Chapter 24
Sam, aka Leo, aka Saint
A dull pain pulses behind my temples. Meeting with bankers ranks as my least favorite activity, and today has been nothing but contract reviews and signing documents confirming fund availability from specified accounts, product value, and delivery method. We’re trading in weapons and arms, but at these prices, all parties want to minimize risk and ensure the transactions look as pure and legal as a Catholic Church property transaction.
My windshield wipers slow as the parking garage door rolls up. The multi-level underground car park provides spaces for all occupants within the building. Four spots are allocated for my unit. A black Audi four-door sedan is parked in one of the four spots that’s farthest from the elevator bank entrance.
The black Audi is John’s. Why’s he still here?
I double-check the time on my wrist. He should’ve left thirty minutes ago. He texted me on his way out. Did Willow change her mind and decide to work late? Is she still at the studio?
When I exit the car, an engine idling rumbles through the concrete cave. I still and listen. The car isn’t on this row, and it’s not moving.
I pop the glove box and remove my Glock. I slide the chamber, checking to ensure it’s loaded.
I tuck it in the back of my trousers, scanning the other automobiles for anyone who might see me with a weapon. Across the way, I survey John’s car. His passenger side window is smudged with a dark substance.
Instinctively, I know. All of my senses heighten. The scent of exhaust is stronger, the garage lighter and warmer, the engine’s rumble louder. I wrap my fingers loosely around the grip of the Glock. My skin awakens, the dull headache miraculously eliminated as adrenaline surges.
There’s a body in the driver’s seat, the window down, head slouched to the right. Blood and brain matter splatter the passenger window and the seat. John lowered the window to talk to someone.
Why talk? To whom?
My stomach freefalls as my gaze whips to the elevator bank. I slide out the mobile. No service.
Gun poised; I rush to the elevator. God damn forty-first floor.
The glass digital reading shows the number forty. A down arrow appears.
Were they on my floor? Or is it chance?
I could rush up, but then, if they have her, I’ll miss them. Is that why they talked to John? The code.
He wouldn’t give it, though, would he?
I take cover behind my car, positioned to see the glass door that leads to the garage level elevator well.
What do I know about John? He’s not American. Nick hired him. Transferred him into my employ. British SAS? No. He’d been a cop. Or had he even been that?
He came to work for me four fucking years ago. I don’t remember shit from his resume.
Did you give them the code, John?
I fumble with the phone, flicking through to the video feed of my place. The video shows the foyer, the living area, the kitchen. She could be in our bedroom or the bathroom. Or my study. Or the guest room. Empty room after empty room.
I run my finger over the time range, sliding it backward. My eyes sting and my throat clenches. Three men.
The elevator dings, and I set the phone on the tire.
Blink. Prepare.
Three men. Plus the idling car.
One tango steps out, gun lowered at his side, scanning the area. He holds the glass door. Leandro pushes Willow out of the elevator.
Fucker .
The second tango exits behind him.
Wait .
Take clean shots.
Willow exits. One bruised eye, a bloody lip, tears.
“ Chiama Marco,” Leandro growls.
Call Marco .
“You are sick,” Willow cries.
He’s got her hands tied behind her, but she’s fighting. Struggling against him.
Good girl . I should’ve given her fucking self-defense lessons like I gave my sisters.
“There’s no signal. I’ll go get him.”
“He should’ve taken one of these spots. Where the fuck is he?”
“Probably didn’t want to risk getting booted. Visitor spots are next level.”
Crouching, I come around the front of the automobile, behind the three amigos.
Pop .
One falls forward.
Pop .
Second down.
Leandro spins, one hand behind Willow. The other hand flails, attempting to locate his gun.
“Uh-uh,” I scold, rising from my crouching position, gun aimed between his eyes.
His head is too close to Willow’s.
“She’s mine,” he grunts.
“Wrong,” I say. “Get your hands off my wife.”
“She’s mine,” he repeats. “She was promised to me.”
“She’s. My. Wife,” I repeat. “I would tell you that if you come near her again, you’ll die, but today is your death day.”
He scowls.
“Let my wife go.”
He underestimated me. Believed the men he hired could protect him.
He locates his gun, but it’s snapped in.
Tears spill from Willow’s glassy blue eyes. I meet those tearful eyes head on and mouth the word down .
She drops, throwing a fumbling Leandro, and the bullet rips through his brain.
She trembles, mouth opening as she takes in the carnage.
There’s still one tango in a car.
“Was it just the three of them?”
She nods. Her pupils are blown out. Shock is taking over.
I brush a finger over her cheek, listening for any engine fluctuation.
“You’re okay, baby. You hear me? Is anything hurting?”
They clearly hurt her, but I need to know if they broke anything. She walked out. I circle her, scanning her. She’s not handcuffed. The fucker used zip ties. Blood oozes where it’s cutting into her skin.
I set the gun on the roof of the automobile, snag my pocketknife, and slice through hard plastic.
She pulls her hands around, clutching her wounds.
“Get upstairs. Go straight to our floor. Do you hear me? Remember where the button is for the stairs?”
She nods. “I was in the bedroom when they came in. I thought it was you. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, baby. Get up to our place. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Take care of this.” I press my lips to her forehead.
I love you .
The thought blindsides me. I breathe it away.
“Go. I’ll be up as soon as I can.”
I watch, hand on my gun, not taking my eyes off my wife until she’s secure in the elevator. I wait until the digital reading shows the number 41.
My skin tingles. This isn’t over.
I pop John’s trunk and place all three bodies inside. The concrete’s a bloody mess. This place needs a cleaner. But I need to get out of here. I need to get a call in to Nick. Get bobbies we own on the scene.
That means I don’t have time to surprise the tango. He’s probably figured out he doesn’t have signal down here, so he’s waiting for one of his buddies to come up for him. Watching for them to walk up the incline. Or he’ll loop the garage.
I get in the elevator and monitor the signal bar from the moment the doors close. The second I have signal, I dial. The lift stops at the lobby level, and a woman in a business suit and trench coat enters.
“Leo. I heard from Goldman. Funds cleared,” Nick says.
“We have a problem.” The woman side-eyes me, but the lift stops two floors higher, and she exits. The doors close, and the lift begins its rapid ascension.
“What now?”
“Leandro De Luca attempted to kidnap Willow.”
“Fuck.”
“He’s dead, and so are two of his men. One is hanging out in the garage in the getaway car.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Leandro had to be the one behind Lina. He wanted to find me, so he went after her when you were out of town. Everyone knew you were at that conference.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Beat you to it.”
“Any idea if Massimo knew what he was doing?”
“Didn’t get to interrogate him. He had a gun to Willow’s head.” The elevator doors open, and I slam a fist against a tile panel. The tile lifts, and I press the button for the stairs to expand.
“God damn. The last thing I want is a war with the Lupi Grigi.”
Willow appears over the banister, clutching her arms to her chest.
“Did Leandro say anything to you? Did Massimo know?”
“Who is that?” Nick asks in my ear.
“Willow.”
“He said my father should have never agreed to give me to the syndicate. That the syndicate sold out the Lupi Grigi. And they would get revenge, starting with reclaiming me.”
“You hear that?”
“Fuck.” He’d been playing with fire when he tried to weaken them by taking out the capo last year.
“How’d they find out?”
The stairs slide to a halt, and I climb them two at a time. I don’t have an answer for Nick, so I don’t give him one.
“Never mind,” he says. “Get Willow and come here.”
“What about the bodies?”
“Where are they?”
“In John’s car. Two in the trunk, one in the back. No witnesses. But there’s blood at the scene. We need to pull the security footage before someone checks it.”
“And John?”
“They killed him. Driver’s seat.”
“Fucking certifiable.” He spits out garbled curses, saying a lot of what I’m feeling. “You’re safest here while we sort this. Pack up Willow and come to the estate. I’ll send cleaners.”