Chapter 36 Alessio
ALESSIO
Call it paranoia, but when you’re in my line of work, paranoia keeps your family breathing.
The last couple years have seen more kidnappings in our world than I care to count. Some successful, some not, all of them reminders that the people you love become targets the moment you let your guard down. So when Nina and Austin moved in with me, I took out a little insurance policy.
Every pair of shoes I bought for my son has a tracking device sewn into the right heel. Nina’s purse has another one tucked into the lining where she’ll never find it.
Good thing, too, because right now that purse is sitting in a dumpster two blocks from my building, tossed there along with Nina’s phone. But Austin’s sneakers? Those little beacons of hope are leading us straight to a rundown house in the kind of neighborhood where nobody calls the cops.
“You want to wait for backup?” Dario checks his weapon for the third time since we parked.
The smart play would be to call in reinforcements. The last time I went in half-cocked was that disaster at the Bratva bar, and we barely made it out alive. But every second we waste is another second my family spends terrified and alone.
“That’s my son in there,” I say, steel in my voice. “My woman. They’ve been scared long enough.”
Dario nods. He gets it. When it comes to family, you don’t wait for permission or backup or the perfect plan. You go in guns blazing and sort out the mess later.
We circle the property like wolves stalking prey. A black van sits in the alley with all the subtlety of a neon sign. No attempt to hide it, no tarp thrown over the plates.
Complete amateur hour.
Great. I’d rather deal with a seasoned hitman than some moron who watched too many action movies. Amateurs are unpredictable. They panic, make stupid decisions, hurt people by accident.
The house squats in the darkness like a cancer, most of its windows black except for a single light glowing from what looks like the center.
That’s where they’ll be. That’s where my family better be, alive and unharmed, or I’m going to paint these walls with blood.
“Shit.” Dario’s boot snags on something metallic stretched between two posts. “Trip wire.” He jerks back, eyes flashing.
We freeze, every muscle locked, braced for the blast.
Nothing. Just a high-pitched beep echoing from inside the house.
A heavy door slams open, the bang ricocheting through the night, and footsteps hammer across the wooden porch.
“Alarm. I’ve got the runner,” Dario snaps, already sprinting toward the front. His gun is up, his body a dark blur cutting across the yard.
“I’m getting Nina and Austin,” I growl back, charging toward the rear of the house.
The back door shatters inward under my boot, the wood splintering like it’s made of matchsticks. I sweep the first room with my gun raised, my heart hammering against my ribs as I take in nothing but empty space and stuffy air.
Kitchen. Clear. But the silence feels wrong, too heavy.
Living room. Nothing but dust and broken furniture that looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. Where the hell are they?
I move down a narrow hallway, checking each room with increasing agitation. Two bedrooms that smell like stale smoke and mildew reveal nothing but cobwebs and my own growing panic.
They have to be here. The tracker led us straight to this house. Unless...
My blood freezes. What if we’re too late? What if the signal was just a decoy, and they’re already gone? What if that son of a bitch hurt them and dumped the shoes here to throw us off?
I’m about to head back outside when something catches my eye. A door off the kitchen, different from the others. And secured with the kind of padlock you use when you want to make damn sure nobody gets out.
The gunshot that takes out the lock reverberates through the empty house like thunder. I rip the door open and find stairs descending into darkness, cold air rising from below that makes my skin crawl.
“Nina?” My voice echoes off the walls.
A choked sob rises from below, followed by the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “Oh God, Alessio. We’re down here!”
I take the stairs three at a time, my weapon ready for anything. They’re huddled together in the middle of an empty basement, hands bound with zip ties. Nina’s trying to stay strong, but I can see the terror she’s been holding back in the way her shoulders shake.
And Austin...
Christ. My son looks like a ghost. His skin has that gray pallor that means his heart is struggling, his breathing shallow and labored in a way that makes my own chest tight with panic.
“The stress triggered another episode,” Nina whispers as I kneel down beside her. “He needs to get to a hospital.”
My knife slices through her restraints, plastic snapping one by one. “I’ve got you, baby,” I mutter, keeping my voice steady because she needs steady right now, not the rage boiling in my blood. “I’ve got you both.”
The blade makes quick work of Austin’s bonds, then I’m lifting him into my arms. He weighs nothing, feels fragile as spun glass. The thought of losing him before I’ve even had a chance to really know him settles like a stone in my gut.
This is what helpless feels like. All the money in the world, all the power I’ve built, all the fear my name commands, and I can’t fix what’s happening inside my son’s chest.
“Hey, bambino,” I manage, my voice gentler than it’s ever been. “Dad’s here now. We’re going home.”
Outside, Dario’s waiting by the car, breathing hard and royally pissed off. “Bastard had too much of a head start. Lost him in the maze back there.”
I want to put my fist through something. Want to hunt down whoever did this and make them pay in ways that would give Satan nightmares. But Austin makes a soft whimpering sound against my chest, and revenge gets shoved to the back of my mind.
“Hospital,” I grit out, settling him in the backseat while Nina climbs in beside him. “We’ll deal with the rest later.”
It’s not until we’re moving, the overhead light casting everything in harsh relief, that I see the bruise blooming across Nina’s cheek. Dark purple and swollen, shaped like fingers.
Someone put their hands on her. Someone hurt her while my son watched.
The rage that floods my system is so pure, so white-hot, that for a second I can’t see straight. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as I fight the urge to turn around and burn that house to the ground with whoever did this inside it.
“Do you know who it was?” I ask Nina, my voice carefully controlled. “Who took you?”
She hesitates, and something flickers across her face that I can’t read. Fear? Guilt? Her eyes dart away from mine before Austin’s breathing turns raspy and her attention snaps back to him. His small hands clutch at his chest like he’s trying to hold his heart together through sheer will.
The conversation can wait. My son needs a doctor, and Nina needs to know they’re safe. Everything else—the hunt for whoever did this, the very creative ways I’m going to make them pay—that can wait until my family is whole again.
But the bastard who put his hands on them? He’s going to learn there are worse things than dying, and I’ve got all the time in the world to teach him.