Chapter 3 Angelo
Angelo
Ishould have known Kyril’s offer of assistance would come with strings. Of course it does. I’m not an idiot. When mafia families offer their men and logistical support on what will very likely turn into a shitshow of epic proportions, there are always strings.
“A favor,” Declan says as he settles into a soft armchair in front of a blazing fire.
This place is an Airbnb. There’s a guest book on the coffee table, alongside stacks of brochures advertising various local attractions.
Ronan thumbs through the leaflets.
“Fancy fly-fishing, Dec?”
Kane leans against the wall by the window, staring out into the black night.
He’s been quiet since we arrived at this log cabin on the edge of the Barrington estate.
It’s too dark to see, but Declan tells me a high wall surrounds three-quarters of the cunt’s property, with a loch forming a barrier on the far side.
We’re in a deep valley between towering mountains. From the bite in the air, there’s likely snow already falling at higher altitudes. I’m beginning to regret not bringing warmer clothes, but we left in a rush, and I barely had time to pack a toothbrush.
“A favor,” I repeat, my gaze fixed on Declan. He’s a big guy. A fraction taller than me. Older too. Late thirties at a guess from the dusting of silver at his temples.
He seems like a direct sort of guy, which I appreciate, but I’m not here to be taken advantage of, despite how desperate I am.
“Yeah, a favor to be redeemed at some future date.”
“What sort of favor?” My game face is locked in place.
Declan’s two guys are in the kitchen preparing food.
It smells semi-decent. Some kind of pasta dish, from the smell of garlic and tomato.
The small store we stopped at on the way here had slim pickings—mostly tourist shit like shortbread and novelty candy—but Connor found enough supplies to feed us for a day.
“No idea. But when I call, you deliver.”
The bastard has me over a barrel, and he knows it. Fucking Kyril. No doubt he’ll expect a favor too. At this rate, I may as well pull my pants down and let them all fuck me.
When he finds out I’ve racked up favors to the Irish and Russian mafias, my father will go nuclear.
I give Declan a terse nod. He smiles like a cat who just walked in on a family of defenseless mice.
“Good man.” The bastard leans over and slaps my shoulder so hard I nearly fall off the sofa.
“How about pony trekking?” Ronan shoves a leaflet under Declan's nose and points to a photo of horses. “Looks like fun,” he muses before frowning. “Oh fuck, there’s a weight limit. Think you’re too fat, bro. Sorry.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ro, this is muscle, not fat, and we’re not on a fucking vacation!”
Ronan pouts. “But this is an Airbnb. I need something fun to write about in the guest book!”
“Give me fucking strength.” Declan mutters a string of curses.
“Fine! No pony trekking or fly-fishing,” Ronan grumbles. He tosses the leaflets into the fireplace and I watch them burn. “I’m off to video call my pixie.”
“Keep it clean. Nobody here needs to hear my wife coming.”
Ronan smirks. “Our wife, bro. And I’ll try. Not my fault if my pixie gets carried away.” The cocky fuck disappears upstairs. I hear a door slam and pray to god I don’t have to hear him talking dirty to some woman I’ve never met.
“Is everyone happy with the plan?”
I push my plate away, unable to stomach another bite of eggs. It’s still dark outside, although the sky has begun to lighten. Slivers of apricot paint the brooding mountains looming over the valley. Snow is in the cards for later.
Insects scratch under my skin at the thought of Chiara being out in this weather. Is she cold? Hungry?
“So we’re gonna put some cool masks on, get over the wall, and kill some motherfuckers?” Ronan seems way too excited about this rescue mission. For the millionth time, I fight against the urge to punch him. He seems incapable of taking anything seriously.
“That’s the gist, yeah. But we need to stay focused.” Declan fixes his brother with a hard stare. “No going off-piste,” Connor snorts.
“Do we know who these sick bastards are?”
Declan turns to Kane and nods. “Yeah. Milo has a list.” His lips flatten into a grim scowl.
“We’ll deal with them all at a future date, but for now, the priority is finding and extracting our target.
Kill if you have to, but don’t make it too showy.
The hunters all have body-cams, and even with masks, it’s better if we’re not caught on the event livestream. ”
“My wife, not the target.” I’m not comfortable with her being called a target. She’s way more than that. “Once we get a sight of her, Kane and I will go in and retrieve her. She might panic if you guys jump her.”
Declan nods.
“What about the other victims?” Ash asks. “Milo thinks there are at least ten women lined up as prey for the hunters.”
“We don’t have the resources to pull off a big rescue mission,” I point out. “If we draw too much attention, the cops will be on our case. I’m already in the FBI crosshairs back in the States. The last thing I need is more scrutiny from law enforcement in this country.”
It’s only through the grace of my lawyers that I was allowed to leave the US. They argued I had a business to run, and since the feds hadn’t charged me yet, there was fuck-all they could do to stop me from traveling overseas.
“Yeah, but these women need help.” Dear Lord, save me from a guy with a savior complex. I nearly roll my eyes.
“I know.” Declan grinds his teeth while Ronan sharpens a wicked-looking hunting knife.
The guy’s a lunatic. I pity anyone who ends up on the wrong end of that knife.
“Once we’re out of the way, Milo will call in an anonymous tip to the authorities.
He says they’re already aware of what goes on but haven’t been able to pin anything on Barrington.
Most likely he has people in high places on his payroll. Much like Forsyth did.”
Ronan hums in amusement. “Damn, I’m in the mood for barbecue now.”
I wonder, not for the first time, what actually happened to Lucian Forsyth. The media said it was a tragic fire, faulty wiring or something, but I suspect that’s not the full story.
“Right, let’s get going. The fun and games begin in an hour, so we need to be in place.”
Ronan examines his hunting knife and grins at me.
“I vote we hold our own game. The man with the most kills wins!”
Declan shakes his head as he pulls on his jacket. We’re all armed to the teeth, but Ronan’s carrying a bunch of knives as well as a crossbow and multiple guns.
“Jesus, Ro. You been watching Rambo or something?” Connor snorts as Ronan adds a katana to his haul.
“The Hunger Games, Con. My pixie made me watch the movie with her. I learned a few things.” He taps his nose and grins. “Watch and learn, boys!”
We head to the boundary of Barrington’s estate. Milo gave us coordinates for one of the few spots not covered by cameras. Probably because it involves climbing into a fucking ravine.
Getting back out will be easier because we won’t need to evade cameras. By then, Barrington will know we’re here.
He has dogs and a small army of mercenaries on his payroll, but I’m not concerned. This is an in-and-out mission. By the time they figure out we’re here, vicious wolves among the sheep, it will be too late.
I’m not planning to kill any of the participants, but if they shoot at me, they’re all fair game.
Declan’s taken point on this mission. Ordinarily it would be me, but he knows the terrain, so it makes sense to let him lead. For now. Kane’s still quieter than a fucking crypt, but I figure he’s busy blaming himself for not anticipating this mess.
“I’m chipping her when we get her home,” I tell him under my breath as we trudge down a narrow game path. That way I can track her down myself next time without having to deal with outsiders I don’t trust.
“She’s not leaving my side when we get her home,” he mutters.
Our breath steams. The air is thick with the promise of snow. Small flakes have already begun floating down from the sky like confetti.
It reminds me of my wedding day. The happiest day of my life. Or it would have been if my bride hadn’t fucked off.
“My side, you mean,” I correct.
“No, Angelo.” He slams to a halt, nearly tripping me up. “She’s mine too.”
“Gentlemen,” Declan hisses. “Can we save the dramatics for later? Milo says the hunters are on the move and the prey are heading our way.”
I glare at Kane, who seems unmoved. It’s hard to tell with him wearing a skeleton mask.
Ronan sidles over, his neon-stitched Purge mask creepy as fuck. “Need some sharing tips? My brothers and I fought a lot over my pixie, but we’re all good now. I recommend reading reverse harem dark romance books. They’re super useful.”
Declan punches him in the gut. He stumbles sideways with a sharp oof. “Careful, bro! If you hurt me, Pixie will hurt you cos I’m her favorite.”
“In your fucking dreams. I’m her favorite because I’m the one taking her to the States to visit Thea when we get home.”
“What? You planned a trip without me?” Ronan gasps. “You’re not taking my pixie anywhere without me!” He glares. “Besides, you need me to protect you from the devil dog.”
Declan opens his mouth to snap back a retort, but a sharp feminine scream cuts through the air from somewhere ahead of us. Muffled gunfire follows, followed by more panicked screams. Then the screaming abruptly ceases.
It sounds as if the first guy’s caught his prey.
“Game on,” Ronan announces gleefully before sprinting away into the murk.
“Spread out but stay within range of the comms,” Declan orders. “If you come across a female, check in. The comms should have enough range to cover the entire estate, but there might be blackspots.”
Declan and Connor head out while Ash follows a path up a sharp incline with the sniper rifle in hand. According to the intel, there’s a viewpoint. Once up there, he can search for stragglers and take them out.
This area is a mix of thick forest and open stretches of moorland. Anyone caught out in the open is fair game for a sniper.
I assume Ronan understands the plan we discussed earlier. It’s hard to say with him. He seems to have his own agenda.
The trail splits a few hundred feet ahead. We’re still hidden by trees, so no chance of being seen yet.
“You go right, and we’ll carry on this way. The minute we locate your wife, we get the fuck out of here.”
I nod. “Yeah. You know what she looks like.” They all have a description of Chiara. Any taller than average, slim woman with dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tan is a priority, while any man found with her is dead.