2. Dante
2
DANTE
Thursday, September 26, 6:00 AM
I should’ve known.
My nephew has clearly lost his shit and this time he’s gone too far. His attack at the dorm should’ve been the end of it. I should’ve kept Victoria safe with me, in my sight at all times. But no, I couldn’t take away her beloved culinary classes. I was too fucking soft. Her classes could have waited until I had things under control. Isn’t that the sort of thing leave of absences are for?
At the very least, I never should have let her go to Graham without me there. I should have waited in the hallways, made sure she was safe while she worked toward her dream.
Now she’s fuck knows where and I am losing my mind. I need a clue, some hint at where Liam is taking her. To that end, I broke into my dead brother’s mansion. Well, calling it a break-in is being generous. Apparently, no one thought to change the locks or security code after I moved out.
And now I have my brother’s widow in a chokehold.
I’ll keep her here until she fucking tells me where Victoria is.
“I’m losing my patience,” I growl. I’m more angry at myself than Marissa. My job was to protect Victoria, and I failed her. “Hurry the fuck up?—”
“You’re not going to kill my only son?—”
“He has my fucking wife , Marissa,” I bite out, tightening my fingers around her neck.
I should kill her.
Honestly, there would be no love lost. I can’t stand her, never have been able to find any common ground with her. Never learned to so much as tolerate her. And now her son has my wife and is doing fuck knows what to her. I’m running out of time. Every passing minute is another minute Liam has to act on whatever stupid ideas pop into his head.
“You’ve got sixty seconds before I kill you, woman. I swear to God?—”
“She’s safe,” she cries, fat tears running down her cheeks and smearing her mascara as her light brown eyes stare up at me. “We need the money. You weren’t supposed to marry her?—”
“You and Liam were going to fuck her out of her trust fund. Did you really think I was just going to watch that happen?”
“What do you care?” she spits out, clawing at the wrist holding her captive. “That little bitch has more than enough money—” My grip squeezes harder and Marissa begins to choke.
“That what ? Did you call my wife a bitch, whore?” I get in her face, fury burning through my veins. Marissa is part of this, part of the reason that Victoria is outside of my reach, my protection.
I don’t know where she is.
It’s driving me insane. I’m not sure if she’s hurt, if Liam has touched her, if she’s safe…
If she’s dead.
My heart has been thrashing in my chest for hours, and I am spiraling. She texted me after class yesterday to say she was meeting her friend Ellie to study together and get dinner. I’d told her to call me when she and Ellie met up so I’d know she wasn’t alone.
The call never came.
I tried to ignore the silence, convinced myself Victoria was just chafing at restrictions I’d put on her life—for her own safety—but when ten o’clock came around and I still hadn’t heard anything?
I called Ellie.
And nearly broke my phone in my hand when she told me she hadn’t seen Victoria, that they hadn’t made any plans for dinner or studying. Oh, and Ellie gave me an earful about how I’d stolen her best friend from her and now Victoria couldn’t stop talking about me , that she didn’t want to hang out with Ellie because she couldn’t wait to get home and see me.
I tried not to think too hard about what that last part meant.
No, I need to stay in the moment. Victoria’s phone is off, and neither I nor Ellie have heard from her, which means Liam’s done something. It had to have been him who texted me from her phone.
“That money isn’t yours ,” I sneer, watching Marissa’s face turn red. “And if that little piece of shit touches her, he’s dead. Period .”
“He’s…not…” She tries to shake her head, but my hold is firm enough to prevent the movement. “Just…need…”
“Shut up. Where is he?”
“I don’t—” The cold press of my Glock’s barrel to her temple shuts down her retort. I’m not playing around and it’s about time she realized that.
I’ll blow Marissa’s brains out right now. She’s of no use to me, not if she won’t give me a clue as to where her useless spawn is taking Victoria. And with her dead, there’d be one less voice filling Liam’s head with pipedreams about Victoria’s money.
I married her to keep her safe. It was the right thing to do. But now that’s beyond my grasp, I can’t keep lying to myself that there’s nothing to our marriage except the desire to protect an innocent. I need to hold Victoria in my arms, assure myself Liam hasn’t hurt her—marked her—in any way.
I’m fucking desperate to see those sweet blue eyes staring back at me.
“Last chance, Marissa,” I growl softly. “I’m done fuckin’ around. My wife is out there and I’m going to do whatever is necessary to get her back. That means you’re dead in ten seconds if you don’t tell me where your son is.”
Marissa locks her jaw, tapping on my arm to give her some air, so I let up just enough to get the answers I need. “I’m your brother’s wife.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You’re just a bitch to me,” I retort evenly. “I have no love for you. Never have, never will.”
She whimpers and stares at me like I’m lying. “You don’t mean that. We had a moment?—”
“Believe what you want.” I press the gun to the side of her head, shoving the metal mercilessly into her skull, and watch her eyes widen in fear. “Ten seconds.”
“Dante—”
“Nine.”
“You can’t kill me.”
“Eight.”
“Liam is your only nephew.”
“Seven.”
“You’re not going to hurt him.”
“Six.”
“ Dante .”
“Five.”
She lifts her chin. “You’re not going to do it.”
“Four…three…”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Two.”
“He’s going to Rochester,” she blurts out, chest heaving with uneven breaths. “New York. He’s got a friend out there.”
“And?”
“I’m not sure—” I lower the gun and shoot into the floor, wrenching an ear-piercing scream from Marissa’s throat.
Her body begins to drop, but I hold her up by her neck, pinning her to her bedroom wall. She’s not getting off that easily. I can see through her bullshit. There’s no way that she doesn’t know everything about what her weaselly spawn is planning.
“Try again, Marissa,” I taunt, raising the gun to her chin. “One more lie, and the next bullet goes right here.” I’ve never been like this. Crazed, barely hanging onto the control necessary to get the job done. I’ve been through worse shit than this, hell, I’ve been on nastier jobs. But not knowing where my wife is has been nothing less than torture.
“Passports,” she pants. “Fake ones.”
“Where are they going?”
“Canada. I’m supposed to meet them.”
“You know his number?”
Her eyes bulge and a broken sob leaves her red-painted lips. “What? I can’t?—”
“Do. You. Know. His. Number,” I bite out.
“N-n-no.” Her chest heaves with her broken sobs. “I-I don’t?—”
“Good.” I can feel a manic grin of satisfaction split my face. “Give me your phone.”
“I’m supposed to meet them after.”
God, she’s so fucking stupid.
“If I have to do another countdown, Marissa, I’ll just take it from your corpse.”
“How am I supposed to meet him?”
“You’re not. Thought that was obvious.” I tap the Glock against her chin to help make my point. “Give me the phone, Marissa. The fuck I’ll let you warn him I’m coming.”
More tears fall from her eyes, but she finally slumps in my hold, her head bowing as she finally gives up.
At least I have somewhere to start searching.
Hang on, wife. I’m coming for you.