Chapter 38
~Dominic~
Why didn’t I walk Elle to the bathroom and wait outside? Another miscalculation. I let myself be lulled into a false sense of security, even knowing she was a target. After the attempted kidnapping, I’d fortified the mansion—breaches there are nearly impossible now.
But to keep Elle happy, I gave her freedom. Too much has already been taken from her. Helping the victims rescued from the Albanians’ trafficking ring has given her purpose, and I couldn’t cage that light, no matter the risk.”
Our actions have crippled their business, dismantling the organization piece by piece.
Alban Berisha’s reputation lies in ruins.
His clients no longer trust him to deliver their so-called ‘merchandise.’ Operating within Cosa Nostra territory has become nearly impossible.
One might hope he’d walk away, deciding the fight isn’t worth the trouble—but I know better.
His pride won’t let him retreat. He’ll be hungry for revenge, and I can’t imagine him leaving without a battle.
I should’ve guarded Elle more carefully. The image of her limp body slung over that bastard’s shoulder gnaws at me, each step carrying her farther away. Rage claws at my chest, fear pressing in—a feeling I never knew before her.
But if I let those thoughts consume me, I’ll lose focus. The minutes drag like hours as I drive toward the location Salvatore sent, that snake leading me into his trap
Half an hour later, I stopped at the darkened car park of an abandoned gas station outside of the city.
My headlights illuminate the graffiti on the part of the walls that are still standing.
The once paved ground is riddled with potholes and weeds.
It is as empty as a graveyard at night. But I know that the scumbags are lurking somewhere in the darkness. Waiting to pounce on me.
When I exit the vehicle, there’s movement to my left, in the cover of darkness. I swing around and point my gun above the hood of the car in that direction. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness. Three figures emerge from the shadows.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vitelli.
” The tallest of the three warns, his Albanian accent sharp as a blade.
All of them level their weapons at me. “Drop the gun if you want to see your wife alive," I hesitated, rage burning in my chest, but finally let the weapon fall. What I really want is to smash their faces in. ‘Search him!’ the leader snaps, his gun never wavering from me.”
His two companions approached. My natural instinct is screaming at me to fight back. I don’t have a docile bone in my body, but I force myself to exercise restraint for Elle’s sake. They’ll pay, I just need to be patient.
My arms were bound tight behind my back, the ropes biting into my skin. They patted me down, stripping away every weapon—even my favorite blade strapped to my chest. My phone was yanked from my pocket, hurled to the floor, and smashed, its screen shattering with a sharp crack.
Bastards! My vision vanishes as a hood is yanked over my head, plunging me into darkness. Rough hands shove me forward. A door creaks open, then I’m hurled inside. I hit hard, tumbling onto my side. The door slams shut above me in the trunk.
The car lurches over potholes, tossing me like cargo. With my hands bound, I can’t brace myself, my body slamming against the steel walls. But they made a mistake—they didn’t tie my legs. I wedge my feet against the sides, absorbing the worst of the impact as the vehicle barrels forward.
The ride grows steadier as the minutes slip by.
Then a phone rings from the front seat. I recognize the deep voice of the tall Albanian who spoke earlier.
“Yes, boss—we have him.” The call isn’t on speaker, so the other side remains a mystery.
“Yeah, we’ll be there soon.” When the line goes dead, their hushed conversation drifts back to me.
“Salvatore Vitelli wants his nephew dead,” one mutters. “He plans to make him suffer.”
The laughter grates against my ears. “Yeah, he’s going to use that pretty wife of his.
” They howl like jackals, unaware they’re already dead men.
Dead men don’t laugh. “She’ll make up for the merchandise we lost,” one sneers.
My blood boils as they reduce her to nothing but a bargaining chip.
“Alban will collect the debt on her back. Shame we won’t get a taste first.” Their laughter erupts again, each sound a nail in my skull.
I grind my teeth until pain shoots through my jaw.
Bastards. Over my dead body will anyone lay a hand on her.
With my wrists bound, reaching the knives hidden in my socks is nearly impossible.
But I force my body into motion. Knees bent, ankles pressed tight against my thighs, I arch backward, straining until my fingers brush steel.
Small blades, but lethal. I slide them into my waistband, concealed, waiting for the moment to use them.