a pair of plantation doors against the far wall. “Let’s see just how much these owners left here.”
Already knowing the closet was empty, Matteus tried desperately to think of something that might appease the tough enforcer, but a sudden, sharp, terrifying pain lanced his chest. Groaning, he leaned over to grab his life-saving pills on the nightstand, but the ruthless gangster beat him to it, snatching it up in his gloved hand.
“What are these?” Roland muttered, studying the label.
“P-please,” Matteus begged, the pain in his heart growing intolerable.
“Tell me about Bianca,” the henchman demanded, holding the bottle in the air. “Where is she?”
“I d-don’t know. She-she’s g-gone.”
“Gone where, how?”
“She d-drugged me. When I c-came to, she was g-gone. Please, my p-pills,” Matteus gasped, then peering around the room, he spied a friendly face.
“Mike… Mike…”
“Hey, asshole,” Roland snapped, “he can’t help you. Tell me who hired you to snatch her and you’ll get your fucking pills.”
“I’ll see you in hell,” he gasped, then closed his eyes and fell limp on the bed.
