Chapter 40
ROMERO
The stench of burnt flesh and piss hangs heavy in the room.
Blood drips in a steady rhythm onto the tarp spread beneath the chair where Mikkel’s man slumps. The piece of shit who shot at my fucking wife. His hand—what’s left of it—dangles limply over the armrest.
I squat in front of the fucker, bringing my eyes level with his ruined face. “I’m only going to ask you one last time. Where the fuck is Mikkel?”
His head lolls to the side as he whimpers, his eye—the one that isn’t swollen shut—a kaleidoscope of purple and black courtesy of my knuckles. When he tries to speak, blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
“What was that?” I grab his chin, jerking his face towards mine. “Speak up.”
“I—I don’t… know…” Each word is a struggle, punctuated by ragged breathing, his face twisted in agony.
My smile turns cold as I release his chin. “Wrong fucking answer.”
I reach for my favorite toy on the table next to me—the blowtorch that’s already given his left hand that lovely charcoal aesthetic.
See, I’m not completely heartless. I cauterized those stumps so he wouldn’t bleed out too quickly.
The right hand, though? That’s still leaking like a broken faucet.
Also missing fingers—fingers he used to pull the trigger, that tried to end my wife’s life.
“Romero.” Sandro’s urgent voice cuts through the sudden squealing panic as I lift the blowtorch towards the fucker’s face.
“Not now.” I don’t turn around, too focused on flicking the torch to life. The blue flame dances, hungry and eager.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
“They can leave a fucking message,” I snap. The torch hisses as I adjust the flame, already imagining how pretty those scorch marks will look across his remaining eye.
There’s a brief pause behind me. Then, carefully, like he knows he’s stepping into dangerous territory by continuing to speak, Sandro says in a low whisper. “It’s Leni.”
The blowtorch goes dead in my hand.
Every muscle in my body goes stiff as I turn my head slowly towards him.
Leni.
I haven’t let myself think about her since she left last night. Every time her face slips into my mind—that look of raw hurt and betrayal when she confronted me—my heart throbs like an open wound, leaving me hollow.
Fuck.
I stare at the phone in Sandro’s outstretched hand, blood drying on my gloves, heart thundering now for a whole different reason. Without a word, I snatch it from him.
“Don’t let him bleed out. Not yet,” I tell the other men in the room as I step outside, phone pressed to my ear. “Amore.” The word comes out soft, my voice gentling for the first time in hours. “What’s wrong?”
Because something has to be wrong if she’s calling me right now. After last night, after everything that went down between us. Until this moment, my only contact with her has been the updates from Logan and the men watching her house.
Silence stretches on the other end—long enough for me to think she’d butt-dialed me. Then: “Drop that bag on the table and step away from it, or I’m going to blow little Ethan’s brains out.”
My heart lurches to my throat. I’m already moving towards the car. I need to get to her. Now. Right fucking now.
Because that voice. It’s Mikkel.
“Where’s my wife?” I bark at Sandro, even though I know where she is. Logan texted me that he’d dropped her at the house and she’d gone inside. Inside where she should be safe.
Except she’s clearly not fucking safe, is she?
“She got home from the rehab center about ten minutes ago,” Sandro answers, falling into step beside me. “Romero, what’s—"
“The men watching the house,” I cut him off, sliding behind the wheel, my hands shaking with rage and fear. “Are they still in position?”
“Yeah, they’re—” he starts to answer, then stops when he sees my face. He jogs around to the passenger side as I fire up the engine. “What’s going on?”
“Good girl. Now I’m going to need you to step towards me.” Mikkel’s voice drifts from the phone. “Yes, like that. Pick up that device on the floor and dial your husband’s number. Call Romero.”
Fucking hell. I put my phone on speaker, placing it on the armrest between Sandro and me as I peel out of the driveway. Tires squeal against asphalt as I quickly fill Sandro in on what little I know.
That’s when the problem hits me like a punch to the gut—if Leni calls me with the device Mikkel gives her, my current call with her will disconnect and I’ll lose any insight into what’s happening inside that house.
Fuck. FUCK!
“How the hell did he get inside?” The words explode out of me. What the hell were Leni’s guards doing? Taking a goddamn nap?
Sandro’s phone starts ringing and we lock eyes. I nod for him to answer it.
“Hello?”
Sandro’s voice echoes through my phone from the call with Leni, and I feel a rush of relief. She called Sandro so our line with her wouldn’t drop. Smart girl.
I take my phone off speaker to avoid overlap and Sandro puts his on. “Leni, is that you?” I keep my voice steady, even though my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. “Whose number is this?”
But it’s not my wife who answers.
“Romero Lombardi,” that familiar, smug voice crackles through the speaker. “This is Mikkel Verona. I have your wife and brother-in-law in my possession.”
“Mikkel.” I harden my voice, ice filling my veins. “You do realize my men have that house surrounded, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know. It was hell slipping past them undetected. But here’s the thing—your men aren’t going to do anything, because if they try, I’ll put bullets in both of these pretty heads, then eat my own gun.
” His voice is still smug, confident. He knows he holds all the cards with those two as his hostages.
My hands tighten on the wheel until my knuckles go white. “What do you want?”
“You have someone very important to me in your possession. I want him back. And twenty million dollars wired to an offshore account—I'll text you the details. Meet those demands, and your family walks away breathing.”
I grit my teeth as I turn onto the street where the house is located. “And if he’s dead?”
“My son better not be dead!” The smugness evaporates, replaced by something frantic, desperate, and a small whimper comes through the line. Leni.
That bastard!
Every shred of reason snaps. I want to promise him slow, creative death. Want to describe in vivid detail what I’m going to do to him once I get my hands on him.
But Sandro catches my eye and shoots me a warning look. Don’t antagonize him.
I force myself to take a deep breath. “He’s alive.” Though not exactly whole anymore. But Mikkel doesn’t need to know that yet. “I’m pulling up in front of the house now. I’ll send one of my men to go get your son. There’s no need to hurt Leni or Ethan.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Mikkel continues, confidence returning to his voice. “You’re going to let my son and me leave with the money. No tracking devices, no last-minute heroics, no bullshit. We disappear, and everyone stays happy.”
Like hell.
That bastard and his son are going to pay for thinking they can try to kill my wife and just walk away.
And what does he take me for? Some amateur? There’s no guarantee he won’t try to hurt her again once I let him slip out of my grasp.
“Are you there?” His voice sharpens with impatience.
“Rome,” Sandro murmurs beside me.
“Yes, I’m here.” I pull up across from the house, scanning the windows for any sign of movement.
“You and your son can leave with the money. But you stay the fuck out of New York. Forever.” I add this condition because he’ll suspect something is up if I give in too easily.
“If you so much as show your face in my territory again, you’re dead. ”
“With twenty million, my son and I will be set for a very long time. Trust me, we won’t be stupid enough to come back into your territory.”
“Then we have a deal.”