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“I’m not, actually. Cain, my boss, is going to return the fee. He is just waiting so not to raise alarm bells.”
“You’re joking. My father will kill him.”
“Kill the head of the Untouchables MC? With military and FBI connections? Who is the only person who knows where his daughter actually is? He might be one of the few people on earth that even your father would be afraid to touch.”
I stared at him.
“You have it all figured out… but I still don’t understand why you are helping me.”
“You deserve to be helped,” he said simply. “And I do not have it all figured out. Not yet. But I will. I promise.”
For some crazy reason, I believed him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cain
“You’re out of your goddamn mind,” Trace said towards the phone. Then he looked at me. “He’s out of his goddamned mind.”
Vice didn’t say a word. He was on speakerphone, but he was being careful as hell as to what he said out loud. Apparently he’d put his charge to bed, again, and was not sleeping, again.
But I was pretty sure he didn’t want her to hear what Trace was muttering under his breath about Vice’s epic hard on for the girl.
“You’re not going to be worth shit if they show up and you are on your last legs,” I said, using my firm voice. “Get some rest tonight. That’s an order.”
This time he did answer.
“You’re right. I just… I had to know she is safe.”
“As of right now, I am going to say you are both safe. How long that lasts is up to you.”
I heard him sigh.
“I’m not giving her back.”
“I know. But I have to tell her father something. Unless you want to start a war?”
“The Margarellis will stand with us,” he said. “The Club. And the Devil’s Riders. Maybe the Hell Raisers, too.”
“Come on, man. You know the Margarellis are mostly out of the game,” Trace said with a look heavenwards. “They are almost exclusively above board these days.”
“They don’t have to be,” Vice countered.
“Yes, they do,” Cain countered. “They are trying to keep their kids out of this. They have given up a lot to clean up their act.”
“Fine. But they will help, if it comes down to it.”
I conceded that with a nod. They would speak up for a friend, never mind an innocent young woman. But they would not go to war.
“Let’s not go there.”
“Maybe Papa will be reasonable,” Trace said with a chortle. “He’s known for cutting off body parts when someone displeases him. Which part are you willing to give up?”
“Not funny,” I said, glaring at Trace. This was serious. The man’s brains were fried from so much time on his many devices. He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Any word on anyone else looking for her?” Vice’s voice came over the line.
“They may have hired more than one firm,” I admitted. “But I’m not sure. Nothing on the other families yet. I will make a call to Italy to ask one of the brothers what is up. Or Michael. He’s got his boots on the ground.”
“Even if they don’t know, they will figure it out,” Trace said seriously. “She’s a valuable commodity.”
“She’s a girl, not a fucking bar of gold,” Vice snarled.
“She’s way more valuable than an ordinary girl or even a mountain of gold and you know it.”
Silence on the other end of the phone. Trace was right. But no one wanted to hear it. If one of her family’s competitors got hold of her, they would control one of the largest criminal syndicates in the entire world. Maybe even the largest.
Certainly the most deadly.
“Once the word is out things are going to get a lot more challenging for you.”
“I know.”
“Which is why you are going to sleep tonight, and every single night you can. You have a roof over your head. No one is tracking you, yet. Take naps. Set alarms if you must check on her and then go back to sleep. Or better yet, sleep in the same room. At least until things get better.”
“Or worse!” Trace said cheerfully. “And you know they will,” he predicted, not at all sympathetic.
Now it was my turn to sigh.
“Sleep. We will talk tomorrow.”
“G’night,” came over the line. Trace hung up the call, leaning back in his chair and looking at me. He looked like a goddamned kid, with his mohawk and hair flopped over one eye. But I could see the worry in that eye.
“He’s fucked.”
“He is,” I agreed. “I’m going home to my wife. I’ll makes some calls on the way.”
Twenty minutes later and I was even more worried. Anthony had heard something was up, just not what it was exactly. The five families were stirring, calling an emergency meeting.
And that was just the biggest families in the Italian Mafia. All hell would break loose if the Russian mob got hold of this. For all we knew, they might know already.
