Chapter 21
Antonio
No matter how much shower gel I lather over my skin, I won’t be able to wash away the disgust I feel at myself for the way I treated Isabella tonight. She’s my wife, the woman I intend to raise a family with, not some whore I picked up in a seedy club. Fucking her so selfishly and then sending her away was a dick move. I was angry and acted without thinking, but that’s no excuse.
Really, I should have thanked Isabella for trying to protect my sister, for putting Olivia’s needs above her own. That she went about things in the wrong way doesn’t matter. Her intentions were good. They always are. I’ve never appreciated my wife enough, but that changes now.
When I get out of the shower, I wrap a fluffy gray towel around my waist and go to the bedroom. Isabella should be at Westport by now. Though I could call Dante and ask him to bring her back, I decide to go out there and get her myself. Hopefully, she’ll appreciate the gesture and hear me out as I grovel in apology.
As I cross the bedroom to the closet, my cellphone buzzes on the nightstand. I go to pick it up and discover I have dozens of missed calls. One is from Dante, who was probably calling to bitch about something my wife has done to piss him off. The others are from Leo. That can’t be good. The last time he tried this hard to get ahold of me, it was because Gio had been shot. Though I’m not a religious man, I send up a silent prayer that my brother is okay. He seemed to be doing well earlier, but until he’s back on his feet, I won’t be able to stop worrying.
I’m about to call Leo back when I hear a door downstairs banging shut. It’s not likely anyone could get past my security, but I’m not expecting a guest, so I grab my gun just in case. As I step out into the corridor, I hear a shout from the entrance hall.
“Tony! Tony, where the fuck are you?”
It’s Leo.
“Up here.” I get to the top of the stairs to find my brother storming up them two at a time.
When he reaches me, he pulls me into a hug and slaps my back. I have no idea what’s got into him.
“Thank fuck you’re okay!”
I untangle myself from his embrace. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You weren’t answering your phone. I thought something happened to you.”
“I was in the shower.” It’s stating the obvious since I’m wearing nothing but a towel and my hair is dripping wet. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Isabella’s missing.”
His words hit me with the force of a wrecking ball at full swing. I actually stumble backward. “What?”
“Dante was ambushed after he got off the expressway. Our guys in Connecticut found him injured and got him to the doc. Isabella wasn’t in the car. Someone took her.”
“She could have banged her head, wandered off.”
Leo shakes his head. “Dante called me to say they were being followed.”
“Fuck! Do we know who took her?”
“There are a few possibilities, but I just heard Rico Mancini’s body was found this morning. The family was notified three hours before Isabella was taken.”
Could the Mancinis have snatched Isabella? While they’re not the only suspects, they are the most likely. Since we made an alliance with the Bratva, the Albanians have kept out of our way. The Irish do a lot of business with us and we’ve only ever had minor issues with them that were easily resolved. That leaves the Bianchis, who’re currently too busy with their own internal struggles to mess with us. Vinnie’s father sent his only legitimate son to Chicago to marry a mob boss’s niece. He did so with the full knowledge Daniele would be murdered as he stood at the altar. Our people warned Daniele of the plot. He escaped with his new bride and her kids and returned to New York, guns blazing.
“It’s got to be Paolo Mancini.”
Fuck! I should have dealt with him as soon as Piotr Reznov told me he was making accusations about Isabella, but I got caught up in personal shit. This is all my fault. I didn’t see Paolo Mancini as a big enough threat to do something about him. Then I sent her away with Dante and no escort. Blinded by emotion, I didn’t consider the risks.
Leo nods. “His family was always loyal, but he was never the most proactive of men. I can’t believe he’d be so bold.”
“Grief is a powerful force.” I know if a member of my family was killed, I wouldn’t rest until every single person responsible was dead. “Where would Mancini take her?”
“Fuck if I know.”
As someone comes in through the front door, I stiffen.
“It’s Piotr,” Leo says.
I lean over the railing at the top of the staircase and see the Russian, dressed all in black, standing in my entrance hall.
“What the fuck is Reznov doing here?”
“He was at the hospital with his uncle when I got the call that Dante’s car was found. We left Boris, Matteo, and Sandro with the women. Piotr offered to help.”
I might not want to owe the Russian another favor but his assistance is welcome. Piotr employs some of the best hackers in the country and he’s got no emotional investment in getting Isabella back unharmed. He’ll be able to keep a cooler head than me.
“You should go back to the hospital. Keep watch over your wife.”
“Vinnie’s safe where she is. I need to be with you, where I belong.”
Since he got married, Leo’s been focused on his new bride. I understood his need to take some time to settle into his marriage, but I’ve missed having him with me.
I slap a hand down on my younger brother’s shoulder and squeeze tight, hoping the gesture conveys the love and trust I have for him. As the moment gets awkward, Leo clears his throat. “Go get dressed. Cousin Pete and I will set up in the study.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Cousin Pete.”
“Sure, when his uncle marries Mamma.”
Fuck, I do not want to think about that right now. I shake my head and tut disapprovingly, but I appreciate Leo’s effort to keep the mood light. He knows as well as I do that sliding into despair is counterproductive. I need to believe wholeheartedly that Isabella will be okay. Though I feel as if the ground beneath my feet is shaky, I need to get on with things. Business as usual. I’ll bet that’s why Leo accepted Reznov’s offer of assistance. He knows I won’t show weakness in front of the Russian. His presence will help keep my head in the game.
I leave Leo to do whatever he and Piotr need to do and go to get dressed. I choose my outfit carefully. Pants, shirt, socks, and shoes, all in black. I put on a platinum watch and roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I slide a black leather belt through the loops of my pants and buckle it.
Standing in front of the mirror, I take a deep breath and remind myself of who I am. Antonio Volante, feared mob boss. I will get my wife back in one piece and slaughter the men who took her. Then I will drop to my fucking knees before her and beg her to forgive me.
* * *
After three hours, I’m ready to burn the city to the ground to find my wife. I’ve never been a patient man, and it’s killing me that Isabella is out there somewhere going through fuck knows what and I can’t get to her. Leo and Piotr are working flat out to find her. I know that. Yet all they’ve come up with is confirmation that the Mancinis are the ones who took her.
A black Range Rover was caught by one of the security cameras outside my home. It gave us a decent view of the car. Paolo was in the passenger seat and his son, Gianni, was behind the wheel. There was another man in the back that we weren’t able to identify. Whoever he is, he’ll die bloody for his part in this.
From what we saw, snatching Isabella doesn’t seem to be something they planned. Their car was approaching the house when Dante pulled out of the driveway. They must have spotted Isabella and followed, hoping for an opportunity to grab her. I don’t know if their apparent lack of planning makes this situation better or worse. I fear it’s the latter. If they’re reacting purely on instinct, things could turn to shit.
“Why haven’t they called with demands?” I pace back and forth in front of the desk where Leo and Piotr each have a laptop set up.
“Perhaps your wife is all they wanted,” Piotr suggests.
My stomach lurches. If Isabella tells them she was responsible for Rico’s death, their only plan might be to kill her. I start pacing again. I don’t want the Russian to see the anguish on my face as I consider that possibility.
I come to a halt as Leo’s phone pings with an incoming message. He reads it and then turns his attention back to the screen in front of him. He clicks a few buttons and then glances up at me.
“I’ve got something.”
Moving around to his side of the desk, I stare at the image on the laptop. There’s a porch and some hanging plants. It seems to be one of those doorbell cameras.
“What are we looking at?” Piotr asks.
“It’s one of our properties, a beach house,” Leo tells him. “The motion sensors on the periphery detected movement.”
For several long seconds, nothing happens. Then two men appear on the screen, easily identifiable as Paolo Mancini and his son. To get into the house, they’ll need to force the lock. That’s presumably what they’re doing when a third man comes into view.
“Max Rossi,” Leo murmurs. “He’s Carmela Mancini’s kid brother.”
I don’t give a shit who he is. It’s Isabella who concerns me. Blindfolded and gagged, her hands are bound in front of her as the third man drags her toward the door. The quality of the image isn’t sharp enough for me to spot any visible injuries, but that doesn’t mean she’s unhurt. The way that asshole is jerking her around, I’d be amazed if she wasn’t bruised at the very least.
“I need to get out there.” It’s a two-hour drive out to the beach house from here. I don’t know how long Isabella can survive in the hands of three men who’ll show no hesitation in harming her if they don’t get whatever the hell it is they want.
“Where is this beach house?” Piotr asks.
“Amagansett, Long Island.”
“That’s quite a distance.”
“No shit.” My tone is impatient, but there’s no time to waste while others point out the obvious. “I’ll take the McLaren.”
I have a garage full of sports cars I barely drive. The McLaren, an impulse buy, is the fastest car I own.
“You can’t go alone,” Leo protests.
“I’ll be fine. I want you to stay here and access the security cameras inside the house. I want eyes on every room.”
“I can do that on my cellphone, and you are not going out there alone.”
“Neither of you is,” Piotr says. “We will get there faster in my helicopter.”
There’s no time to object. Piotr is already up and striding from the room, cellphone at his ear. He spits out orders in Russian as Leo and I follow. He ends his call and turns to us with a grin. “My pilot will be on the helipad on top of your office building by the time we get there. You will find suitable weapons on board.”
His confidence leaves me in no doubt that will be the case. “I guess I really owe you now.”
“Don’t worry, I have a suitable payment in mind.” He slaps my shoulder. “Now, let’s go get your wife.”