Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
RAFFAEL
The last smear of daylight bleeds through the private terminal building, dull and weak against the glass facade. Michelo leans against the exterior wall, arms folded, foot tapping.
I walk outside and straight past him, not breaking stride. “Did you come alone?”
“Yes.” He pushes off the wall and falls into step beside me. “And I kept my mouth shut like you asked.”
“Good.” I’m not capable of facing Eliseo without a violent greeting—not yet. Not with how he failed Isla.
“But that woman—Cross’s friend,” Miko adds. “Dear fucking Lord, she hounded me all day for updates. She’s relentless.”
I suppress a shudder. “Where is she?”
“I assume still camped out at the office. I left without telling her.” He jogs to keep up. “Is it true Isla’s missing?”
“Not exactly,” I grit out. “She was taken.”
“Then why the hell did you bounce to D.C.?”
We cut through the line of chauffeurs idling in black sedans. Doors slam, luggage wheels rattle, voices carry beneath the far-off rumble of jet engines. It’s enough noise, movement, and distraction to keep my tension in volatile territory.
According to Langston’s tracker app—the one I stalked the entire flight home—Isla’s location hasn’t shifted, but that luck could run out at any second.
“Raff.” Miko grabs my arm and yanks me to a stop. “What does her disappearance have to do with you flying to D.C.?”
“I thought they had her,” I growl, his delay hitting the feral pressure point I’ve managed to contain all day.
“They?” He steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Tell me you’re not talking about anyone affiliated with our father.”
“Who else? The fucking Butchers of Baltimore came at us on the yacht, wanting to hold Isla accountable for breaking the agreement.”
“Jesus.” His eyes flare wide. “And here I thought you staying tight-lipped meant you had the situation under goddamn control.”
“I do. I did.” I wrench my arm free and continue walking past rows of parked cars. “I didn’t cause this. It’s fucking Lorenzo from beyond the grave, and God knows how many men he employed to meddle with our lives.” I pull out my cell and thrust it toward him. “You need to meet me here.”
He takes in the map of Hudson Heights. “That’s where she is?”
“Let’s fucking hope so.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair, our long strides eating up the parking lot. “Do I want to know how you got this intel?”
“It’s safe to say Cavallo-Costa family ties will be temperamental for a while.”
“Minchia,” he scolds under his breath. “Do you at least have a plan once we get there?”
Annihilation. I’m past reasoning. I want blood. I just can’t risk my rage adding to Isla’s precarious position.
“I’ll figure it out when I see what we’re up against.” I reach my car and pause at the driver’s door.
“You realize I’m not exactly prepared for a hostage rescue, right?” Miko gestures at his pristine suit. “How the fuck are we retrieving her?”
“With all the polite diplomacy I’ve got left.” I raise my suit jacket, exposing the gun jammed under my waistband.
“Are you fucking serious?” he deadpans. “This is out of control.”
The unspoken implication that I’ve fucked up isn't what I need right now. “Not because of me it’s not.” I tug open my car door. “Follow me or go home, I don’t care. But I’m getting her back.”
He hesitates, lips flattening, shoulders tightening, and finally gives a clipped nod. “I won’t let you do this on your own.”
“Then hurry up and get moving.”
He pauses another beat, the judgment loud in his silence, before he turns and jogs away.
I climb into my car and start the engine. My hands tighten on the wheel, then I freeze as movement rustles behind me and a sharp pinprick bites into my neck.
“It’s a concentrated sedative,” a woman murmurs behind me. “One move and you’ll be unconscious in seconds. Potentially dead in less than a minute. So keep your hands where I can see them and tell me exactly where Isla is.”
Fucking Quinn.
My grip tightens until the leather squeaks. “I don’t have her.”
“I didn’t say you did. I heard what you told your brother. You know she was taken. I also assume by who.”
“You don’t want to get involved in this.”
“You’re telling me.” She leans forward, her breath warm against my ear. “But unfortunately it’s too late for that. I’m not going anywhere until I know she’s safe.”
A horn blares behind us, a midnight Alfa Romeo inching into my rearview.
“That’s Michelo,” I grate. “Do you have a needle for him, too?”
“I don’t need one. Once you’re incapacitated and I’ve got your gun, I doubt he’ll be a problem.”
I grind my teeth. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’m not playing at all, asshole. Now tell me how you know where Isla is if you’re not responsible?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m familiar with your complications. And unless you want the rest of the world familiarized with them too, I suggest you start explaining.”
I clench the wheel so hard my knuckles threaten to crack. Every second she stalls is another second Isla might not have, the pressure of inaction trickling down my spine. “Someone put a tracker on her. I have access to the app.”
“Who? Why?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror. “You don’t want to know.”
She glares but doesn’t protest. “Are you sure she’s alive?”
My knuckles turn white. “I’m not entertaining the alternative.”
She huffs. Scornful. Skeptical.
“For someone acting on the concerns of her best friend, you’re sure good at wasting valuable time,” I bite out. “Either use the syringe and continue to escalate the situation, or back the fuck off and let me get her.”
“Don’t rush me, Cavallo.” She digs the needle deeper into my skin. “I don’t trust you.”
Miko honks again. Longer. Louder.
I risk Quinn’s wrath by shifting into reverse. “The fucks I give about your trust right now—”
“Just give me a minute,” she snaps. “Put your hands back on the wheel.”
“There’s no time.” I check my rearview and watch as Miko’s car inches back to give me room. “Either sedate me or get out of the fucking car.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “Take me to her.”
The needle lifts. I slam the accelerator.
Tires screech as we lurch backward out of the parking space. Quinn grabs the headrest to steady herself while I shift gear, then gun the engine.
I tear out of the parking lot, Miko following on our tail.
“Tell me where she is,” Quinn demands.
My hackles rise. “Manhattan. Hudson Heights.”
I pull into traffic, ignoring the speed limit as she shuffles forward. Then with the grace of a brick, she climbs into the front seat, bumping my shoulder with her hip, nudging the gear stick with her knee, the syringe clasped between her teeth like she’s an unhinged psychopath.
She buckles in to shotgun and plucks the sedative-encased weapon from her mouth. “FYI, Cavallo, I don’t put myself in danger without insurance. If I’m incapacitated at any point, all the dirt I have on you and your brothers auto-sends to every journalist in the city.”
Given the balls on this woman, I’m inclined to believe her. But—“Leverage only works until you’re forced to use it. Then you’ve gotta hope like hell your info is enough to distract all those involved from revenge.” I shoot her a warning look. “Lucky for me I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Right. Isla just hopped on your yacht for a surprise vacay at the peak of career chaos.” She rolls her eyes.
“Then the two of you—who’ve barely spoken civilly in years—needed privacy so badly you fired up a signal jammer?
And yes, I know plenty about jammers, extenders, and all the little toys that block and mimic signals.
How do you think I got in your car before you did? ”
Manipulative and resourceful. Not exactly the best combination to be up against when dealing with a blackmailer.
I merge onto the expressway, my pulse thudding in time with each swerve. “I assure you Isla and I parted ways on good terms.”
“Yeah, because you fucked her,” she states flatly. “She’s had a thing for you forever, and as soon as she targeted your company you used that attraction against her.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“No? Just sheer coincidence then? Or maybe you’ve pined for her all these years and thought the best time to tell her was when she had her nails in your jugular.”
Her voice scrapes along my already frayed nerves.
“But don’t worry, Cavallo.” She says my name like it’s a punch line. “I know enough to keep my mouth shut.”
Great, because I don’t exactly have the bandwidth to prioritize protecting my family right now.
I tear down the expressway, slicing through traffic, the city blurring in streaks of metal and dwindling daylight while Miko remains glued to my bumper.
Adrenaline has me sharp, wired, enough to notice the muted tap, tap, tap of Quinn knocking the syringe against her thigh. I shoot her a glance, her leg anxiously jittering along with the staccato beat as she stares straight ahead.
“What’s the sedative?” I ask to cut through her spiral, eying the suspiciously translucent liquid.
She stiffens. Glares. “Never you mind.”
I bark a laugh, the tension in me cracking. “Don’t tell me it’s fucking saline?”
She raises her chin.
Merda. This week can’t get any worse. But she’s already too far in this to risk the complication dumping her on the side of the road would bring.
“Here.” I pull my cell from my pocket and unlock it as traffic becomes congested before the George Washington Bridge. “Keep an eye on the red dot.”
She dumps the syringe in her lap and takes the phone. “Is it Isla?”
“Yes.” Unless my cousin is fucking with me.
Quinn’s leg taps faster. “If she’s hurt—”
“She won’t be.” I’ve been telling myself as much all damn day. “I’m not losing her.”
“You say that like—”
“Like she’s mine.” I stare at the cars lined before us. “Because she is.”
Agreement or not. Complications be damned. I’m done distancing myself.
Her frantic leg jitter stills. “Does Isla feel the same?”
“I’d like to think so.” On the Requiem, she didn’t just get under my skin—she rewrote everything that lives beneath it. I refuse to believe those feelings aren’t reciprocated.
Quinn exhales, posture softening. “Then you’d better get her back.”
“There’s no version of tonight where I don’t.”
We reach the end of the bridge and I take the slip road, riding the ass of a driver who sticks to the speed limit until we’re at Hudson Heights.
It’s a quick right, left, then another right and we’re at the quiet one-way avenue in question.
A darkened street filled with short buildings on one side and a retaining wall giving view to the river on the other.
“That’s it.” Quinn taps a polished nail against her side window, pointing ahead at the narrow town house wedged between two mid-rise apartment complexes.
I slow as we pass—three stories, closed blinds, a driveway, a garage, and a short flight of steps to the front door. I continue until the vehicle-lined street gives way to a no-parking zone and pull to the curb, Miko’s lights settling in behind us.
“I need you to stay in the car.” I kill the engine.
Quinn hands over my phone and reclaims her syringe. “I’m not doing that.”
“You will if you want what’s best for Isla.
” I understand her lack of trust. I get that there’s also fear eating at her, just like it’s feasting on me.
But I can’t walk into this shadowed by a loose cannon in a designer suit and three-inch heels.
“She’ll need you once I get her out. Let’s not risk both our lives. ”
She stares at me—frowns—as if caught off guard by my consideration. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you do the heavy lifting. I’ll keep my distance until the coast is clear.”
She releases her belt as Miko approaches her door, grabs the handle, then recoils when he sees my accomplice.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, diverting to the back seat and sliding in. “Did you stop to pick up a passenger without me noticing?”
“Not exactly.” I turn my attention to the town house out my rear window. “We’ll discuss it later. For now, we need to figure out how to get inside that building.”
He follows my line of sight, the last of the day having submitted to the darkening night. “The place looks normal.”
“It looks deserted,” I murmur. “No lights. No movement. The driveway empty.”
Maybe Isla’s not here. If Langston’s fucked me on this, I swear to God—
“It looks ideal,” Quinn says. “Unassuming. Easy sight lines. A garage to hide a car and any bodies that need to be dragged from the trunk, along with a quick exit across the street and over the retaining wall.”
I cut her a glance. So does Miko.
“What?” She scowls. “You don’t see it?”
Yeah, I see it. I just didn’t expect a pencil-pushing analyst to.
“Breaking a window isn’t exactly discreet from out here.” Miko pulls his phone from his pants pocket and scrolls what looks to be a map on the screen. “But there’s an alley in the back. A balcony, too.”
“I could knock,” Quinn offers. “I’ll pretend to be a neighbor looking for—”
“No,” I cut her off. “If they’re pros they’ll know who you are.”
She bristles.
“What about me?” Miko asks. “If you’re right about who’s involved they’ll—”
“But what if I’m not?” Indecision sets in, the feeling unfamiliar and un-fucking-welcome.
If Langston betrayed me to buy time to cover his ass, Isla might not be here at all. And if she is, and she’s being held by a Lorenzo loyalist, then they should be smart enough to treat her like the asset my father negotiated her to be.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if my bloodline has been discovered and our family is under attack—the first victim being the woman I was so clearly infatuated with on the upper deck of the yacht, in full view of the public eye, as we returned to the marina?
“Cavallo?” Quinn levels me with a concerned look. “Either figure out what you’re doing, and fast, or I’m calling the cops. I’m not leaving her in there.”
That’s fucking rich from someone who burned through precious time at the airport.
“Give me a minute.” I grab Miko’s phone and scan the satellite view of the alley. We need more men. More firepower.
“I’ll start out back…” My words trail as headlights appear at the far end of the avenue, advancing slowly toward us, the glare flooding into my car.
We fall quiet. Watching. Waiting.
A dark Suburban comes into view as it nears the town house.
Quinn sucks in a breath. “Are they…?”
Yeah. The car pulls into the fucking drive, the garage door raising to meet it.
Miko’s gaze cuts to mine, face stricken. “Are you seeing this?”
I clench my fingers around his phone, my knuckles aching in protest. “Yes. I fucking see it.”
The deceit. The betrayal.
I embrace the violence bleeding into my marrow. The merciless call for vengeance no longer resisted, but honed, crafted, inherited.
I’m about to tear the fucking world apart.