Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Bruno
Three fucking hours of nothing.
Every minute that passes is another minute Antonella is alone with those bastards. Another minute my wife is tied up somewhere, terrified, wondering if I'm coming for her.
I'm coming.
I swear to God, I'm coming.
The phone on Pietro's desk hasn't rung. Liam's contacts haven't called back. Valentino's people have turned up nothing. The warehouse district is a maze of abandoned buildings and dead ends, and we've searched twelve of them already.
Twelve buildings. Zero leads.
Nico stands by the window, arms crossed, watching the driveway like he expects answers to drive up and announce themselves. Valentino paces near the door, his phone pressed to his ear as he barks orders in rapid Sicilian to someone on the other end.
My phone buzzes.
I grab it so fast I nearly drop it.
Vittoria's name flashes on the screen.
"What do you have?" I don't bother with greetings.
"Two names." Vittoria's voice is sharp, focused. The sound of typing fills the background. "I cross-referenced every name in the Morelli ledgers against known associates of crime families with active grudges against us. Then I filtered for anyone desperate enough to pull something this stupid."
"And?"
"Two families came up. Both American. Both small operations." More typing. "The Castellanos out of Detroit and the Vance family from Cleveland."
I don't recognize either name. "Never heard of them."
"You wouldn't have. They're minor players. The Castellanos run a small gambling operation—mostly underground poker games and sports betting. The Vance family deals in stolen goods. Cars, electronics, that kind of thing."
"Why would either of them want the Morelli ledgers?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Vittoria pauses. "Both families have entries in the ledgers. The Castellanos owed the Morellis about two hundred thousand before we absorbed their debts. The Vance family had a different arrangement—they were laundering money through Morelli front companies."
"So they're both exposed."
"Exactly. If those ledgers go public, both families are finished. The Castellanos would face federal charges for the gambling operation, and the Vance family would go down for money laundering and racketeering."
I process this. Two families. Two possible kidnappers. And no way to know which one has my wife.
"Can you narrow it down?"
"I'm trying. But these are small operations, Bruno. They don't have the digital footprint of larger families. Most of their business is done in cash, face to face. There's not much for me to trace."
"There has to be something."
"I'm working on it." Her voice softens slightly. "I'll find her. I promise."
I hang up without saying goodbye.
Pietro and Nico are both watching me.
"Two families," I say. "Castellanos from Detroit. Vance family from Cleveland. Both have reasons to want those ledgers destroyed."
"I know the Castellanos." Nico's voice is flat. "Small-time gamblers. They've been trying to expand into Chicago for years, but they don't have the muscle or the money."
"What about the Vance family?"
"Never dealt with them directly. But I've heard rumors. They're desperate. Their operation has been bleeding money for the past two years."
"Desperate enough to kidnap a woman?"
Nico's jaw tightens. "Desperate people do desperate things."
Liam steps forward. He's been silent for the past hour, working his phone and his contacts. "I might have something."
Every head in the room turns toward him.
"I still have connections from my military days," Liam says. "Private contractors, intelligence operatives, people who work in the shadows. Some of them have infiltrated various criminal organizations over the years."
"And?"
"I have men in both families."
The words hang in the air.
"You have men inside the Castellanos and the Vance family?" Pietro asks.
"Not mine specifically. But men I can reach. Men who owe me favors or who will work for the right price." Liam meets my eyes. "They could get us information. Find out if either family is behind this. Maybe even locate where they're holding her."
"Do it."
"It won't be cheap. These men don't work for free, and they don't work for promises. They'll want cash. A lot of it."
"Money has never been the problem." I wheel closer to him. "Whatever they want, they get. Double it if they can give us answers in the next six hours."
Liam nods. "I'll make the calls."
He steps out of the office, already dialing.
Pietro moves to stand beside me. "This could work."
"It has to work."
"Bruno—"
"Don't." I cut him off. "Don't tell me to stay calm. Don't tell me to be patient. Don't tell me everything will be fine."
Pietro doesn't flinch. "I was going to say we'll find her."
I look at my brother.
He's worried too.
They all are.
"I know," I say finally. "I know we will."
Valentino ends his call and joins us. "My people are still searching the warehouse district. Nothing yet, but they're expanding the perimeter."
"Tell them to focus on buildings with recent activity. Power usage, vehicle traffic, anything that suggests someone's been there in the past twenty-four hours."
"Already done."
Nico pushes off from the window. "I'll coordinate with Liam's contacts. Make sure they understand the urgency."
He leaves without waiting for a response.
I'm alone with Pietro and Valentino.
The silence stretches.
"She's strong," Valentino says quietly. "Antonella. She's stronger than you give her credit for."
"I know how strong she is."
"Then trust her to survive until we get there."
I want to believe him. I want to believe that Antonella is sitting in whatever hellhole they've put her in, calm and collected, waiting for me to come crashing through the door.
But I've seen what desperate men do to innocent people.
I've done some of those things myself.
My phone buzzes again.
Liam's name this time.
"Talk to me."
"I've got my man in the Castellano organization on the line. He says there's been unusual activity in the past forty-eight hours. Money moving, people being called in. Something big is happening."
"Does he know what?"
"Not yet. But he's going to find out. I've also reached out to my contact in the Vance family. He's harder to get hold of, but I should hear back within the hour."
"Make it faster."
"I'm trying."
I hang up.
Two families. Two possibilities.
And somewhere out there, my wife is waiting for me to find her.
Antonella
The door scrapes open.
I force my eyes to focus, blinking against the harsh light that floods the room. My body aches from hours in this chair, wrists raw from the zip ties, left hand throbbing where they cut off my ring.
The scar-faced man steps inside.
He's carrying a water bottle.
The plastic crinkles in his grip as he walks toward me. His eyes are empty, flat, like looking into nothing.
He stops in front of my chair.
"Time to talk."
I don't respond.
He reaches for my face, and I flinch before I can stop myself. His fingers find the edge of the duct tape covering my mouth. He doesn't peel it slowly. He rips it off in one brutal motion.
Pain explodes across my lips and cheeks.
I taste blood where the adhesive tore skin.
My eyes water, but I clamp my jaw shut. I won't give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. I won't let him see how much it hurts.
He watches me, waiting for a reaction.
I give him nothing.
"Tough girl." He unscrews the cap on the water bottle. "Drink."
He holds it toward my mouth.
I turn my head away.
"I said drink."
"No."
The word comes out rough, my throat dry and cracked from hours without water. But I mean it. I don't know what's in that bottle. I don't know what they've put in it.
The scar-faced man laughs.
It's not a pleasant sound.
"Smart enough to be afraid of drugs." He tilts his head, studying me like I'm something mildly interesting. "But stupid enough to refuse water after—what has it been? Eight hours? Ten?"
I don't answer.
I don't know how long I've been here. Time stopped meaning anything when they threw me in this room. All I know is that my throat burns, my head pounds, and every muscle in my body screams for relief.
But I won't drink.
"Your choice." He shrugs. "But you should know—if we wanted to drug you, we wouldn't need your cooperation. We'd just hold you down and force it into you."
The words send ice through my veins.
He's right.
If they wanted to drug me, they could. They could do anything they wanted. I'm tied to a chair with zip ties cutting into my wrists and no way to fight back.
But that doesn't mean I have to make it easy for them.
"No," I say again.
He steps closer. The water bottle hovers inches from my face.
"Last chance."
I meet his eyes.
Empty. Flat. Nothing behind them.
"No."
He curses.
The word is ugly, vicious, spat at me like venom. He pulls the bottle back and screws the cap on with sharp, angry movements.
"Fine. Dehydrate. See if I care."
He turns toward the door.
Something rises in my chest. Something reckless and desperate and probably stupid.
"You're going to end up dead."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
He freezes.
His back is to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me." My voice is steadier than I feel. "My husband is coming for me. And when he finds you—and he will find you—you're going to die."
Silence.
He turns slowly.
His face is blank, but something flickers in those empty eyes. Something that might be anger. Or amusement. Or both.
"Your husband." He walks back toward me, each step deliberate. "The cripple in the wheelchair?"
I don't flinch at the word.
"The man who runs the most powerful family in Chicago."
He stops in front of my chair.
Close enough that I can smell cigarette smoke and sweat.
"You think he scares me?"
"I think you should be scared."
His jaw tightens.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
Then he swings the water bottle.
The plastic connects with my temple.
Pain explodes through my skull—white-hot, blinding, all-consuming. The force of the blow snaps my head to the side. The room spins. The lights blur into streaks of white.
I try to hold on.
I try to stay conscious.
But the darkness is already pulling me under.
The last thing I hear is his voice, distant and distorted.
"Stupid bitch."
Then nothing.