Chapter 41
Raffaele
My dad’s boat cuts through the water at full throttle, my knuckles white on the wheel as I scan the horizon for any sign of La Fortuna. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to break free, each beat hammering home the same thought.
Alina is gone.
“Where are you, Alina?” I shout to the empty air, desperation clawing at my throat as the island grows larger before me.
I should have been faster. Should have reached her before she got to the boat. Should have protected her from Andrea’s fucking games in the first place.
Of all the fucking shit to inherit from him, it’s his arrogance. I believed I could have my cake and eat it too. Instead of making sure Alina was protected at all times by being at her side, I left. And for what? For a fucking tablet we could have gotten together?
“Fuck!” I roar at the heavens.
Now she’s out there alone, terrified, probably convinced I’ll hunt her down for vengeance rather than bring her home where she belongs. And spend the rest of my life begging for her forgiveness.
The dock comes into view, and I spot Colin’s broad figure pacing back and forth, his posture rigid with urgency. My gut tightens. Something’s happened.
I guide my dad’s boat alongside the dock with more force than necessary, the hull slamming against the wood before I cut the engine. Colin moves to secure the craft, his face grim as I leap onto the dock.
“What is it?” I demand, already knowing the answer from his expression.
“No sign of Mrs. Brewer-Russo,” he confirms, then hesitates. “But there’s something you need to see, boss.”
“What?” I snap, impatience surging through me. Every second spent not searching for Alina feels like a betrayal.
“The security footage.” Colin gestures toward the villa. “From the kitchen.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. “Show me.”
We hurry up the path, my mind racing ahead with possibilities, each worse than the last. The villa looms before us, its pristine white walls and tropical beauty now tainted with whatever violence happened inside.
“Where is he?” I ask as we enter, not needing to specify who.
“We’ve moved both bodies to the security house,” Colin replies, his voice professionally detached.
Both men. Fuck. Ian was a good man, loyal and efficient. And now he’s dead because I let my guard down around Andrea fucking Russo.
Colin leads me to the dining table where a laptop sits open. He positions it, taps a few keys, and steps back.
The screen shows the kitchen. I watch Ian enter first, carrying plates. Then Alina. They move about the kitchen with careful efficiency, Alina rinsing dishes while Ian stacks them in the washing machine.
They’re almost done when… fuck.
Andrea slips in through the patio doors. My hands curl into fists as I watch him reach into his jacket, extracting a gun with practiced ease. Ian turns, but it’s too late.
The flash of the muzzle is followed by Ian dropping to the floor, blood blooming across his chest.
Alina’s scream is silent on the footage, but I can see her mouth open in horror. Before she can run, Andrea is on her, grabbing her by the throat, slamming her against the wall with enough force to make her head snap back. Bile rises in my throat as I watch his hand tighten around my wife’s neck.
The footage continues, showing their struggle in merciless detail. Andrea’s mouth moves, speaking words I can’t hear but can imagine—threats, taunts, explanations for why he’s going to murder my wife.
I watch Alina fight back with desperate strength, clawing at his hand, kicking, gasping for air. My chest fucking tightens. I should have been there, should have protected her.
My wife.
My wife, whom I love more than life itself. Why is it only now I can admit that to myself?
When she breaks free, reaching for the knife block, I find myself leaning forward, silently urging her on. The struggle that follows is chaotic—Andrea’s larger frame giving him the advantage, but Alina’s desperation making her unpredictable.
Then it happens. Andrea lurches forward, and the knife slides into his stomach. His surprise is visible even on the grainy footage, the shock in his eyes as he staggers back. Alina stands frozen, hands trembling, before turning and fleeing from the kitchen.
The footage ends. My grip has left indentations in the wooden table edge, splinters digging into my palms.
“She was defending herself,” I say, my voice deadly calm despite the storm raging inside me.
“Clearly,” Colin agrees. “She had no choice.”
I straighten, moving to the kitchen where it all happened. The floor has been cleaned, but I can still see faint stains on the white tile. Ian’s blood. Andrea’s blood. Maybe even Alina’s.
“She thinks I’ll blame her,” I murmur, the realization crystallizing with brutal clarity. “She ran because she thinks I’ll want revenge for killing him.”
Colin says nothing, waiting for my orders, for my reaction to my dad’s death. He’s expecting grief, anger, something. But all I feel is fear for Alina and regret that I wasn’t here to kill Andrea myself.
“She has no money, no phone, no ID. Nothing,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “She’s a-fucking-lone out there, vulnerable.”
“La Fortuna has a GPS tracker,” Colin reminds me. “Standard in all Russo watercraft. We can find the boat.”
“I know,” I snarl. “That’s why I came back. I didn’t have my phone or anything on me.”
Colin holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, boss.”
Shaking my head, I force myself to keep my cool. “No, I’m sorry,” I rasp. “Just… start tracking it immediately.” My mind shifts into strategic mode, compartmentalizing everything but the priority; finding my wife. “And get me a phone. I need to call the family.”
Colin retrieves my phone from his pocket, murmuring something about me dropping it.
“Thanks,” I bark, already opening the group chat with the family.
It rings only once before Enzo’s voice comes through.
“Rafe? What’s happening?”
“Emergency family meeting,” I reply, hearing the clicks as others join the call. “Everyone there?”
“I’m here,” Matteo’s voice, followed by murmurs from Remus, then Piper, and finally Raven.
“Andrea’s dead,” I state without preamble. “He came to the island, shot Ian, and tried to kill Alina. She stabbed him in self-defense and ran.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Matteo breaks it. “Holy shit. Little Red killed him? Remind me never to piss her off.”
“Matteo,” Raven hisses, but I can hear the concern beneath his inappropriate humor.
“Where is she now?” Enzo asks, already focused on logistics as always.
“She took La Fortuna and fled the island. She thinks I’ll blame her.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat. “She has nothing with her. No phone, no money, no ID. Just the clothes she was wearing.”
“She’ll need transportation from wherever she lands,” Piper says, her voice tight with worry. “Check the airports, ferry terminals, bus stations. She might try to get back to Cleveland.”
“Or she might hide,” Raven adds softly. “She’ll be so scared, Rafe.”
“I need your help,” I tell them, the words foreign on my tongue. I rarely ask for help, but for Alina, I’d beg on my knees if necessary. “If she reaches out to any of you, help her. Give her whatever she needs. Then call me immediately.”
“Of course,” Enzo says immediately.
“She won’t contact us,” Matteo points out. “She doesn’t have our numbers, and she’s probably terrified of the entire Russo family right now.”
“I know,” I admit. “But I need to cover all possibilities.”
“We’ll alert our people at all transportation hubs,” Remus assures me. “If she tries to leave the islands, we’ll find her.”
“I don’t care what she wants,” I add, my voice hardening. “If she reaches out, you give it to her, but you contact me afterward. Understood?”
A chorus of affirmations follows.
“Do you want us to fly down?” Enzo asks.
I consider it briefly before shaking my head, though they can’t see it. “No. Stay where you are. If she somehow makes it back to Cleveland, I need you there.”
After a few more minutes of planning, I end the call and turn to find Colin waiting. He’s already located La Fortuna via its GPS.
I close my eyes briefly, picturing her terrified face as she pulled away from the dock. Somewhere out there, my wife is running from a threat that doesn’t exist.
I will find her. I will bring her home. And I will spend the rest of our lives making sure she never feels the need to run from me again.
Andrea’s boat cut through the waves at top speed, the GPS tracker for La Fortuna blinking steadily on Colin’s tablet. My eyes are fixed on that tiny red dot, willing it not to move, praying Alina hasn’t abandoned the boat yet.
The sun beats down mercilessly, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is her face when she pulled away from the dock, wearing terror, guilt, and heartbreak like a mask of destruction.
She believes she’s lost me forever. She has no idea I’m racing toward her, not to punish her for killing Andrea, but to thank her for surviving him. To worship her. To tell her how much I fucking love her.
“How much longer?” I demand, not taking my eyes off the tablet screen.
“Twenty minutes,” Colin answers, his voice barely audible over the engine’s roar. “The signal hasn’t moved in the last hour.”
Behind us, four of my security men check weapons and phones, preparing for the search ahead. Colin’s already made calls, arranging cars and additional personnel to meet us at the mainland. No expense spared, no resource untapped. Not for this. Not for her.
“She’s scared,” I say, more to myself than to Colin. “She thinks I’ll hunt her down for revenge.”
Colin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. We both know what Andrea was capable of—the manipulation, the violence, the way he twisted loyalty into fear. Alina saw me as his son first, her husband second.
This is all my fucking fault. And not only because I left her side. No, it’s more than that. I never took the time to tell her everything, to make sure she fully understood my family. I collected her and married her. Threw her into a world I never explained.
Fuck!
“Boss,” Colin interrupts my thoughts. “We need a plan for when we reach the mainland.”
I nod, knowing he wants to make sure the others hear my orders as well. Forcing my mind to focus on strategy rather than the ache in my chest, I say, “We split into teams. Cover all transportation; airports, ferry terminals, bus stations. She’ll want to get as far away as possible.”
“She has no ID,” Colin supplies me. “No passport or money.”
Exhaling sharply, I carry on. “Which means she’ll look for alternatives. Like cash-only services. Places that don’t ask questions.” The thought of my wife—my gentle, innocent wife—forced into the shadows makes my blood boil. “She might try to find work to earn enough for transportation.”
“Do we have her picture?” one of the men asks.
I pull out my phone, scrolling to a photo taken just yesterday—Alina laughing on the beach, her red hair caught in the breeze, freckles standing out against her sun-kissed skin. Happiness radiating from her like light.
Grinding my teeth, I take a screenshot and send the picture to Colin so he can share it. “Use this,” I say through clenched teeth.
The mainland grows larger on the horizon, the harbor coming into focus. My heart rate increases as I scan the docks, searching for La Fortuna’s familiar silhouette.
“There,” Colin points to the far end of the public dock.
I see it immediately—my boat tied haphazardly to a mooring post, as if secured by someone in a hurry with limited knowledge of proper knots. Relief washes through me that we’ve found the boat, followed immediately by crushing disappointment that Alina isn’t still on it.
The moment we dock Andrea’s boat, I leap onto the pier, racing toward La Fortuna. Colin follows close behind while the other men secure our vessel.
The boat is empty, as expected. I run my hand along the steering wheel, noticing smudges of dried blood—Andrea’s blood from Alina’s hands. The sight sends a fresh wave of rage through me at the thought of what she endured.
“How long ago did she dock?” I ask Colin, who’s examining the GPS unit.
“Three hours, give or take.” He gestures to a harbor attendant approaching us. “Let’s find out if anyone saw her.”
The attendant, an older man with sun-leathered skin, confirms a woman matching Alina’s description abandoned the boat almost three hours ago. “Pretty girl, red hair, looked upset,” he says in heavily accented English. “Headed that way.” He points toward the main road leading into town.
I press several large bills into his hand. “If you remember anything else, call this number.” I hand him my card, knowing he probably won’t, but leaving no stone unturned.
Three black SUVs pull up to the harbor entrance—our arranged transportation. Colin directs the security team to split between the vehicles while I pace the dock, scanning the busy harbor as if Alina might still be here, watching us.
“Boss,” Colin calls. “The cars are ready.”
I join him at the first SUV, where a local man I don’t recognize sits behind the steering wheel.
“We’ll take the airport,” I decide, climbing into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle.
“Send two men to the ferry terminal, two to the bus station…” I trail off as a thought hits me.
“With no money, she might try to sell something. We should check pawn shops, jewelry stores, anyone who’ll buy shit without asking questions. ”
What could she sell, though? I mean… fuck. I know what she’ll want to pawn.
“We need to focus on anyone known to take diamond jewelry without asking questions.” Yes, I can feel the rightness of this train of thought in my gut.
“She’ll want a hassle-free sale. So if anyone’s known to haggle, that’s not for her.
Alina isn’t greedy. She’ll likely only want enough money to fly home. ”
Colin relays this info to the other two cars, and then we’re on our way, focusing on pawnshops and back-alley shitstains that fit my description for what Alina would need.
“I might know someone who can help,” the driver says. “My friend Ray hangs out around the airport to scam tourists. Want me to give him a call?”
“Yes,” I reply curtly.
I continue to stare out the window, searching every face we pass, every flash of red hair making my heart stutter.