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“Prove that you’re Fyodor.”
“January 8thof last year, there was a bloody message in one of your laundromats. It said,See You Soon, Italian Scum, in the mother tongue. April 7th, you found a bomb in the wine cellar of one of your restaurants. You’re a paranoid man, doing sweeps often. I didn’t expect that. Nobody else knew about the bomb except for my men and you.”
“There could’ve been leaks,” I say. “That’s not proof.”
The man laughs in exasperation. “Then what is proof? Do you wish to see some identification?”
I almost laugh, and maybe I would if this bastard hadn’t kidnapped my daughter, but that has to wait. As the Don, I have to deal with the mafia business first.
“Call up your men. Have at least thirty of them gather in one place—the docks. A low-level man couldn’t do that with one phone call. A man in your position should be able to do it with one.”
“I can do better—a single text, but I’ll need my hands.”
“Dario.” I nod. “And send somebody to the location to confirm.”
I grab a stool, sit on it, lean forward, and stare at the man as he sends the text. After, he allows Dario to tie his hands again.
We wait for word from our man, and in the meantime, I think about this bastard making my daughter laugh, charming her, making her believe there’s a future. For some reason, Emma’s voice comes into my mind now.
“I don’t think age has to be the deciding factor, not if there’s something real. Not if there’s something long-term and both people are dedicated.”
She was talking about Rosa and this man, but was she also talking about us? Long-term and dedicated?
“What were you going to do with Rosa?” I ask, voice gruff.
Most men would show a flicker of fear here, but not this one. He stares at me coldly.
“I was going to tie her up without food and water to break her. If that didn’t work, I would devise other methods.”
I move my hand to my hip. “What methods?”
He glances at my hand and then grins. “You can’t hurt me, Italian. Not with what we’ve got. A camera in your house. One of your men has turned. Your daughter is going to die.”
I begin to see what’s happening here. The confidence in this man. The insanity.
“You’re Matvei,” I tell him. “A low-level grunt. A nobody. I think your boss has sold you down the river, my friend.”
Finally, something human enters the man’s eyes as he vehemently shakes his head. It’s like he’s trying to snap his neck.
“Wait. Any second now, you’ll hear that your precious daughter is under our control.”
“Fyodor hired you to seduce and kidnap her, and he hired you to come here pretending to be him.”
“N-no,” the man says.
Dario tilts his head at me from behind the hostage, questioning. I nod, silently telling him this is instinct. That’s all he needs to hear from me. My instincts have never screwed us over before.
Dario’s cell phone rings. He answers, forehead furrowing.
“Leo, it’s our guys. Only one man showed up at the dock. Unarmed, and when he saw our guys nearby, he approached them. He said he wanted to talk.”
“Who is it?”
Dario laughs, almost in disbelief. “It’s Fyodor.”
I stare at Matvei as I take the phone.
“Hello, Italian,” Fyodor says in a gravelly voice.
