24. West
Chapter 24
West
S taring out of the car windows on the ride back to the penthouse. The streets pass in a blur as my mind races as I try to come up with a plan, any plan. I need to find an assassin who’s not afraid of the don.
I’ll sell my soul right now.
Anything to keep Amelia safe.
I pull out my phone and dial Dom’s number, my fingers trembling with barely contained rage.
“West?” Dom’s voice comes through clear. “What’s wrong?”
“I need your help.” I know I shouldn’t be asking Dom behind his brother’s back, but I’m desperate. “Have you heard of a man called Giovanni Vincenzo?”
“I’ve heard of plenty.”
“A don?”
The line goes silent for a moment. “Vincenzo? The don? What the fuck does he want?”
“Amelia. She’s—He’s in New York.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dom exhales heavily. “You’re in deep shit, my friend.”
“I need contacts, Dom. Someone who can handle this. Your family must know people who—”
“Stop right there,” Dom cuts me off. “Nobody touches Vincenzo. Nobody. You’re going to lose her, West. He’s mafia and just like we lost Annika to the bratva, there are some things we can’t control.”
My grip tightens on the phone until my knuckles turn white. “No fucking way! She’s mine.”
“Listen to yourself!” Dom’s voice rises. “This isn’t some corporate takeover. This is the Italian mafia. You can’t—”
“I don’t care who he is,” I snarl. “I’m not letting her go. Not now, never.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Dom says quietly. “And you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Get me a name. An assassin.”
“West—”
I hang up, seething with anger.
If Dom won’t help, I’ll find someone who will. I refuse to lose her. Not to Giovanni, not to anyone.
By the time we arrive at my penthouse, I’m no closer to a solution.
The moment the elevator doors open, I call out, “Amelia?”
The silence that greets me is deafening.
“Amelia!” My heart pounds as I rush from room to room, searching for any sign of her. But the penthouse is empty. Only the clothes strewn across the bed give me a sign that this is her home.
She’s gone.
But not her engagement ring. That’s on the counter, atop a note.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I pick it up.
West.
I’m sorry, I can’t take the risk of you being harmed.
I’ve lost everything I love in this world. I can’t let that happen to you.
This is the only way you’ll live.
Amelia x
“She’s gone,” I mutter, more to myself than to Jackson.
I pull out my phone, dialing Callum’s number with shaking fingers. It rings once, twice, three times before he picks up.
“Where the fuck are you?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries.
“Mr. Davenport, I’m in the lobby,” Callum’s voice crackles through the phone.
“Why the fuck are you there?”
“I’m speaking with the concierge, checking if anyone’s been asking about you or Miss Amelia.”
My jaw clenches. “And?”
“Nothing suspicious so far, sir. I’m heading up now.”
“And while you’re in the elevator, try to remember the last time you saw Amelia, because she isn’t here,” I bark.
“Fuck!” he grumbles.
I disconnect the call.
I pace the living room, running a hand through my hair. The elevator dings, and Callum steps out, his face grim.
“When was the last time you saw her?” I yell.
Callum takes a deep breath. “Sir, I overheard Miss Amelia talking to her friend Carly earlier. She was...agitated. Telling her friend to get out of New York.”
My stomach drops. “What else?”
He shakes his head. “She was worried about her friend. Told her Felix is petrified and already left New York after being threatened.”
“Felix called her to warn her,” I mutter, almost to myself.
“Her friend tried to calm her down, told her she’d be fine. But Miss Amelia got really upset. She said she needed to be alone and...” Callum hesitates.
“And what?” I growl.
“She asked me to leave.”
I clench my fists, anger warring with fear inside me. “You’re her bodyguard. Why the hell did you leave when you had someone shooting at you?”
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t related to you or Miss Amelia. It was a street robbery.” Callum looks away, shame clear on his face. “But you’re right, and I’m sorry, sir. It was an error on my part.”
“Did you tell Amelia that was all it was?”
Callum shakes his head. “She was on the phone when I received the news.”
I close my eyes, trying to think.
Where would she go?
What would she do?
“Sir,” Callum’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “I know someone who can deal with this problem.”
My eyes snap open. “Who?” I stare at Callum, hope flaring in my chest.
Callum shifts his weight, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Cillian O’Reilly, sir. He’s...well, he’s not exactly on the right side of the law, but he’s got a reputation for getting things done.”
“O’Reilly?” The name sounds vaguely familiar. “Irish?”
“Yes, sir. His family’s been in a blood feud with the Italians for generations. There was an arranged marriage between his sister and an Italian family based in Boston to ease tensions, but...” Callum’s voice trails off.
“But what?”
“Cillian still hates Italians with a passion. He’d jump at the chance to take one down, especially a big fish like Vincenzo.”
I consider this for a moment, weighing the risks. Dealing with criminals isn’t my usual MO, but for Amelia... “Can you get in touch with him?”
Callum nods. “My cousin knows him. I can make a call right now.”
“Do it,” I command, my voice leaving no room for argument.
As Callum steps away to make the call, I resume my pacing. My mind racing with possibilities, and the worst-case scenario.
What if Vincenzo has already found her?
Callum returns a few minutes later, his expression grim but determined. “O’Reilly’s in, sir. He says he can meet us in an hour at a pub in Hell’s Kitchen.”
I nod, already moving towards the elevator. “Let’s go.”
As we descend in the elevator, I turn to Jackson. “Keep trying Amelia’s phone. And start checking hospitals and intercept the police radios. We need to find her.”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson replies, pulling out his phone.
My heart pounds as we step out into the night. Anyone else would hide. But not me. Somewhere out there, Amelia’s alone and scared because she knows her past has caught up with her. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to her.
She’s mine. Even if that means stepping into a new, dangerous world to let everyone know.
I step into the dimly lit pub, the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hits me in the nose like a falling brick.
Callum follows close behind, his eyes scanning the room. In the far corner, a man with fiery red hair and a scar running down his left cheek raises his glass in our direction.
As we approach, the man grins, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that contrast with his rugged appearance.
“Mr. Davenport, I presume."
I nod. Sliding into the booth across from him, Callum takes up position at my side.
“Howaya?” he drawls, his Irish accent thick. “Heard ya gotta bit of an Italian problem.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, O’Reilly. Can you handle Vincenzo?”
He leans forward, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I can do more than handle him. I’ve done my homework, ya see. The don’s got two sons, currently studying at that fancy Omerta Academy you folks send ya kids.”
My breath catches. I know exactly what kind of place Omerta is because I attended it myself.
O’Reilly continues, oblivious to my reaction. “I’m thinking we use the lads as bait. Draw Vincenzo out, then...” He makes a slicing motion across his throat.
I swallow hard, weighing the implications. “And your price?”
“Half a mill up front, another five hundred g’s when the job’s done,” he says without hesitation.
I nod, my mind already calculating. “Done. When can you start?”
O’Reilly grins again, raising his glass. “Consider it already begun, Mr. Davenport.” He slides a piece of paper across the table for an offshore bank account.
I take it. “Thank you. We’ll speak again when the job is done.”
As we walk away from the pub, I turn to Callum. “How trustworthy is O’Reilly?”
Callum’s face remains impassive. “Not very, sir. But you didn’t ask for someone with integrity. You wanted someone to get rid of your problem. And O’Reilly is one of the best for doing that.”
I run my fingers over my bristled jaw and sigh as I think about my future wife.
Then I realize I know where she is.
I just hope Giovanni isn’t thinking the same.