Chapter 23 Valentino
My legs are faltering under me, but I catch myself in time and straighten.
“What do you mean, taken?”
Everything inside me is rushing forward, pulling back, surging forth again, crashing, erupting… What’s happened to her? Is she okay?
No, she can’t be okay.
“What did he do to her?” I bite out.
Anya places a hand on my sleeve. “Valentino, focus!”
I want to brush her off then grab her shoulders and shake her like a rag doll until she’ll tell me what happened. But there’s an echo of reason in her tone, and there’s a piece of my brain that’s hearing it. And heeding it, too.
This is what my Uncle Gennaro always got on to me about. I have a temper, apparently. Well, all of us Andretti men do. Courtesy of our dad. And my mother’s side of the family? Cool as the vermouth their region is known for.
That’s the side I need to channel now. I force in a deep breath, tense my whole body, then relax as I let out the exhale.
“What. Happened?” I ask, voice cold and dry as ice.
“We know where she is.”
I turn toward the couch, where the words came from.
“Carson.” I give him a head nod. “What are you doing here?”
He waves my words with a slow sweep of his hand. “Later. She’s in upstate New York. At a place called Pineridge.”
“Which is?” I look from him to Anya.
She bites her lower lip, a mask of fury descending on her features. “It’s a mental health facility.”
I blink. This doesn’t make sense. “What?”
“Her father has her on a seventy-two-hour psych hold,” she says, nostrils flaring with rage. “I couldn’t reason with him. I tried—”
“You knew?”
I’m taking a step toward her when she puts up a hand and pushes my shoulder.
“Of course I didn’t, you asshat. You think I’d let this happen?”
“No need to resort to name-calling,” Carson states drolly.
Funny how I’ve heard this line twice today. Once in jest, now in… I don’t even know what.
“What happened?” I bite out once more. “Naomi doesn’t have any mental health issues.”
That I know of… Could it be I missed something?
“It’s not a voluntary commitment,” Carson adds. “We know this much.”
“The bastard,” I mumble. “Wait until I get my hands on him!”
“Get in line. Declan is already frothing at the mouth, too.”
I squint at the man, and it suddenly clicks. “You work for him, too.”
“It’s a long story, but yes.”
“Gentlemen, can we focus?” Anya asks as she moves to the living room where she settles on the couch next to Carson. With a chin nod, she indicates the seat across from them.
I sit down on the edge and lean forward.
“How do we get her out?” I say.
“Declan’s working on a plan. And it involves you,” Carson adds with a glare over the top of his glasses before I can jump up and say this is happening over my dead body.
“What can we do now?” I ask instead.
“Declan will be in touch soon. Until then, we wait.”
Right. As if that’s gonna help anything. I slam my fist into the side of the armchair, the pain radiating in my fingers a welcome distraction. Everything inside me is churning, waiting to upchuck itself, for the upheaval that will change this status quo.
I sneak in a deep breath. “Do you know what happened?”
“I think so,” Anya says.
“Go on,” I urge. Anything to pass the time, to get closer to the minute Reeves will call.
“Now that I think of it, Naomi’s not really been herself lately.” She pauses and fixes me with her stark gaze. “Nothing struck you as unusual?”
I force my mind to think back. Nothing did… “Her texts have been a bit sporadic.”
She nods. “I’ve seen her spaced out a few times. Chalked it up to the strain of the campaign, and that she was missing you. You two haven’t seen each other since we were last here, right?”
I shake my head. A picture is forming, and I suddenly want to retch. “You think he was drugging her?”
“It’s easier to commit someone to such a place if their blood work shows substance abuse,” Carson ventures to say. “There must be a verifiable problem, an offer to help extended, and the person refusing the proffered help.”
“But doesn’t a judge have to sign off on this or something?”
He gives a dry laugh. “You don’t think they have a judge in their pockets?”
I’m frowning now. “They? I thought it was her father who did this.”
“It goes deeper than this.” He turns to Anya, gives her a nod.
She turns to me. “You know they have her phone, right?”
I nod.
“Well, you’re listed in her contacts as Tina. I’m supposing it’s so it won’t draw attention. If they went through her text history with you, they’ll figure out something was going on.”
I cringe softly. We sexted on that thread earlier on.
“Pineridge doesn’t state this anywhere,” Anya continues. “But in certain closed circles, they’re better known for the fact they provide conversion therapy.”
My stomach bottoms out. Tina—they thought she was dating a woman. And a governor not promoting LGBTQ+ rights couldn’t have that come out during his campaign.
“The plan to marry her off to Billings’ son,” I say. “That was also their doing?”
“Valentino, you of all people should know power is wielded in the corridors everywhere and very rarely out in the open,” Carson says.
The man’s bread and butter came from knowing the ins and outs of the country’s politics. And here I find who he’s actually working for all this time.
“You’re Reeves’ what? Employee?” I ask.
He laughs. “Let’s just say he gave me a leg up, and I return the favor anytime I can.”
That’s as close as admitting he works for the man that I’d get. Of course, the likes of Reeves don’t get their hands dirty—they have others everywhere to move the pieces for them.
“Why are you here today? And how?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I was in DC when Declan called me. I would’ve helped anyway, but I’m fond of Naomi.”
“You know her?”
“She’s got a brilliant mind. Needs some refining, but I’d have hired her to work for me even without her uncle asking me to keep an eye on her.”
It’s not making sense…until it does. Naomi was returning from Salt Lake City when I met her again. She’d mentioned doing an internship there at some point. I didn’t ask where or for whom. Turns out we were both coming home after passing through the offices of Carson Felix back then.
A ringtone shakes the atmosphere, and I tense up. Anya pops the laptop open and accepts the call. Declan Reeves gives us a nod from his side.
“What do we do?” I ask, wasting no time in preambles.
“You’re getting her out,” he states.
“You bet I am.”
I can’t even allow myself to think of what Naomi is going through. Everyone’s heard of psych holds. Britney Spears, regular people, then the law allowing hospitals in New Jersey to indefinitely extend the seventy-two hours if a bed can’t be found in a psychiatric establishment. It’s such a horrible thought and concept, nobody in their right mind would stop to ponder what happens when such a thing takes place. Frustration, denial, drugging, abuse… I can’t! It’ll just make me want to kill someone, or everyone I encounter on the way to get to her.
Declan nods. “Okay. So, this is what you’ll have to do.”
I don’t care that he can’t get his hands dirty. I’ll wade in any muck on my hands and knees if I have to so Naomi can be safe.
I listen carefully as he exposes the plan. I just have to handle the logistics—which my crews are trained to do—while he’ll tackle the storm this will unleash in the political realm. Another reason why Carson Felix is here, I’m supposing.
“You got all that?” he asks when he’s done.
I nod. “Sure did. I’m not letting her in there a minute longer than it’ll take to get there and get her out.”
His face grows dark. “This will set you both on an inevitable course… You realize this, don’t you?”
My jaw clenches when I think of what he’s asking of me. I can’t ponder it too much right now. All that matters is getting her out of that hell hole.
“Let’s get her home safely,” is all I say, and it seems to be enough. For now.
***
I need a crew for this. But firstly, I need to let my family know what is going on, and especially what I am up to. I send texts conveying a meeting in an hour just before leaving Tribeca. I ask Marco and his father, Roberto—one of my most trusted soldiers—to head to my house already. Antonio should be waiting for me when I get there.
I park in the garage, and I’m not expecting Luciano in the study with my consigliere when I enter it.
“Luka?” I ask.
“Ina has him.”
I nod, then go to the computer, waiting for our three other siblings to join. I also asked Francesca this time, because this concerns us as a family. Because it concerns me directly.
They pop up one by one on the screen, just as Marco and his dad make it in. Carlito has coffees circulating around the room. I down a double espresso then come to stand behind the desk where everyone can see me.
It strikes me how not right this moment is. It’s not how I should’ve announced this to them, but I don’t have a choice. And I need their help. The judgement can wait for later when this crisis has been dealt with.
I take a deep breath as I meet the eyes of everyone one by one, even across the screen.
“I’m going to talk, and you’re all going to listen. I’m sure you’ll have an opinion, but I care fuck all about it right now, and I don’t want to have to repeat myself. Capische?”
I’m aware I sound somewhat like my father when he had something important to say. I’m sure Franco would’ve jumped on it and pointed that out, but he is listening carefully.
“Naomi Smith has been involuntarily placed in a psychiatric hold in an establishment in upstate New York by her father. He wants to marry her off to one of his backers’ sons, but he’s misunderstood some things and believes she is gay.” I pause and gulp softly. This is it. “Why should we care? Because Naomi and I are together. And she has no one who can help her right now.”
Stunned silence resonates in the room. The only ones not surprised are Marco, Luciano, and Carlito—I never did tell him anything, but he saw our gift exchanges, knew I’d had her inside the house.
Roberto Benedetti is the first to clear his throat. “What do we do, boss?”
It seems to be the cue for everyone to speak.
Franco’s voice is louder. “It’s not about you two being together, Val. No one deserves to go through that.”
“He’s right,” Francesca concurs.
Antonio is nodding. I glance toward Victor. He gives me a nod, which I know means he’s agreeing with our siblings.
I glance back at the people in the room. “Marco, Roberto, you’re with me. Carlito, get—”
“The Range Rover,” he states before I can finish. “On it.”
“We’ll deal with the shitstorm later,” Antonio tells me as he stands up. “Go get her.”
“Yes, Val.” It’s Francesca on the screen. “Get her out of there.”
I nod then close the laptop. Luciano falls into step behind me as I head to the garage.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “With you, of course. There’s space in the car.”
“Stay here. For Luka.”
He doesn’t stop in his step and precedes me into the garage. “Right. Keep me wrapped up in cotton wool because I’m a dad, is that it?”
“No, but—”
“Piss off, Val.” He gets in the back seat after Carlito hands him a semi-automatic. Roberto’s between him and Marco. I’d already told them what to pack when asking them over.
There’s no arguing with him—or with any of us once we’ve made up our minds. I get into the passenger seat, and Carlito gets us on the road.
“What’s security like over there?” Roberto asks.
“Outside patrols every hour. Three guys, as far as I know.”
“And inside? Cameras?” Marco asks.
“That’ll be handled.” Reeves has a guy who can get inside the network and black the entire grid out while we breach.
It takes us close to four hours to make it. Firing up a charter jet would’ve been easier and quicker, but a car is less conspicuous and easier to erase or drown out. Plus, we need this intervention to happen in the dead of night to have the cover of darkness working to our advantage.
We’re boots down, finally, and I’m antsy to get in and retrieve her. Naomi… I force myself to think of her soft smile, her gentle kisses, the lavender scent of her hair. Anything else, like what she must be going through, and my blood thunders for death. Brutal, violent, gory death, like eviscerating the culprits and twisting a knife in the space left in their guts as their innards spatter onto the ground.
Blood lust is not going to help her. I need to keep my focus and wits on getting her out and getting her to safety.
Luciano has got my six. Marco and Roberto head out front, Carlito on lookout duty near the car so he can whisk us out asap once we come out. The father-and-son duo make quick work of identifying the guards—just three, as expected—and neutralizing them. I call Anya and give her the signal to have the hacker down the grid.
Lights go out in the sprawled out, single floor building that looks like a summer camp for adults from the outside. A generator comes on, the hum disrupting the quiet of the night broken by the song of crickets and cicadas.
The front door leading to Reception opens without a hitch. My two soldiers lead on. A gasp comes from the reception desk. The woman is reaching down for the panic button, but Reeves’ guy has made sure to also disable it.
Roberto tases her, and I wordlessly get to her computer and plug in the USB stick on which I downloaded a special program Reeves had me download. The exe runs, gets into the system, and my phone vibrates under a minute later.
Anya: Room 326. Main hallway, take a left at the end, then right. All the way back.
My jaw clenches as I make my way toward the locked door leading inside the facility. The lock turns green as we approach, Marco leading the way. Guess the hacker Reeves hired is in the system now, seeing us from the cameras, and he’ll erase the footage once we’re gone.
Every door unlocks as we approach, and finally, there it is. End of the last hallway. I’m rushing now, wanting to brush past Marco, but he doesn’t accelerate his pace and keeps me safely behind him. I’m gnawing my teeth by now, but I know he’s right. Safety first.
The lock on Room 326’s door turns green. Marco pushes it open, does a quick scope, then moves out of my way. Good thing, because I would’ve barreled into him otherwise in my haste to get in.
Naomi is prone on the derelict cot they probably dare to call a bed. An IV is stuck in the back of her hand, and she doesn’t seem to be conscious.
My heart seizes as I see her lying there. I slide down to the side of the cot onto my knees and reach up to cradle her cheek.
“Naomi? Gattina?”
She seems to mumble something, which comforts me as much as it ramps up my panic. She’s alive but not conscious at all—they must be drugging her.
I gently peel the adhesive on the back of her hand, dislodging the cannula and pulling it out. Blood oozes out, but I don’t care. I need to get her out of here. One arm slips under her knees, the other cradling her neck, and I scoop her into my arms, already making my way out of the wretched prison they’d kept her in. Wait until I get my hands on Joel Smith!
We’re out of the facility in under two minutes, Roberto keeping the downed receptionist in his sights until we’ve all exited the premises and are rushing to the car. Carlito sees us from a distance and starts the engine. We pile in, Luciano riding shotgun while I slide into the back seat, cradling her fragile, limp body to me.
Dio, make her be okay. Something better not has happened to her.
My phone vibrates. I grab it with my free hand. It’s Anya.
“I have her,” I tell her. “We’re on our way.”