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Lightning flashed across the sky, the rumble of the earth indicating the storm was near. My breath caught in my throat the moment I stepped foot inside the DeLuca estate. While there were fewer bodies littering the Italian stenciled tile, the stains were as dark, ruining the grout.
The game had been played with cunning, sending me on a chase only to face a betrayal I hadn’t seen coming. Anger had clouded my judgment.
“Jesus Christ,” Bruno said from behind me.
“Where the hell is Raphaelo?” Lorenzo barked.
“Find him.” My gut told me he was down. Goddamn all of it.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak after bending down, checking for a pulse in one of my men.
I raced up the stairs two at a time, my arms shaking from the adrenaline rush, the broken doorjamb at the end of the hall catching my attention. Racing toward it, I snapped it open without thinking, my brutal actions rewarded with feminine shrieks.
It took two seconds to realize Lucia wasn’t in the room. “Where is she?”
The woman who lifted her head looked remarkably like the beauty I’d fallen in love with so long ago.
“He took her,” the young girl whispered hoarsely. “They took her!”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“D’Artagnan,” the older woman whispered. Teresa Lazarro had aged, her eyes no longer bright and hopeful. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
I moved closer. “Mrs. Lazarro. Was anything said? Anything at all to help me find her?”
“One of the bastards said that you would know where to find her,” she said. I remembered Teresa Lazarro from years before. Sadly, her face showed the signs of being in the lifestyle for so long. “Don’t let my baby die. She’s counting on you to save her. You were always her protector. She needs you. We need you.”
Her protector. I’d lost my way long ago, yet this woman still believed that I would protect her daughter. What did that say about humanity?
“Don’t worry. She will be found. She will be safe.” I grabbed Bruno on the way out. “Stay here until I can find Raphaelo.”
“Will do, sir.”
I slammed my way into the other rooms, but the only trail of blood was the one from downstairs. As I rounded a corner, Lorenzo struggled to drag Raphaelo from another room.
“What the fuck?”
“He’s okay,” Lorenzo answered.
“Let me go,” Raphaelo insisted. “It’s just a shoulder wound. What the hell is going on around here?”
My reaction was swift, tossing the injured man against the wall with a savage thud. “You let the bastard take her! You failed me.” Within seconds, I had my weapon positioned under his chin, my heart racing to the point I only saw blood in my periphery of vision.
“Boss. Don’t do it. Don’t,” Lorenzo cautioned.
Exhaling, I threw a look at him, pushing the cold steel deeper into Raphaelo’s skin. “Goddamn it. I trusted you.”
“I’d sorry, sir. I tried. I fucking tried.” Raphaelo’s voice indicated he was prepared to accept my wrath.
Hissing, I glanced at the blood seeping through his shirt and the bruises on his face. He’d put up a fight. Sickened with my behavior, I backed away, hearing a collective sigh amongst the men. “What happened? Tell me exactly.”
“The fuckers broke in through the damn window. Heard shattering glass then all hell broke loose. They all wore ski masks.” Raphaelo took several scattered breaths as he pressed his hand against his injury. “They weren’t Russians. They were Italian.”
“Yeah, I know. My brother.”
“Mattia got away?” He was stunned.
