5. Dante
5
DANTE
Thursday, September 26, 2:30 PM
I have to believe I’m not too far behind Liam and Victoria, that I won’t be too late. God knows my nephew is a lazy piece of shit. He couldn’t even make the effort to kill me himself. He’s not about to drive through the night. No, the pampered little asshole is going to want to sleep on a bed.
My knuckles whiten around the steering wheel as I think about what else he may want to use a bed for.
That way lies madness.
I snarl, punching at the radio to try and find something loud and angry and distracting to drown out the carousel of nightmares spinning through my brain.
As soon as I left Marissa’s house, I went back to my place to load up. Much as I wanted to start driving and break down any doors between me and my wife, I knew I had to plan. Prepare.
Who knows what I’ll be walking into?
I checked my weapons, grabbed a couple tools that may come in handy.
Hell, I even tossed a set of Victoria’s clothes and one of her favorite sweatshirts into a bag. Might be optimistic, but I’ll be damned if I imagine this ending in anything except the successful recovery of my wife.
The delay also gave me a chance to deal with the idiots following me on my turf rather than on the road. Getting rid of the amateurs my nephew hired to kill me was pathetically easy. And I know it was Liam, since Angelo would have made sure to hire men capable of putting up some sort of resistance.
Suddenly the sound of a phone ringing interrupts my thoughts and the angry music that had been pumping through the speakers. I check the Bluetooth display and immediately whip the car to the shoulder, spraying gravel, when I see the name.
Ellie.
Please, please have news.
With shaking hands, I accept the call.
“Talk.”
“Hey, Prof—er, Mr. Moretti. Where are?—”
I don’t have time for this bullshit. I cut her off, saying, “In the car, on the way to Rochester to find Victoria. Do you know something? Did she contact you?”
“Oh, straight to the point. Right. Good. You’re heading in the right direction.” Ellie’s voice is high and a little tinny, either from the distortion of the car’s stereo system or possibly stress. She’s babbling.
I take a deep breath, working to hold back the snarl I want to let loose. This is Ellie. My wife’s best friend. She’s terrified for Victoria. And she’s too fucking young to be expected to handle this with stoic maturity.
Funny that I think of her peers as helpless youths but see my wife as a fascinating and bold adult.
Regardless, I can’t rage at Ellie. This isn’t her fault.
And Victoria will skin you alive if you make Ellie cry.
God, I fucking hope so. I hope Victoria will be spitting mad, in fighting shape, when I find her.
If I find her.
If I find her alive.
Slowly, deliberately, I release my crushing grip on the steering wheel and take a deep breath.
“Ellie, did Victoria contact you?”
“Oh!” she squeaks. “Yes, yes, she did. She texted.”
Patience. Don’t yell at Ellie. I clear my throat. “Great. Can you tell me what she said?”
“Um… yeah. She said Liam took her. And she sent me an address in Rochester, New York. It’s a hotel. I looked it up before I called. It’s near-ish to Niagara Falls, so he’s probably taking her to Canada?”
She says the last bit like it’s a question and I catch myself nodding before realizing Ellie can’t see me. “Sounds right. I need the name of the hotel, the address, and when Victoria sent the text.” Ellie rattles off the details and I hastily update my phone’s navigation app. “And Ellie?”
“Yeah, Mr. Moretti?”
“Tell her I’m coming. Call me if she reaches out again.”
“Sir, yes sir!” she snaps cheerily, relief evident in her voice.
I end the call and put the car back in gear, merging with the flow of traffic on I-90 West. I have a confirmed address. And it’s been confirmed that as of—I glance at the time on the car display—twenty minutes ago, my wife was still alive. Thank fuck Ellie is attached at the hip to her phone and called me so soon after Victoria reached out.
Now it’s time to make my own call.
There are only two numbers programmed in my list of contacts on speed-dial. Victoria and…
“Enzo, I need a favor.” I say the words as soon as I hear the call connect. Enzo has never let me down. We go way back, all the way back to my days running around Italy as the Giordano’s favorite enforcer. Enzo had his own ties there. He’s like a Swiss Army knife—useful in creative ways. And Enzo always gets the job done, no matter what the job is or what it takes.
If anyone can get eyes on Liam and Victoria in the next hour, it’s him.
“Name it, friend.”
“Liam took my wife.”
“That takes balls.” I can practically hear Enzo’s eyebrows arch to his hairline. “I didn’t realize your nephew had any.”
I chuckle. “Me either. I have a last-known address, and I need to know if they move.” I repeat the address Ellie shared. Come on Enzo, work your magic.
“Do you know the vehicle?” my friend asks, suddenly all business. I can hear the soft clack of a keyboard in the background.
I growl. No need to protect Enzo’s delicate feelings. “Maybe. Liam took her in her car, but if he’s smart he would have traded vehicles at some point.”
“Your nephew may have grown some balls, but I don’t think brains grow so quickly.” There’s some more rapid-fire typing as I rattle off a description of Victoria’s car. “I have her car at the hotel on their security footage.”
“Is she…” I swallow thickly, unable to finish the question.
“She is walking,” Enzo tells me flatly. “The surveillance cameras aren’t good, but I don’t see any obvious injuries.”
“Good. Can you get a tail on that car?” My fingers drum a restless rhythm on the wheel as I check my speed. As much as I want to fucking floor it, I can’t risk drawing the attention of highway patrol by speeding like a demon. The last thing Victoria needs is for me to be delayed by a traffic stop.
“You wound me, friend.”
“How soon?”
“Ten minutes. You?”
I glance quickly at my phone and I can’t help the frustrated snarl when I see my expected arrival time is still hours away. To be fair to the navigation app, nothing short of teleportation would satisfy me at this point.
“That soon?” Enzo asks, voice dry. My friend knows me too well. “Should I tell my man to engage?”
“ No ,” I snarl. “No, the bastard is mine .”
“Tracking only. Got it. Good hunting.” The call drops and the music comes roaring back.
But I’m still stuck on that last familiar phrase, my nostrils flaring.
Been so long .
There are some things you don’t forget.
Anticipation is a hum in my blood, and I twist and crack my neck.
You can run, Liam. But you can’t hide.