31. KILLIAN
My driver pulls up outside Chiara’s apartment complex, coming to a stop right in front of the SUV I assigned to Chiara’s security team, though they shouldn’t still be here. She should have left for work hours ago.
When she called me this afternoon, something didn’t feel right. The call only rang once, not long enough for me to answer and figure out what she needed, and when I tried to call back, the call was disconnected. It could have been put down to her emotions running wild and missing me just as desperately as I’ve missed her these past few days, but when I checked in with her security detail, no one answered. My team always answers. Something is wrong.
I’ve barely stepped out of my car before I notice the dried blood staining the sidewalk, and as sheer panic captures me in a chokehold, I look back toward the SUV parked behind mine.
It’s empty, but I’m more focused on the bullet hole that goes right through the windshield, directly through the center of where the driver would have been sitting.
Fuck.
Travis and Jake were my best men, which is exactly why I assigned them to Chiara. With them, I knew she was safe. They were focused, brutal, and paid sharp attention to detail, all while still being capable of blending in. They wouldn’t have intimidated her, and given time, I’m sure they all would have become quite friendly.
Dread sinks heavily into my veins.
Chiara.
If something has happened to her . . . fuck.
As I cut across the sidewalk, I lift my gaze to Chiara’s bedroom window and find it wide open. She doesn’t strike me as the type to be careless about her safety, whether her apartment is on the third story or not. She’s supposed to be at work, and I doubt she would leave for the night without locking up properly.
At the complex door, I use the spare key I had copied and make my way into the building, my pace quickening by the second.
Something doesn’t feel right. I’ve been in enough situations like this to know when things aren’t adding up. Hell, I’ve been the reason for this kind of dread more times than I could ever try to count.
What are the chances that the two men I assigned to Chiara just happened to lose their lives in a bad street mugging that turned deadly? Because the only other explanation is that someone came for my girl, and if I open her door to find her lying in a pool of blood on the ground, the storm I will wield will bring this whole fucking world down.
Reaching the third floor, I storm toward Chiara’s door, only to find it in shattered pieces on the floor.
I pause, quickly taking in the apartment.
It’s dead quiet apart from the outside noise flowing in through the open bedroom window, but all that matters to me is the smashed phone I’d given Chiara left on the floor.
I stride deeper into the apartment and crouch down in front of the phone before scooping it up. The screen is smashed, but upon pressing the home button, it lights up and I brush my thumb across the shattered glass to find it open to our text chain with an unsent text.
The screen is too shattered to try and make out the words clearly, so I hit send and wait just a moment for the text to arrive on my phone.
Chiara — Stop being such an arrogant asshole and see what’s right in front of your face. I belong right there with you. I love you, and I know you love me, too. Nothing else should matter.
Fuck me. She couldn’t be so right.
I screwed up letting her go. I should have held on tighter, and instead of letting the fear of losing her keep me from loving her, I should have figured out the source of that fear and burned it to the ground.
After making a quick round of Chiara’s apartment, it becomes all too clear that she’s not here. Apart from the open window, shattered phone, and broken door, there doesn’t appear to be any sign of foul play against her. If she was hurt here, it wasn’t enough to draw blood.
Pulling up my driver’s number on my phone, I give him a quick call. “Boss?”
“Head down to Chiara’s bar, make sure she’s not working and report back.”
“On it.”
I hear as he pulls away, and just as I start circling the apartment again, I hear someone in the hallway outside the apartment. “What the fuck was that? You were supposed to take her and leave. Now there’s fucking dead bodies and witnesses. The cops are going to be crawling all over this.”
There’s silence for a moment, telling me he’s on the phone as opposed to having someone with him. It’s not a voice I recognize, but there could only be a small handful of people it could belong to. “I don’t give a fuck. I did what you asked, and you got the fucking bitch. Why does it matter how it happened? Just pay me what you owe me.”
Fuck. That could mean a million different things, but it confirms what I already know to be true. Chiara’s been taken.
The storm begins brewing inside of me, and I can’t wait to bring it down on the fucker who thought they could touch what’s mine. I fucking meant it when I said she was my wife. I know there’s no signature on a dotted line, but the moment I claimed her as my own, it felt right.
Fuck. If I’m too late . . .
Hearing the person out in the hallway come closer, I move around the kitchen, keeping out of sight from the door. He strides right in, completely unaware of the hurricane he’s about to face.
I recognize him from the file Sergiu gave me on Chiara at the beginning. It’s her ex, Derek Monroe, and from what I’ve been able to learn of him, he’s nothing much. Just a misguided loser who uses the people around him for a step up. And clearly, that’s exactly what he’s done to Chiara. He gave her up for a payday, and that’s not something I can possibly look past.
Moving out through the other end of the kitchen, I place myself between Derek and his only escape before clearing my throat.
He yelps before whipping around with wide eyes, his hands up in a fighter’s stance that only makes him look weak. I don’t fight with my fists, not when I can avoid it. I prefer bullets.
“Where is Chiara?” I ask, not willing to waste time dancing around the topic.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The one man you don’t want to cross. Now, tell me where she is.”
Derek scoffs and goes to step around me. “Yeah, get fucked, bro. I’m not telling you shit.”
As he steps past me, I grab the front of his shirt and throw him halfway across the apartment, watching as he tumbles back against the wall and falls to his ass. I stride toward him, not missing a beat as I draw my gun and point it directly between his eyes, my fingers twitching to pull the trigger. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”
His eyes widen in fear, and I watch as the patch of denim over his dick begins to darken. I let out a heavy sigh. Why is it so hard for men to control their bladder in the face of fear? It truly isn’t that hard. When I was younger and immature, I used to find it entertaining, now I only find it humiliating.
“Woah. Woah,” he rushes out, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know. Just put the gun away.”
“No. Talk.”
He visibly swallows as his eyes remain locked on the gun, acting as though he’s never seen one in his life. “I . . . I don’t know what to tell you, man. This asshole called me up and said he knew what I did, and if I helped him do it again, he’d pay me a hundred grand.”
I tilt my head just a fraction, looking like the psychopath many claim me to be. “And what exactly is it that you did?”
“I . . . fuck man. Please.”
I shoot and the bullet penetrates straight through the center of his knee. Derek screams in agony, but I don’t have time for his bullshit. I need answers, and I need them now. “Speak,” I order like he’s a fucking animal.
“I sold her to Ezekiel Lopez after the bitch dumped me. He’s—”
“I know who he is,” I roar as my patience wears thin.
“The deal was supposed to be that she’d be gone. Some asshole would purchase her, and she’d never come back here, but then she did. She acted like nothing even happened, and the bitch still didn’t give me the time of day.”
Crouching down, I press the gun right to the center of his forehead. “What did you do?”
“I wasn’t gonna do nothing, but then . . . How was I supposed to say no to a hundred grand?”
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” I roar. “WHERE IS CHIARA?”
He jumps at my tone but finally gives me the answers I need. “I . . . I don’t know. That guy and his fucking bitch of a wife said they were taking her back to Ezekiel, but once they left here, I was done. How the fuck am I supposed to know if that’s where they actually took her? But with any luck, she’ll be gone by the end of the night.”
My frustration gets the best of me, and as I stand from my crouch, Derek lets out a heavy sigh as though he just escaped death, but I am not a merciful man, and despite only playing a small role in this, it was enough to ensure the end of his life.
I pull the trigger without hesitation, turning away before his brain splatters against the wall, and with that, I walk away, preparing for a fucking battle.
I have to assume the asshole and his bitch of a wife is Sergiu and Monica, and assuming they stuck to the plan and Chiara is with Ezekiel, then my time is running out. The auctions will be starting soon, and this time, I’m not just going to find myself a prize; I’m taking what’s mine and burning the rest to ashes.