27. Basilio
Basilio
I should have known villains didn’t get a happy ending.
Too much blood on my hands. Too many wrongs. But I realized over the last few hours that I’d tear this world apart. Piece by fucking piece, until I found her or some godforsaken place where I could put my pain.
This ache inside my chest clawed at my heart and soul. The pressure had been a constant companion, from the moment I walked into my home to find blood all over my hallway and living room. Finding my father there. But no Wynter.
I wished they could have traded places. I wished the Russians would have taken my father, not my woman.
Though there was a feeling I couldn’t shake off.
My father never came to visit me. Fucking never.
He preferred to summon me to his place. When I checked my surveillance, I found it to be wiped clean.
Technically, the Russians could have done that too.
I had Angelo run the surrounding street surveillance in my presence, but we found most of it wiped out too.
With one little exception. A glimpse of the golden curly hair stained with blood being put into a black Mercedes G-Benz three streets over.
It was unmistakably Wynter, the exact shade of her golden blonde curly hair.
Barely two seconds captured, but it was enough to see how battered she was.
And all we could get of the man that nudged her into the car was his large back and a glimpse of a tattoo on his finger.
The tag number led us fucking nowhere. Trying to find a different angle was fruitless too.
I’d never felt this helpless. I couldn’t even allow myself to consider what happened to Wynter, wondering if she was still alive. Fear and fury simmered under my skin. I couldn’t think with a clear head.
The moment I entered my house to find her gone, a gaping hole tore through my chest and grew by the second.
My mind rattled, ready to unleash a fucking war and wreak havoc on everyone.
Russians, Irish. Every. Fucking. One. They called me a villainous kingpin, but they’d get a taste of a psychotic kingpin.
Unless I got my girl back, I’d lose my goddamn shit.
All I could think was that I failed her. I didn’t protect her. Just as I didn’t protect my own mother.
My world was worthless without her in it. This hole in my chest hurt worse now than after I lost my mother.
I had Priest digging through Yale records. Surveillance. So far, we found nothing. Not a single fucking clue. Like she disappeared into thin air.
I reached the corner of a building that belonged to Bratva. This was my second one in a matter of hours. I was desperate to locate her. I kept one captor alive from the last attack and questioned him. No answers. No clues. Fucking nothing.
The Bratva didn’t own any buildings in the city, but right outside of it, they had a few warehouses. Crouching down, I peered around and found two men guarding the entrance.
My phone vibrated faintly. I entered the code into my phone to open it and found that the message was from Dante.
Dante: Where are you?
Me: Busy.
Priest: Stop hunting blindly.
Unless either one of them was able to give me information on Wynter, or surveillance on my house so I could see what happened to Wynter or who invaded my home, I had nothing to say.
I had the best surveillance control system and for fucking what.
There wasn’t a second captured of the attack.
Angelo must be getting sloppy in his old age, and I wanted to fucking kill him for it.
Neither Angelo nor Priest were able to get information on Wynter’s friends either.
Dante: You’re going to get yourself killed going after the Bratva alone.
I wasn’t alone. I brought along three of my best men. I locked eyes with them. “Keep one alive,” I ordered.
A terse nod. And we raised our gun and fired. One down. Two down.
Bullets started flying. I followed the path and spotted the window where the bullets were coming from. I aimed and pulled the trigger. Another down. We ran towards the entrance, keeping a sharp eye. No bullets came.
I glanced at my man who scanned the building for body heat with our military grade device. He raised five fingers. Excellent, this should be easy then.
Bursting through the door, two attackers came after me.
I shot one and ran towards the next one.
The other three my men could handle. Out of bullets, I pulled my knife.
The fucker jabbed at my stomach, but I dodged it and rammed my blade into his shoulder.
He cried out and my next move was ramming my blade into his thigh.
Before he could attack me again, I grabbed him from behind and one arm locked around his throat. He kept struggling against me like a fucking madman. He hadn’t seen crazy yet. With the butt of my gun, I hit his temple and his body went slack.
Half an hour later, my clothes were drenched in blood and I still had no answers.
His last words before he died were, “Pakhan wants the woman.”
Was he talking about my woman?