Chapter 13
MARCO
I’ve never been in so much pain.
I’m doing a hell of a job hiding it from Karina, though.
At least, I think I am. I’ve been home for two days and I finally feel able to spend some time out of my damn bed, but navigating the shower in a sling, with my still-healing clavicle and broken ribs, has proven to be a lot more challenging than I imagined.
Asking Karina for help is both humbling and humiliating.
If I didn’t need her, I wouldn’t even ask, but I know she’s happy to help.
Problem is, she’s hardly slept since my accident.
The dark circles under her eyes and her constant anxiety over me are proof that she isn’t taking care of herself right now.
I just wish she’d let herself rest. But she won’t.
Nothing I can say will reassure her that I’m okay, that nothing else is going to happen to me.
Still, having my sexy wife wash me is a dream compared to getting a sponge bath from a male nurse.
Now that I’m feeling up to it, Armani has requested I meet with him privately. Whatever this is about, I know it can’t be good. Something tells me it has to do with my accident.
As Karina and I head from the main house to the Bellanti offices, my movements stiff, I regret not dosing up on my pain meds first. Karina tried to give me some after my shower, but I hate how drowsy and disoriented they make me, so I refused to take them.
It was a mistake.
“Have a seat,” Armani says when we get to his office.
I ease into the chair across from his desk, nodding at Dante.
Karina stands behind my chair, her hand dropping to rest on my good shoulder.
The windows are open and a fresh breeze floats in, which I appreciate.
The hospital room and even my own bedroom felt stuffy and stale.
Probably because I’m not used to being stuck in bed for so long.
I want to be outside, at the winery offices, doing anything normal.
Instead, I have limited mobility so there’s nothing to do but brood on my accident, haunted by the sensation of my car rolling, my harness trapping me inside a smoke-filled car with no way to stop it, and no way to get out.
I spent three days in that hospital bed, two in my own, and the doctors say I still have a few months to go before I’ll really start to feel like myself again. For now, it’s an endless cycle of ice packs, physical therapy exercises, and rest. Oh joy.
“Have some water,” Dante says, handing me a bottle.
“Thanks,” I say, making a show of drinking some even though I’m not thirsty.
My brothers are both studying me, like they’re trying to gauge how physically and mentally well I am. I give them a sardonic grin and hope that’s enough to put their minds at ease. Clearly they’re not about to deliver happy news.
“Whatever this is, I can handle it,” I tell them. “Let’s just get it over with, shall we?”
They exchange a furtive glance and then Armani pulls out his iPad. Shit. Nothing good ever comes from that iPad. Armani looks at me, and my suspicions are confirmed by the hard look in his eyes. He’s about to show me something terrible.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” he says. “Someone tampered with your car.”
Karina gasps. My jaw clenches, my stomach dropping. The thought has been in the back of my mind, sure, but it seemed impossible. Hearing Armani say it out loud makes it all too real.
Reaching for Karina’s hand, I give her fingers a squeeze and take a deep breath.
“What do you have to show me?” I ask.
Armani pulls his chair over to me and sits, turning the iPad screen my way. “Watch.”
Footage plays from a high-mounted security camera pointed at the doors of the racetrack garages. I see people walking by, a few familiar guys from various pit crews milling around out front. I nod, not seeing anything unusual yet.
Dante points to a man in a tight T-shirt with light hair. “Keep an eye on this guy.”
The man is hunched over the knob of one of the doors—the side door of my garage. My pulse picks up.
“What’s he—”
“Shh,” Armani says.
On the screen, the man suddenly backs up and looks around, waving casually as mechanics and crew pass by him. A few moments later, he turns back to the knob, quickly picking the lock.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper.
Looking closer at the screen, I check the time stamp. It was just after we’d brought my car inside, then locked up and went for coffee. The crew and I weren’t gone long.
This guy was in and out of the place in six minutes, and then he disappeared from the camera’s view.
Six minutes.
My crew had been in shortly after to get ready for the race. They’d done all the pre-race checks, like always. Except this time, I’d made them leave so I could be alone with Karina, reducing their available time before the race started.
I push the iPad back into Armani’s hands and close my eyes.
“Jesus.” My voice sticks in my throat because I’m sick about this and pissed at myself.
“Someone tampered with the alarm system before he even showed up to pick that lock, and the security camera feeds were cut off remotely, too. All except for this one on the exterior of the garage. That’s why we didn’t catch this right away.”
Karina pulls her hand from mine and backs away, clasping her hands tightly together as she moves toward the door. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I can’t listen to this.”
She turns and hurries from the room, slamming the door behind her.
What the hell? I know she’s tired and stressed, but this isn’t like her.
Or is it? She’s been disappearing a lot lately whenever hard discussions come up—and as I’ve noticed plenty of times already, her anxiety has been really bad ever since she was taken by the Brunos.
Maybe it’s time I talked to her about seeing a therapist. A professional who can help her through this rough patch.
Armani ignores her dramatic exit and taps the iPad screen before handing it back. I’m looking at a series of photographs of my car, blackened by the fire and thrashed to shit.
“The frame was badly damaged, but our mechanics identified two stress marks here,” he says, pointing at the images, “and here. These were intentional, made with a torch. Stress from acceleration and speed caused them to snap, which compromised the integrity of the vehicle.”
Taking the iPad from me, Armani goes back to the footage of the light-haired man outside the garage.
He freezes the image and then zooms in, further and further, until the entire screen is a blurry, pixelated image of the guy’s profile.
I frown, tapping the side of the guy’s neck, which looks like it has dark blotches on it.
“What is that?” My chest goes tight as I realize… “A tattoo?”
“Sure as hell looks like it, doesn’t it?” Dante says, leaning on the edge of the desk, his face pensive. “Seems the Brunos’ tattooed operative is back in town.”
I don’t have any words. My mind is blown. I’m furious. “Fuck,” is all I manage.
“I’ll be meeting with Livvie later to see what she can tell us about him,” Armani says.
Cracking his knuckles, Dante adds, “And I’ll be present during that interview.”
“You might want to do more than just observe,” I tell Dante. “I think Armani here is losing his touch.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Armani says, narrowing his eyes.
“Your little interrogation session with my wife produced zero intel,” I point out.
“That’s because she wouldn’t talk,” he says. “And I couldn’t use my usual methods.”
“That’s because there was nothing to talk about,” I respond.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Armani says, sounding bored now.
My fists clench in my lap, but I don’t have the energy to argue with him.
Dante shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then sighs. “I have to agree with Armani on this one,” he tells me. “Something’s up with Karina.”
“She watched me almost die,” I snap.
Armani moves back to the desk and sets the tablet down. “It’s not that. Haven’t you noticed that she bolts the second any kind of family business is discussed? Look at the way she just stormed out of here. Or that deer-in-headlights look she gets at the dinner table? Come on.”
Silence drops between us, as if he’s waiting for me to respond. I don’t.
He moves to the sideboard and pours himself a drink. “Look, this has gone on for far too long already. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to find out what she’s hiding, Marco. Or I will.”
Turning to me, he tosses back his whiskey and clunks the glass down on the desk. I’m fucking physically broken and mentally drained, and he wants to start shit with me. Fine.
Pushing myself from the chair, I move to where he’s standing, trying like hell to keep the pain from reaching my face. A shadow of guilt crosses his face as he watches me, but fuck him. He started this and I’m ending it.
“Marco,” Dante warns, moving so he’s blocking me from Armani.
“Step aside,” I tell him, getting back into Armani’s line of sight.
I point at him angrily. “I’m sick as fuck of your vendetta against my wife.
And you’re not the only asshole threatening her, either, in case you two forgot that.
How do you think she must feel, living under that kind of stress 24/7?
Of course she’s acting a little off lately. ”
Dante steps away, giving me space. I’m staring Armani down, man to man, my body language saying I’m itching for a fight, even in the condition I’m in. But I don’t care how banged up I am or how scary Armani thinks he is—I’ll never back down where my wife is concerned.
“Our entire family is at war right now,” I remind them. “And Karina is part of this family. She’s also the only safe space I have, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”
Spreading his hands, Armani tilts his head, as if he’s considering my words. But I don’t miss the fact that his eyes have gone steely and calculating in a familiar way that tells me he’s still plotting a thousand other tactics to get what he wants.
Pulling a breath through his nose, he turns and pours himself another drink. “We’ll call a truce, then. Sei d'accordo?”
“Fine. I agree,” I answer. But the minute he makes another move toward Karina, all hell is going to break loose.
He tosses back the drink and nods to Dante. “Let’s go find Livvie.”
As soon as they leave, I drop my head into my hands.
I can’t stop seeing the photos of my wrecked car and the sabotage that was done to it.
Dammit, I should have known better than to steal those moments with Karina.
It was impulsive and stupid. Had I given my team the proper amount of time to do their work, they might have caught the damage and this whole thing could have been prevented.
But that’s not the only thing weighing on me.
Because I know, in the deepest recesses of my heart, that my brothers aren’t wrong about Karina.
She’s changed.
I’ve seen it myself. Ever since the Brunos abducted her, she’s been a different person, and the fact that someone wants me dead sure as shit isn’t helping matters.
What the hell happened in that warehouse?
Her uncle—or fucking Pietro—clearly did something to her, changed her.
Made her more afraid. If only she’d open up to me. Tell me the whole truth.
I need to get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.