64. Already Gone
ALREADY GONE
Right after the pasta course is delivered, one of Salvatore’s men enters the private dining room with a cell phone that he hands to his boss.
I glance out the window, at the neat rows of grapes stretching as far as I can see, attempting to offer some privacy.
This meal has been shockingly civil so far.
I don’t want the Carusos thinking I’m here to secretly spy on their business matters.
“Lev.”
My attention snaps to Salvatore, as I’m startled he’s addressing me instead of one of his sons.
Immediately, I tense.
Something is wrong. Very wrong. The older man’s tanned skin is unnaturally pale. He looks scared, not surprised, like when he entered this house this morning. And nervous.
“Carina was taken.”
I stare at him. Then ask, very slowly and deliberately, “What did you say?”
Salvatore swallows nervously. “She was taken from my restaurant. She told the guard she was going to meet Isabella—”
I stand abruptly. My knee hits the edge of the table, hard, causing the dishes to clatter, yet I hardly register the sound or the pain.
I need to strategize, to detach, but there’s a wall of rage blocking any rational thought.
I sweep the plates and bowls and glasses in my immediate vicinity off the surface and onto the floor.
They shatter, breaking the stunned silence, the sound reminding me of leaving Serebryanovo with Carina for our wedding.
We’ve only been married a few weeks. We’re supposed to have forever.
“This is your fucking territory. How could that happen?”
He apologizes. Says sorry like it’s some sort of solution.
I pace over pieces of glass and porcelain, trying to process my anger quickly so I can think straight.
I’ve been in a lot of dangerous situations.
But I’ve never been angrier—never been as scared—as I am right now.
This is my fault. I let Maksim get in my head about how isolated Carina was from her former life.
I asked Misha to find out what was on that drive.
We should have stayed in Russia, where I have resources and informants and men.
“Where is the restaurant?”
One of her brothers—Luca, the one who works there—relays an address that tells me nothing.
“No one intervened?”
“The men were armed,” Salvatore says. “Mine don’t frequent any legitimate businesses. There were only civilians there.”
“Were you supposed to work today?” I ask Luca.
He shakes his head. That could mean they were working off inside information. Or could be a coincidence.
“The police were called twenty minutes ago,” Salvatore tells me. “One of the officers on my payroll recognized her on the security footage.”
“What time on the footage?”
“Twelve thirty-six.”
I check my watch. It’s just after one p.m. now. “Have they identified the men?”
“Not yet.”
“License plate on the car?”
“It’s on the footage. It’s been circulated to the police. And my men are looking too.”
I frown. Sloppy. Are they changing plates or—
“Car was found a mile from the restaurant,” Leo says, staring at his phone. “Matteo just messaged. It’s empty.” He glances at his father, then at me. “No cameras in the immediate vicinity.”
Enzo swears. “They planned this.” He looks at me. “Who knew you were coming to visit?”
“No one.” We didn’t make the decision ourselves on which day to leave until yesterday. My family has no idea we’re in Italy. “Who did you tell she was here?”
“No one outside the family,” Salvatore replies, his sons nodding in agreement.
“Then someone is watching you.”
“Or watching Isabella,” Enzo comments. “Carina must have called her.”
I nod. “Where does she live?”
Luca pulls his phone out. “I’ll find out from Cosmo. Our driver. He would have dropped Isabella off before Carina’s last visit.”
I focus on Salvatore. “Does Morello know about the kill plan?”
“How do you know about—”
Salvatore silences Leo with a sharp look. All of his bluster has dissipated since the phone call. I respect him for that, if nothing else.
“I don’t know. Nico was furious after Madrid. He wanted me to contact your father. Demand her return.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“She had set it up. Enzo said she ran straight to you. I believed Carina would have found a way to contact me if she wanted to. She never did. Then I heard about the marriage. I had no right to claim her once she was your wife.”
“When did you last see Morello?”
“We coordinated a shipment a couple of weeks ago.”
“Did he mention Carina? Anything about the engagement?”
Salvatore shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Where did you meet?”
“One of his warehouses. Previously, we’d gone to my restaurant—”
“The one she was taken from?”
Salvatore nods. “And he’s been to my home twice. Once for what was supposed to be the engagement party and once when he brought Carina back.”
“You never met at one of his residences?”
Salvatore shakes his head. “He has many. I could get addresses, but—”
“He wouldn’t take her anywhere you might locate that easily. There’s been no contact. No demands. If he wanted this to be quick, he would have reached out by now.”
He wants me to feel powerless. Wants me to wonder where Carina is and what’s happening to her until I go insane. And it’s fucking working. I brought Carina right to him.
I resume pacing the dining room, just to do something. The four men watch me warily.
“I’ve got an address for Isabella,” Luca states. “Cosmo said her parents live there too.”
He speaks to me. They’re all deferring to me. In any other situation, I’d appreciate the sign of respect, but I can’t enjoy the way they’re relying on me. They’re doing so because they don’t know how to help Carina.
“Send the address to Enzo,” I tell Luca. “He and I will go question Isabella’s family.”
Out of Carina’s three brothers, he’s who I’m most familiar with. He handled the ambush in Madrid well. And Carina has mentioned him most frequently. She’s closest with him, and I’m trusting that bond goes both ways.
“Have all the footage from the area where they swapped cars pulled,” I instruct Salvatore. “Track down every vehicle that left that lot. One of those cars is the right one.”
He nods.
“Have your men armed and ready. Once we have a location, I don’t want any delays.”
Another nod.
“Let’s go,” I tell Enzo.
The house Enzo stops in front of is modest. On a quiet street as part of a continual cluster of homes. A stray cat slinks down the cobbled street and into an alley.
“Did your father pay Isabella?” I ask Enzo.
“I assume so, but I don’t know their exact arrangement. He was paranoid about discussing her up until recently, when everyone found out.”
I nod, climbing out of the car and striding up to the front door to knock.
A middle-aged woman opens it. Her eyes are wide and terrified as she scans me, then relaxes some when she sees Enzo. I assume due to his resemblance to Salvatore. If she’s a relative of Isabella’s, she’d know that the Carusos were employers. Protectors.
Enzo starts speaking Italian. I scan what little of the house I can see behind the woman, searching for anything amiss. The interior appears normal.
The woman replies to Enzo. I catch a few words, but miss most of the exchange.
“This is Isabella’s sister,” Enzo tells me. “Her parents are missing.”
“Since when?”
“They were gone when she woke up this morning.”
“Why didn’t she report it?”
Enzo translates the question, then tells me, “She says she did. Officers came and took a report.”
If Salvatore has informants in the police service, Morello must too.
“When did she last see Isabella?”
He asks, and then the woman replies.
“They talked on the phone two days ago.”
“Isabella doesn’t live here?”
More Italian.
“She moved into her own apartment last week.”
“Did Isabella say anything unusual when they spoke?”
I glance down the street while Enzo asks, trying to rein in my impatience about the lack of useful information. Morello must have taken the parents to prevent Isabella from warning Carina. I doubt they’re being held where she is, if they’re even still alive. Prisoners are an inconvenience.
“She says her sister sounded normal,” Enzo tells me. “It was a short call. Isabella was going to a doctor’s appointment.”
“Was she sick? Why did she go to the doctor?”
The answer comes a minute later. “She was getting an A1C test,” Enzo tells me. “She has type 2 diabetes.”
Something occurs to me. “Does she wear a glucose monitor?”
Enzo frowns. “What?”
“Ask if her sister wears a glucose monitor,” I tell him testily.
He still looks confused, but he translates.
“Sì,” is the answer.
I head toward the car, already dialing.
Misha takes four rings to answer. “He—”
“Four years ago, you tracked down that arms dealer using his pacemaker. Can you do that for a different medical device?”
“It depends. What are the details?”
“Patient’s name is Isabella—” I glance at Enzo, who’s followed me, and switch to English. “What’s her last name?”
“Ricci.”
“Isabella Ricci. She’s diabetic; it’s a glucose monitor. Was likely treated at Chicago General.”
“Do you know which doctor? Or the exact device?”
“No. I need you to find out everything you can. And if it’s transmitting any sort of signal, I need you to locate it immediately.”
Isabella’s illness will become obvious, the longer they hold her. I don’t know if they’ll realize the device transmits a signal—I don’t even know if it does. But it’s the only lead we have.
“I’ll look into it.” His brisk efficiency isn’t as assuring as it normally is.
“Someone took Carina. This woman is with her. This isn’t a fucking shipment I’m trying to find, Gurin. Drop whatever else you were working on. This is top priority. Anyone tells you otherwise, have them contact me.”
Misha’s voice is steely when he says, “Understood.”
I hang up and exhale, clinging to and trying to shove the hope away simultaneously. Praying this works and also preparing for the possibility that it won’t.
“What was that about?” Enzo asks.
“A glucose monitor sends data to receivers in order to track a patient’s levels. That requires the device to transmit wirelessly—”
“We could track it,” Enzo finishes, realizing.
“Maybe. They’re checking.”
Enzo blows out a long breath. “Any other leads?”
“Not yet. Where was the abandoned car taken?”
“One of our garages. Why?”
“I want to look at it.”