Chapter 23
Dez
Eighteen hours of hell. Of mobilizing every resource the my family had. Of systematically destroying Vincent DeLuca's life piece by piece while I hunted for my wife.
"Mr. Moretti." The voice was distorted, mechanical. "We have a business proposition for you."
I was in my office at the penthouse, surrounded by my father, Gianna, Marco, and Matvey. Every surface was covered with maps, surveillance footage, financial records—anything that might lead us to Angelina.
"I'm listening," I said, putting the call on speaker.
"Vincent DeLuca hired us to acquire your wife. He was supposed to pay us two million dollars. His accounts are frozen, nice work on that, by the way, and he can't pay. Which means we have a very expensive asset and no buyer."
"Get to the point."
"We're willing to sell her back to you. Three point five million dollars, wired to an account we'll provide. In exchange, we give you your wife, unharmed, and the location where DeLuca will be meeting us tonight to try to make payment that he doesn’t have."
Every muscle in my body tensed. "How do I know she's alive? How do I know this isn't a trap?"
"Check your email. We're sending proof of life now."
I pulled up my laptop. The email came through—a video file.
I clicked it with shaking hands. Angelina appeared on screen, still unconscious, lying in what looked like a hospital bed.
Medical equipment surrounded her, monitors showing her vitals, an IV drip, proper setup.
She had a fresh bandage on her temple. Her face was still bruised but she looked stable.
"As you can see," the voice continued, "we've been keeping her properly medicated and monitored. The head injury required professional medical care. We brought in a real doctor, a former army medic, very discreet. She's been receiving appropriate treatment for her condition."
"Let me talk to the doctor," I demanded.
"One moment."
A new voice came on the line—male, older, with a slight Southern accent.
"Mr. Moretti, I'm Dr. Rhodes. I've been monitoring your wife's condition for the past eighteen hours.
The subdural hematoma is stable, showing no signs of expansion.
Her vital signs are good, blood pressure 118 over 75, heart rate 68, oxygen saturation at 98%.
The pregnancy is unaffected. Fetal heartbeat is strong at 142 beats per minute. "
My father's hand gripped my shoulder. Hard.
"When will she wake up?" I asked.
"Could be anytime now. The concussion was moderate but not severe. Her brain is healing. I'd estimate within the next 12 to 24 hours she'll regain consciousness."
"If I pay, how do I know you'll actually return her?"
The distorted voice came back. "Because this was never personal, Mr. Moretti. This was a job. DeLuca hired us to grab her, we grabbed her. He can't pay, so we're selling the contract to you. Once you pay, the job is complete. We deliver the asset and disappear. Simple business transaction."
"And DeLuca?"
"Will be at the old Boeing plant in Everett at midnight tonight, trying to negotiate payment with us. Except you'll be there instead." A pause. "Consider it a bonus. You get your wife back and the location of the man who tried to kill her. We get paid and walk away clean."
I looked at my father. He nodded once. Do it.
"I want her delivered to a hospital first," I said. "Swedish First Hill, where you took her from. Same floor, same room. You get her there safely, get her set up with proper medical care, and then I wire the money."
"That's not how this works."
"That's exactly how this works. You've kept her alive this long, you can deliver her properly.
I'm not wiring three point five million dollars on faith.
" My voice went cold. "You deliver her safely, I pay you and you disappear.
You fuck with me, and there's nowhere on earth you can hide. Are we clear?"
A long pause. Then, "Clear. We'll have her at Swedish by 10 PM. Once hospital staff confirms she's stable and secure, you wire the payment."
"Will do."
The line went dead.
I sat back in my chair, my hands shaking with adrenaline and relief.
"They're bringing her home," Gianna said quietly. "Dez, they're actually bringing her home."
"We don't celebrate until she's safe," my father said. "This could still be a trap."
"It's not," Matvey said, studying his laptop. "I traced the call. It bounced through fourteen different servers but the origin point matches the crew we ID'd from the hospital footage. Former special forces, all of them. They're professionals. If they say they'll deliver, they will."
"Get every available man to Swedish," I ordered. "I want that floor locked down tighter than before. No one in or out without going through us. And someone find me everything on the Boeing plant in Everett. Every entrance, every exit, every place someone could hide."
"On it," Marco said, already on his phone.
I stood and started pacing, too wired to sit still. Angelina was coming home.
After imagining every terrible thing that could be happening to her, of blaming myself for not protecting her better… She was coming home.
"What are you going to do to DeLuca?" Gianna asked quietly.
I looked at my sister. Sweet Gianna, who'd helped plan my wedding, who'd brought Angelina's friends to surprise her, who'd been crying in the corner for the past eighteen hours.
"What do you think I'm going to do?" I asked.
"I think you're going to kill him." She met my eyes. "And I think you should. For what he did to Angelina. For what he tried to do to your baby."
"Gianna—"
"Don't." She stood, crossing to me. "Don't try to protect me from this. I know what our family is, Dez. I know what you do. And I'm telling you—kill him. Make him suffer. Make him regret ever touching someone you love."
I pulled her into a hug, my fierce little sister who understood things better than I'd given her credit for.
"I will," I promised. "I'm going to make him pay for every second of fear, every moment of pain. And when I'm done, there won't be enough left to identify."
"Good."
At 9:47 PM, I got the call.
"She's in the ambulance bay at Swedish," Matvey said. "They just pulled up. Two guys in paramedic uniforms, proper medical transport. They're wheeling her in now."
I was already in my car, Marco driving like a maniac through Seattle traffic.
"Is she conscious?"
"Not yet. But the monitors show stable vitals. Dr. Patterson is meeting them at the elevator."
We made it to the hospital in twelve minutes. I took the stairs three at a time, bursting onto the top floor just as they were wheeling Angelina into her room.
She looked exactly like she had in the video. Unconscious but stable, properly bandaged, hooked up to monitors that showed a strong, steady heartbeat.
Dr. Patterson was already examining her, checking pupils, testing reflexes.
"How is she?" I demanded.
"Stable. Whoever had her knew what they were doing medically. The hematoma hasn't grown. All her vitals are good." He looked up at me. "She's going to be okay, Mr. Moretti. Both of them."
I sank into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand.
"I'm here, sweetheart," I whispered. "You're safe now. You're home."
Her fingers tightened slightly in mine.
"That's new," Dr. Patterson said. "She's starting to respond to stimuli. I'd say she'll wake up within the next few hours."
"She better." I muttered.
"She’s doing well, Mr. Moretti." He squeezed my shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour to check on her."
He left, and it was just me and Angelina and the steady beep of the heart monitor.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
Payment confirmed. DeLuca will be at the old Boeing plant, Building 40-26, northeast entrance at midnight. He'll be armed. He knows you're coming. Good hunting.
Contract fulfilled.
I forwarded it to Matvey and my father. I looked at Angelina, still unconscious but safe, and felt something cold settle in my chest. I didn’t want to leave her, but I had to finish this.
"I have to go," I told her, bringing her hand to my lips. "I have to finish this. But I'll be back before you wake up. I promise."
I kissed her forehead and stood.
Marco was waiting outside. "Ready?"
"More than ready."
We took three cars, twelve men total, all armed, all ready for war.
The Boeing plant was massive, abandoned since the company moved operations.
Building 40-26 was toward the back, partially collapsed, covered in graffiti and rust. Perfect place for an ambush.
Or an execution. We parked a quarter mile away and approached on foot, using night vision and thermal imaging to scan for threats.
"I've got one heat signature," Matvey reported. "Northeast entrance, just like they said. Solo. No backup that I can see."
"Could be a trap," Marco warned.
"Then we spring it." I checked my weapon. "Everyone else stays back. This one's mine."
"Dez." Marco looked at me.
"Mine," I repeated. "He tried to kill my wife. This doesn't end with a bullet to the head. This ends with me making him suffer."
No one argued. I approached the entrance alone, my weapon drawn but held low. Vincent stood in the doorway, illuminated by a single shaft of moonlight. He looked terrible. Unshaven, unwashed, wild-eyed. He had a gun in his hand but it was pointed at the ground.
"Moretti," he said when he saw me.
"DeLuca."
"I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said this was all a misunderstanding?"
I snorted. "No. You had plenty of time to come up with better bullshit than that."
"Yeah." He let out a bitter laugh. "Didn't think so."
"Put the gun down."
"Why? So you can kill me quick?" He shook his head. "I know how this ends, Moretti. I know what you're going to do to me. I'd rather not surrender so easily."
He raised the gun toward his own head. I shot it out of his hand before he could pull the trigger. He screamed, clutching his shattered hand to his chest.
"You don't get the easy way out," I said, holstering my weapon and pulling out a knife instead. "You tried to kill my wife. You planted bombs. You hired gunmen. You terrorized her for months."
I advanced on him slowly.
"And now you're going to pay for every single second of fear you caused her."
He backed up, stumbling. "Please…"
"Did Angelina beg? When you were planning to blow her up? When you had someone shoot at her outside a restaurant?" I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "Did you think about the baby you'd be killing?"
"I didn't know she was pregnant!"
"You didn't care." I punched him. Hard. Felt his nose break under my fist. "All you cared about was yourself. Your ego. Your greed."
I hit him again. And again. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from his face. I kicked him in the ribs. Heard something crack.
"This is for Angelina," I said, and kicked him again.
He was crying now, begging, trying to crawl away. I followed.
"This is for my child."
Another kick.
"This is for every moment she spent afraid."
Another.
"This is for making me worry I'd lost them both."
Another.
He wasn't moving anymore. Just lying there, broken and bleeding. I knelt beside him, grabbed his hair, forced him to look at me.
"You came after my family," I said quietly. "The worst mistake you ever made."
I slit his throat. Not quick. Not clean.
Slow enough that he felt it. That he knew exactly what was happening.
His eyes went wide. He tried to speak but only blood came out.
I watched him die. Watched the life drain from his eyes.
Watched until he was completely, irrevocably dead.
Then I stood, wiped the blood from my hands, and walked away.
"It's done," I told my father when I reached the cars.
He nodded. "Clean up crew?"
"Send them. Make sure there's nothing left to find. I mean fuckin’ minced."
"I’ll let em know."
I got in the car and Marco drove me to ditch my clothes, clean up, and back to the hospital in silence.
By the time we arrived, the sun was starting to rise.
I went straight to Angelina's room, feeling a billion pounds lighter than when I left. She was still out and sighed in relief. I didn’t want her to wake up alone and I would’ve felt like shit if she had.
I kissed her forehead and sat in the chair where I planned to be until she woke up.