Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Rocco,” Enzo said evenly, forcing his voice to stay calm despite the adrenaline humming through his veins, “Mendoza isn’t here to make a deal. Vitale lied if he told you that. Mendoza relays messages to Ramiro Sanchez. He is the head of the cartel.”
“I know who Sanchez is,” Rocco snarled. His lip curled as he spoke, his eyes flashing with offended pride. He cut a hard glare toward Vitale but didn’t say anything else. Not yet. He was storing it, analyzing it. Enzo could see that much.
Vitale inclined his head just slightly, the barest nod.
His security reacted instantly, lowering their weapons in controlled unison.
Rocco made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand, and Matteo followed suit, easing his gun down to his side, but not adjusting the safety.
Enzo let out a long breath through his nose. His shoulders loosened a fraction. That had been close. Too close. He forced himself not to show it.
He scanned the terrace again, counting. Five of Vitale’s security. Matteo. Rocco. Bianca. The distance to the balustrade. The doors. The angles.
Too many bodies.
Too many guns.
No clean exits.
Rocco must have been doing the same math, because he shifted subtly, repositioning himself closer to the door. “Let’s get this over with,” he snapped. “I have places to be.”
He motioned Matteo closer, drawing him in tight. Bianca rose as well, moving instinctively toward her brother. Her position was such that Enzo was certain she missed the flicker of disdain that crossed Rocco’s face as she did so.
Enzo grimaced. Bianca was not long for this world if Rocco had anything to say about it.
“Enough,” Vitale said calmly.
The word carried weight. It didn’t echo, didn’t need to. It settled over the terrace like a lid snapping shut.
Vitale didn’t raise his voice. He never did. Control was his default setting, his weapon of choice. “This posturing wastes time,” he continued evenly. “And time is something none of us has in abundance.”
His gaze slid to Enzo. Cool. Assessing. Expectant. “So, let’s be done with it.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Enzo. Give me the diamond.”
Enzo caught the movement beside him as Kathleen bit her lip.
Adrenaline surged, acrid and electric, flooding his veins, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. “What diamond?” he asked.
The temperature on the terrace dropped. Enzo felt it like a physical thing, the way men stilled, the way fingers tightened on triggers.
Vitale’s eyes sharpened. “Don’t insult me,” he said mildly. “The Valmont Star. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Enzo exhaled slowly, deliberately. “Oh,” he said. “That diamond.”
Vitale’s smile returned, satisfied. Certain. “Yes.”
Enzo reached into his pocket. He felt rather than saw Kathleen tense beside him. He knew she was bracing herself. He withdrew his hand.
A slim metallic object rested in his palm. No velvet pouch. No sparkle. No dramatic weight. Just smooth, modern metal.
Vitale frowned. “That,” he said carefully, “is not a diamond.”
“No,” Enzo agreed. “It’s a crypto wallet. Much like the one you have where you keep all of the cartel’s stolen money.” His mouth curved slightly. “Too bad it’s not worth shit these days.”
The color drained from Vitale’s face so fast it was almost impressive. Rage rolled off him in a hot, uncontrolled wave. “She said it was the diamond.”
“I truly think Carlotta believed it was the Valmont Star,” Enzo said. “But, alas, she was wrong.”
The fear in Vitale’s eyes was raw. Exposed. Enzo knew he shouldn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t healthy. But damn if it didn’t make every mile of this nightmare almost worth it. Almost.
“You don’t have the money,” Rocco said flatly. “Then you are useless to me. You are a fucking dead man.”
Enzo heard the panic threading through his voice. Rocco had bet big. Enzo was sure Rocco had made promises. Failure wasn’t an option.
“Basta!” Vitale roared. His composure cracked, the sound ripping out of him.
His eyes raked over Enzo, then slid to Kathleen.
“Enough. I have the money,” Vitale said coldly.
“It’s standing right there.” He gestured toward her.
“Her brother will pay his entire fortune to get her back. I will have everything I need, and more.”
Icy fingers closed around Enzo’s heart.
He opened his mouth to argue—
“Alessandro,” a new voice cut in smoothly, confidently, “you never call. You never write.”
Jameson Drake strode onto the terrace like he owned the place.
Perfectly tailored navy pinstriped summer suit. White shirt. Italian shoes, handmade. Savile Row craftsmanship written into every line. Jamie always knew how to make an entrance.
“Jameson,” Vitale said. “We were just talking about you.”
“I’m sure.” Jamie crossed to Kathleen, gave her a quick hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “You look tired,” he said lightly. “This vacation hasn’t been as relaxing as you hoped.”
Kathleen let out a small, strained laugh. “No. Not relaxing.”
Jamie didn’t acknowledge Enzo. Not even a glance.
Intentional.
“Well, Alessandro,” Jamie continued, “I understand Raúl Mendoza is on his way. We won’t keep you. I’m sure you have much to discuss.” He took Kathleen’s arm and turned toward the door.
Vitale sneered and signaled.
Two guns came up at Jamie’s back. Another man stepped directly into their path.
Jamie sighed loudly. Then turned. “Your hospitality leaves much to be desired. My sister and I are leaving.”
“I think not,” Vitale said, pushing off the wall. “I’m afraid I need you to transfer money into one of my accounts. This is the most convenient solution to my problem.” His gaze flicked to Enzo. “If you’re angry, Jameson, blame him. He dragged her into this mess.”
“Bullshit!” Enzo snarled. “You set her up from the beginning. You know it and so do I.”
Jamie turned on him. “Is that true, Vitale? Or did this buffoon cause all the trouble?”
Buffoon? What the fuck? Then the word hit, and something clicked.
“Oh, definitely the buffoon,” Vitale chuckled.
Enzo stepped toward Jamie. “Fuck you. This is on you. Your money. Your mess.”
Jamie leaned in, voice rising. “You said you could keep her safe. You fucked up! You put her in danger, and now you have to pay!”
They were shouting now. Full volume. Faces flushed. Spittle flying.
Vitale’s men moved in, one on each side of them.
Then, perfectly synchronized, Enzo and Jamie twisted and struck. Fists landed hard. Bones cracked. Two guards went down in a tangle of limbs.
All hell broke loose.
Men surged forward. Guns came up. Enzo smashed his elbow into one man’s throat, felt cartilage give. Another rushed him, Enzo drove his fist into the man’s face, felt the jaw shatter under his knuckles.
A gun came up aimed at his chest, but a moment later, the man’s head vanished in a burst of red mist as someone fired a rifle from a distance. Callahans. Had to be.
Bianca screamed.
Matteo surged toward Rocco, trying to extract him, but another guard grabbed Matteo and started raining blows down on him.
“Take Kathleen and go!” Enzo roared.
Jamie grabbed his sister and hauled her toward the doors as shots rang out behind them.
Enzo took a brutal hit from behind. He spun crazily, and his back slammed into stone as he was driven into the wall. Pain exploded through him. He staggered, but came back swinging.
The man was massive. Solid muscle. He absorbed punches like they were nothing, driving Enzo backward toward the edge with relentless force.
Enzo stumbled deliberately. Let his footing slip.
The man smiled, cold and certain, and wound up for a crushing right cross.
Enzo ducked. The man overbalanced. Enzo surged forward, drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, lifted, and sent him soaring over the balustrade into the seething surf below.
Enzo leaned on the wall, recovering as Matteo collapsed beside him, bloodied, disarmed. Another guard raised a gun.
Enzo slammed into him without hesitation and sent him over the edge as well.
Matteo looked up. Nodded once.
Enzo looked around and realized there was no one left on the terrace alive except him and Matteo. Where the hell was Kathleen? He hoped Jamie had gotten her out of there, but there was no guarantee.
He heard running feet and saw Bianca disappear through a sliding glass door.
He pushed himself off the wall, grabbed a discarded Glock off the ground, and ran after her. She was following her brother and Vitale. There was no way Enzo was going to let him get away, not after what he put Kathleen through. No way in hell.