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“What’s that…?”
34
Ninety days. Three months.
That’s how long my Venus has been missing, and no one can find a single trace of Aliana. It’s as if the ground has swallowed her, hiding all remnants of her existence, and those around me are paying for the volatile ramifications of my failure. Because this is on me.
She was in my city. My motherfucking country.
Then, there’s the disappearance of her guard, brothers, and the rest of that sack-of-shit family. I should’ve killed them all, even if it meant she’d be angry at me. That’s where I dodged up. I take full responsibility for not chopping the head off the snake before burning the nest with the other members inside.
“Callum, I think I found something. Or better yet—someone,” Ezra says from the other side of my office inside the pub. He’s been here since she was taken, working tirelessly to find her, but all leads so far have been dead ends. “This is Jorge Rubens, is it not?”
My eyes shift to the man on the screen and sure enough, that’s one of the arseholes. I’m just missing Rubens, Martin, and Gaspar. “Where is he?”
Before Ezra can answer, Giannis comes to stand beside me. I look over and find his eyes narrowed and lips in a thin line. “I know exactly where he is.”
“You do?”
“Yup.” His head tilts, studying the screen. “That’s their grandmother’s home in Fornells. That son of a bitch has been in Spain this whole time.” He’s angry. Has been furious since she disappeared. And I understand him. I feel the same gnawing guilt.
This sense of responsibility because she was there to pick up a drink for me before we could meet up with him. The three wanted to visit some shops in the area and I volunteered to accompany them, be the added protection because a repeat of what happened to my aunt isn’t something I can live with.
And yet, to me this is worse.
I don’t know how she is.
If she’s hurt.
“How soon can we be there?” Kray pushes off the wall. He’s kept a solid grip on his emotions for now, but I do pity the bloke that receives the brunt of it once he unleashes.
“In two hours.” Ezra moves the mouse, clicking on another webpage. This one is a database; he’s running Aliana’s picture through it. “I’ll have everything ready to go and will call you with any news.”
“Thanks, mate.” I give his shoulder a squeeze and look at the others. Archie, Kray, Dwayne, and Giannis await my orders. “You have five minutes to grab whatever you need; the vault is open.”
Fornells is beautiful, a quaint village in a bay north of the Balearic Island of Menorca, Spain. The population is small. Everyone knows everyone. And this couldn’t be more apparent when we disembark the boat chartered to bring us over.
The locals stare.
They murmur.
Yet, it’s a small boy no older than eleven that approaches when we make it to the village center. He’s sweaty and is missing a few teeth, but I appreciate his bravado. “Are you here to take the idiot home?”
The others laugh at his description of who I’m certain is Jorge Rubens.
“That depends on the idiota?” I ask, and his eyes narrow. Behind him, a worried man—by resemblance, I deduce he’s the father—walks over.
“Forgive my son. Lino can be too outspoken at times.”
“Nothing to forgive. The bloke he’s referring to is a pest.” At my words, his shoulders relax a bit. “Now, can you please point us in his direction. We need to clean him up and get him home. His mother is worried sick.”
“Of course.” He’s not buying it, and he’s a smart man for doing so. “I’ll take you to my family’s small bar.”
“Gracias.”
“De nada. Just take him and don’t let him come back,” the boy interjects, and I laugh for the first time in months.
“You’re something else, kid.”
