Chapter 27 Elio
ELIO
The hours crawl by in the darkness of the warehouse.
I've lost track of time—could be a few hours since I was left here, could be more. There are no windows in this section of the building, nothing to mark the passage of time except the growing ache in my shoulders and the numbness spreading through my hands from the zip ties.
I've tested them a hundred times. They're not budging.
I've gone over every word of my conversation with Ronan, analyzing every expression, every pause, trying to figure out what he's going to do. Whether he’s found Annie yet. Whether Annie’s told him she loves me or whether she's already convincing herself it was all a mistake.
The thought of her hating me is worse than anything else. Worse than being stuck in this chair, worse than losing Ronan's trust, worse than whatever punishment he has planned.
I close my eyes and let myself think about her. The way she looked the last time I woke up next to her, curled up in bed with the sunlight streaming through the window. The way she said my name when I was inside of her. The look in her eyes when she begged me to admit that I love her.
I wonder what she's doing right now. If she's safe yet. If she's crying. If she's angry at me for leaving. For failing to keep Ronan’s trust until the very end.
The sound of the door banging open jolts me back to the present.
Footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry.
Then Ronan appears out of the shadows, and one look at his face tells me everything I need to know.
Something's happened. Something bad.
He crosses the space between us in three strides, and his fist connects with my jaw before I can speak. The chair rocks back on its legs, and pain explodes through my face.
"Where is she?" The words are a roar. "Where the fuck is Annie?"
Blood fills my mouth. I spit it to the side. "I don’t know—”
“Bullshit!” He grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me and the chair forward. "My men went to your fucking penthouse, Cattaneo, when they didn’t find her at any of the safe houses—one of which was shot up, by the way. They found your guards dead and no Annie. So I'll ask you again—where is she?"
Cold fear turns every drop of blood in my body to ice. "Dead? What do you mean dead?"
"I mean dead!" He shakes me hard enough to rattle my teeth. "Throats cut, shot, one of them had his skull bashed in. And if Annie was there, she’s gone. She’s nowhere to be found. But I know you fucking know something! Why would your safe house be shot up and your men dead if you didn’t?"
"Desmond," I breathe. "It has to be Desmond. He found her—"
“Desmond?” Ronan's face is inches from mine, his eyes wild. "Why the fuck are you talking about Desmond?”
“I—”
He releases me, and the chair crashes back down.
“You better start fucking talking, Cattaneo. Annie’s things were at your penthouse.
Start telling me what the fuck is going on, and maybe I’ll give you a quicker death than you deserve.
Because if you don’t, I’m going to start taking off pieces for every answer I don’t fucking get. ”
Fear rattles through me. I can’t think. There’s too much coming at me—Ronan knowing Annie was at my penthouse, Annie gone, my men dead, the threat of torture… my mind is racing, and I need to be careful about what I say next.
But I can’t fucking think.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I manage, which is a stupid fucking thing to say. “Ronan—”
"I thought I knew you." His voice breaks slightly. "I thought you were my brother. But my brother wouldn't have lied to me. Wouldn't have touched my sister. Wouldn't have—"
He stops, pulling something from his pocket.
It's a small white stick. Plastic.
My heart stops as I realize what it is.
A pregnancy test.
He throws it at me, and it bounces off my chest and falls to the floor.
"What the fuck is that, Elio?" His voice is deadly quiet now. "Because my men found it in the guest room bathroom. Right next to an empty box. And it has one very clear word on it."
I stare at the test on the concrete floor, and the world tilts on its axis.
Pregnant.
Annie's pregnant.
"Oh God." The words come out as a whisper. "She's pregnant."
"Yeah, I can fucking see that!" Ronan's shouting again. "The question is—is it yours? Were you fucking my sister, Cattaneo? Do I need to cut your fucking dick off first?"
I can't speak. Can't think. I can't process what I'm seeing.
Annie's pregnant with my child.
My child.
And Desmond has her. Has them. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
"Answer me!" Ronan grabs my shirt again, swinging another punch at my jaw that rocks my head backwards. "Is that baby yours?"
"Yes." The word tears out of me. "Yes, it's mine. We—I married her. We got married. We—”
Ronan stops and turns to look at me, his eyes colder than I’ve ever seen them before. “Start fucking talking, Cattaneo, while you still have a fucking tongue.”
So I do. There’s no reason not to, now. I tell him all of it—about Annie lying about going to a friend’s house to go to Desmond’s instead.
About what he did to her. The wine glass that caused the wounds on his face.
How she ran to me, begged me to hide her until she could think straight.
How she begged me to kill Desmond for her—and keep her secrets, and why.
That Desmond got to her anyway and dragged her to that church. That I married her.
The only thing that I don’t say is that I love her. Maybe it would help my case. Maybe it would make it all worse. But somehow I can’t bring myself to say it out loud to Ronan when I haven’t said it to her.
“This—we tried to be careful. I tried—”
"But not careful enough." Ronan’s jaw works. "Jesus Christ, Elio. You got my sister pregnant. You married her, fucked her, knocked her up, and then what? Where is she?" He grabs a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. " Why are your guards dead? How did Desmond get to her?"
"I don't know!" I grit my teeth. "I don't know how he found her. After the first safe house was compromised, I thought bringing her back to the penthouse was the right choice. That he wouldn’t look there—wouldn’t expect me to have her so close.”
Ronan shakes his head. “That was fucking stupid.”
“I didn’t have any good options. He would have looked into my other safe houses too, would have tried to find her there—”
“You could have brought her to me.” Ronan’s tone is icy. "You lied to me, Elio. You hid my sister, married her, got her pregnant, all while lying straight to my face. And you did nothing but make it worse the entire fucking time.”
"Ronan, listen to me." I force my voice to stay calm, rational. "We're wasting time. Every second we spend here is another second Annie is with Desmond. We need to find her. Now."
"We?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "There is no 'we,' Elio. You're going to sit in this chair until I decide what to do with you. And then, when I find Annie and make sure she's safe, I'm going to come back here and kill you with my own two hands."
"You can't—"
"I can't?" His voice rises. "I can't kill the man who knocked up my sister and then lost her to our worst enemy? Watch me."
"She's pregnant with my child!" I'm pulling at the restraints again, feeling the plastic cut into my wrists. "My baby is out there with that psychopath. You can't expect me to just sit here—"
"That's exactly what I expect." He turns toward the door. "You've done enough damage. The best thing you can do now is stay out of the way and let me fix your mess."
"It's not a mess—"
"She's pregnant and missing!" He wheels back around. "Her guards are dead. Desmond has her. And you're the reason. You put her in that safe house. You lied to me. You married her. You got her pregnant. This is your fault, Elio. All of it."
The words hit like physical blows because they're true. This is my fault. If I'd never married Annie, if I'd gone to Ronan from the start, if I'd posted more guards, if I'd been more careful—
But regret won't save her now.
"Take me with you," I say, and I don't care that I'm begging. "Please, Ronan. I can help. I have resources, contacts, men who are loyal to me. We can find her faster if we work together—"
"You think I trust you to help?" He shakes his head.
"The only thing you're going to do is sit there and think about what you've done.
Think about how your selfish decisions put Annie in danger.
Think about that baby she's carrying—your baby—and what might happen to it if Desmond decides to hurt her. "
The image he's painting is too terrible to contemplate. Annie, pregnant and scared, in Desmond's hands. The things he could do to her. The ways he could hurt her.
Hurt our child.
"Ronan—"
"I'm done listening to you." He heads for the door again. "I’m going to find my sister. Make your peace, Cattaneo, because when I come back, you’re a dead man.”
"You're making a mistake—"
"The only mistake I made was trusting you." He pauses in the doorway. "I'll find Annie. I'll bring her home. And then I'll deal with you. Until then, you sit there and think about how you destroyed the best thing that ever happened to you."
Then he's gone, and the door slams shut behind him with a finality that echoes through the warehouse.
The panic that surges through me is unlike anything I've ever felt. I've been shot, stabbed, beaten within an inch of my life. I've faced down rival families, dirty cops, and street gangs. I've stared death in the face.
But nothing—nothing—has ever terrified me like this.
Annie is out there, carrying my child, in the hands of a man who wants revenge. A man who has every reason to hurt her. To make her suffer. To make me suffer by proxy.
And I'm stuck in this fucking chair.
I pull at the zip ties again, harder this time, not caring about the pain as the plastic cuts deeper into my wrists. Blood makes my hands slippery, but the ties don't budge.
I need to get out of here. Need to find Annie. Need to save her and our baby before it's too late.
The thought keeps circling through my mind. Annie is pregnant. We made something together. A child that's half me, half her. A future I never let myself imagine.
I look around the warehouse, searching for anything I can use. The chair is bolted down. There are no sharp edges within reach. Nothing I can leverage against the restraints.
But there has to be a way. There's always a way.
The zip ties are tight, but they're just plastic. Strong plastic, but plastic nonetheless. If I could find something to cut through them—
I feel the edge of the chair. It’s old and rusty. If I could saw it back and forth, maybe—
I start working immediately, moving the zip tie back and forth against the edge of the metal leg. The angle is awkward, and my shoulders scream in protest, but I don't stop. I can’t.
Minutes pass. The plastic doesn't seem to be weakening at all.
I keep going.
More minutes. My arms are shaking with fatigue, my wrists bleeding now. I can feel it trickling hotly down my fingers. But I think—maybe—the plastic is starting to thin. Just slightly.
I work faster, putting everything I have into the motion. Back and forth, back and forth, until my muscles are on fire and I'm gasping with exertion.
And then—
Snap.
The zip tie breaks.
My hands are free.
I lean down and work on my ankles next. These are easier—I can see what I'm doing, and I can use both hands. Within a minute, I'm standing.
For a moment, I just sway there, blood rushing back into my limbs, pins and needles shooting through my feet. I see my gun and knife, tossed on a table at the far end of the room. I grab them immediately, arming myself as I move slowly toward the door to the room, watching for any guards.
There’s no one in the hall. I creep down it, hearing voices at the far end.
Inch by inch, I make my way toward the back of the warehouse, where there should be a service door.
I press myself against walls, walk as softly as I can, my breath coming in small puffs.
My heart is beating so hard I’m worried someone will be able to hear it.
When I reach the service door, I hear footsteps outside. Slowly, wincing, I ease the door open. I wait until the guard walks past.
And then I slip out, silent as I can, and grab the guard around the throat.
I don’t have any intention of killing him.
This isn’t his fault; he’s just doing his fucking job.
I apply pressure until I feel him go limp, then drag him to the edge of the warehouse, tucking him up against it before I slip into the shadows again, moving down the docks until I can get far enough away to make my next move.
I need to find a phone. Need to call Diego. He wasn’t supposed to be at the penthouse, so he should still be alive. If I can rendezvous with him, we can make a plan to go after Annie.
I’m not leaving this to Ronan. She might be his sister, but she’s my wife.
She’s the mother of my child.
And I’m going to get her back.