Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
A sharp pain radiates through my abdomen as consciousness starts to seep in. Blinking my eyes open, I’m blinded by bright lights, the smell of antiseptic, and a god-awful sound of machines beeping.
“Marcello, thank fuck,” Vin says. I turn my head to look at him as I try and fail to sit up.
“What happened?” I ask at the same time I remember exactly what happened. I was waiting for Zoe outside her apartment building. She’d just pulled up when we were ambushed out of fucking nowhere. Five guys in ski masks propelled down from the fucking rooftop.
Ivan, who was opening Zoe’s door, just managed to shut her back inside the car before he took a bullet to the head. I remember drawing my own gun and firing off a few shots. I got two of the assholes before I felt a burning sensation in my chest.
“Fuck. Where the fuck is she?” I yell, forcing my body upright, not caring about the pain currently tearing through me.
“Lie the fuck down before you rip something and bleed out,” Vin hisses.
“Fuck off. Where the fuck is Zoe?” I yell at him while ripping the IV out of my arm.
“That’s a question I’d like to know as well.” The thick Russian accent has both my brother and me turning towards the door to see Mikhail, the Pakhan of the Petrov Bratva.
I don’t bother answering him as I turn back to my brother. “Where’s my phone?”
Vin reaches over and picks it up from the table next to the bed. “Gio and Santo are looking for her.”
“Where the fuck is she? She was in the car.” I don’t know who I’m asking at this point. I log into my phone, bring up the GPS tracking app I have, and click on her name.
“She got out of the car. Santo said she was coming to you when they grabbed her. Threw her into a van before he could get to her,” Vin explains.
“No.” My voice is quiet. “This isn’t happening.” My eyes stay focused on the app as the circle of death keeps circling. After a few more seconds, it brings up a map with the red dot location of Zoe’s phone. “Where are my clothes?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Vin asks, folding his arms firmly over his chest.
“I’m going to get my fucking girlfriend. Either you’re helping me or you’re not,” I growl at my brother.
“Where is she?” Mikhail asks.
I zoom in on the map and take a screenshot of her location before turning it around and showing him. “The docks,” I tell him, limping my way around the bed.
“You’re in no condition to be going after anyone,” Mikhail snarls at me. “If you did your fucking job and protected her like you were supposed to, she wouldn’t be in the hands of a goddamned psychopath right now.”
“What do you know? Why have they gone after her?”
Mikhail doesn’t answer me. He just pivots and walks out of the room. I call Gio as I’m slowly making my way out of the hospital in a fucking gown with my ass on full display. Right now, I don’t fucking care. All that matters is getting Zoe back.
“Vin?” Gio answers my call.
“Wrong brother. Where are you?”
“Warehouse district. What the fuck are you doing, Marcel?” he grunts.
“Going to get my girlfriend. I’m sending you her location now.”
“How do you know where she is?” he asks.
“Because I installed a tracker on her phone like any good fucking spouse would. Meet me there.”
“Stay in the fucking hospital. Santo and I will go get her,” Gio says.
I disconnect the call and continue through the hospital at a fucking turtle’s pace. “Get me some pain meds,” I call over a shoulder to Vin. “Meet me out front.”
“Already on it,” he says, pulling out a bag of pills from the pocket of his jeans. I don’t ask what they are before I take two of them.
I’m surprised to see Mikhail standing at the front of the hospital, yelling into his phone in angry Russian. I have no idea what the fuck he’s saying nor do I care. I have one goal right now, and that’s to get to Zoe before it’s too late.
“Wait,” Mikhail yells at me as I’m walking past him. “Get in the fucking car.” He nods towards his waiting vehicle.
“Why?”
“Because if anything happens to you—anything else—Zoe’s not going to get past that. So get in the fucking car if you want to help me get my daughter and wife back.”
I still. “They have Izzy?”
“No, she fucking went to them willingly,” he growls before shoving past me. He climbs into the front of the car.
I look to Vin and shrug as I walk over and gingerly manoeuvre myself into the back. “Why would they want your wife?”
“Why do fuckwits want anything? Money, power, revenge. Take your pick. It doesn’t matter. They won’t be breathing long enough to get any of it,” Mikhail snarls as the car takes off.