Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Dante
The meeting with Carlo went longer than planned. Had to make sure the message was clear. Had to break enough bones that the Bellandis would understand exactly what happens when you threaten what's mine.
My phone has been off for three hours. Standard protocol when handling situations that require focus and no interruptions.
I unlock it.
Seventeen missed calls.
My chest tightens.
Three from Bianca. The first at 9:49 pm. The second at 9:51. The third at 9:52.
Then nothing.
Five from Marco, my head of security. Starting at 10:03 pm and continuing every five minutes.
The rest from Giulio.
Wrong. This is all wrong.
I call Marco first.
He answers on the first ring. "Sir—"
"Where is she?"
"Miss Mancini left for the clinic at 9:48 pm. Said her mother took a turn. She told me to inform you—"
"Did you drive her?"
"No, sir. She said I should stay here to wait for you and let you know, she would take one of the drivers. Turns out she ended up taking a rideshare."
Ice slides down my spine. "Did you verify the clinic called?"
Pause. "No, sir."
"Send me the rideshare details. Now."
"Already sent to your secure email."
I hang up. Pull up my email. The rideshare information loads—black sedan, driver named Michael Chen, pickup at my address at 9:55 pm.
I call the rideshare company's emergency line. Flash my credentials—the kind that open doors and bypass privacy laws.
"The vehicle with license plate 7JFK892. I need its current location."
Keys clicking. "That vehicle... sir, according to our GPS, it's parked on 42nd Street. Has been for the last forty minutes."
"Was the ride completed?"
"Shows as completed at 10:01 pm. The car never moved after stopping on 42nd."
She was taken.
The sedan was a trap. They intercepted her within minutes of pickup.
My phone rings. Giulio.
I consider not answering. But something tells me this call is part of it. Part of whatever Caterina has planned.
"What."
"Have you seen it?" His voice is sharp. Triumphant. "The article?"
"What article."
"About your woman. Your escort. It's everywhere. They’ve shared photos, client lists, every detail."
I say nothing. Let him talk.
"You've compromised the family. Made us weak. A Vitale doesn't marry a whore, Dante. You've destroyed your credibility. Your position. This is a disaster. Matteo will remove you. The other families will demand it."
I end the call.
Then I pull up the article.
He's right. It's everywhere. Top story on gossip sites. Trending on social media. Photos of Bianca at restaurants, leaving hotels.
The headline: VITALE'S FIANCéE: SECRET LIFE AS HIGH-END ESCORT EXPOSED.
Below it, detailed accounts. Dates. Prices. Names coded but obvious.
Caterina's work. Thorough. Released at exactly the right moment to cause maximum damage.
But something's wrong with the timing.
My father called me within minutes of the article dropping. Too fast. Like he was waiting for it and he knew it was coming.
And Bianca called me three times before going silent.
I open the tracker app on my phone. The one connected to the ring I gave her. The engagement ring with the GPS chip embedded in the setting—so small she'd never notice it, so powerful it can track her anywhere in the city.
The app loads.
A red dot pulses on the map.
Not at St. Catherine's Medical Center.
Not at my house.
Not anywhere near where she should be.
The pin drops near Teterboro Airport. Private aviation. The kind of place you go when you want to leave the country without going through TSA checkpoints and customs lines.
My blood turns to ice.
They're taking her. Whoever has her—Caterina, Adrian, someone else—they're putting her on a plane.
I'm moving before the thought fully forms. Before I can second-guess or strategize or think about anything except getting to her.
"Marco!" I shout into the house. "Get Enzo and Rafe. Tell them to meet me at Teterboro Airport. Private hangars on the south side. Armed. Now."
I'm in my car before Marco can respond. Engine roaring to life.
The tracker shows her position hasn't moved in twelve minutes. Still near the airport. Still close enough to reach if I move fast enough.
I pull up Matteo's contact. He answers immediately.
"I need air support. Teterboro Airport. They have Bianca."
"Who?"
"Adrian. Caterina. Maybe both. I don't know yet. I need every man you can spare and I need them there in twenty minutes."
"Dante—"
"She's at the airport, Matteo. They're putting her on a plane. If she leaves this city, I'll never find her again."
Silence. Then: "I'm sending every soldier I trust. But Dante—the article—"
"I know about the article. I don't care."
"You should care. The other families—"
"Can go to hell." I'm already on the highway. Doing ninety. "Send the men or don't. But I'm going in either way."
He curses. "Twenty minutes. Don't do anything stupid before we get there."
I hang up.
The tracker dot pulses. Still stationary. Still at the airport.
I press the accelerator harder. A hundred miles per hour. Then one-ten.
Bianca tried to call me. Three times. She was scared. Desperate. And I wasn't there because I was busy breaking Carlo Bellandi's fingers to send a message.
The irony isn't lost on me.
I spent hours tonight proving I'd destroy anyone who threatened her. And while I was doing that, someone took her right out from under me.
But she's still in the city, close enough to reach.
And when I find whoever took her, they're going to wish Carlo Bellandi's broken hand was the worst thing I'm capable of.
The tracker shows eighteen minutes to the airport.
I make it in twelve.
Orders go out in short bursts. Clipped. Precise. No room for confusion.
"Enzo. Take your team and block every road leading to the south hangars. Nothing gets in or out without my say."
"Copy."
"Rafe. Perimeter. I want eyes on that warehouse and every exit covered. Anyone tries to move her, you stop them. Non-lethal if possible, but I don't care if it's not."
"Understood."
"Luca." I'm still driving. "Third priority. Kill the article. Pressure who published it. Legal threats. Financial leverage. Whatever it takes. I want that story buried before sunrise."
"On it. But Dante—some of these sites are outside our jurisdiction—"
"Then get creative, brother. Threaten their advertisers, their hosting services. Make it more expensive to keep the story up than to take it down."
He doesn't argue. Just disconnects.
The goal is simple. Clean. No complications.
Extraction first.
Get Bianca. Get her safe. Get her away from whoever took her.
Damage control second.
The article. The fallout. The politics. All of it can wait until she's in my arms.
I pull into the airport access road doing eighty. Tires screaming as I take the turn toward the private hangars.
The tracker dot pulses ahead.
I'm coming, Bianca.
And God help anyone who gets in my way.