Chapter 17
Paul sat at his desk, drumming his fingers on the top.
Andrew had left weeks ago to try to track down this Valentino guy who’d worked on the Asaka Express with his former chef.
His friend and capo was using fake identification and had all the money he needed at his disposal to bribe and extort people for information about the man’s whereabouts.
So far, he’d chased the ship the man was supposed to be on, the Asaka Freedom, from port to port without any luck.
Paul was running out of patience. Every day that bitch was free to run around was another day she could totally ruin his life.
Jerry was chomping at the bit more and more, trying to take over the family, and if he heard about what had happened—and that Paul hadn’t been able to find Elodie yet, and shut her up—he’d use that opportunity to undermine him.
Andrew had checked in a few days ago, and had said the Asaka Freedom would be docking in Tunis, Tunisia, today. They were five hours ahead of New York time, and so Andrew should’ve gotten back to him by now.
Just when Paul was working himself up into a nice rage, his phone rang. The throwaway one he used only to talk to Andrew, that couldn’t be traced to either of them.
“Talk to me,” he growled as he answered it.
“Got ’im!” Andrew crowed.
“Thank fuck. What’d he say?” Paul asked.
“Well, nothing yet. I paid a prostitute to slip a mickey into his drink at the pub. Dumb bitch didn’t ask any questions, all she wanted was the money so she could go shoot up. I’m gonna keep him out of it until I can get him stashed someplace where it’s safe to interrogate him.”
“Don’t take fucking forever,” Paul grumbled. “I want to know where Elodie Winters is, and I want to know yesterday.”
“He’ll tell me everything he knows,” Andrew said, the glee easy to hear in his voice. “When I’m done with him, he’ll be admitting to every fucking thing he’s ever done wrong.”
“Make sure there are no loose ends,” Paul warned.
“I’m not an idiot,” Andrew complained. “This isn’t my first interrogation.”
“I just don’t want to have to find this guy after everything is said and done, to make sure he doesn’t snitch.”
“Oh, don’t worry, he won’t be snitching about anything when I’m done with him.”
“Good,” Paul said. “I need you back here as soon as possible. People are starting to question where you are, and our cover about your sister being sick isn’t going to hold up much longer.”
“A day or two at most, boss,” Andrew said. “Then I’ll be back and we can plan our next steps. This asshole is going to tell us what we need to know, I feel it.”
“Keep in touch,” Paul ordered, then hung up without another word. He hated this entire situation. Couldn’t believe a wisp of a woman like Elodie had managed to stay one step ahead of him. She was a fucking cook, and he was the head of a feared and respected mob family.
If Jerry ever found out how long she’d been able to elude him, Paul was a dead man. Jerry, and everyone else, would lose all respect for him and most certainly take him out.
For a moment, he considered going to wherever the bitch was hiding and taking her out himself, but he dismissed that idea immediately.
He needed to be here in New York, keeping tabs on his family and holding tight to his position.
If he left, he was screwed. He had to rely on Andrew to do what needed to be done, both with this Valentino guy and Elodie.
And he was so close to finding the information he needed to end this once and for all.
As he thought about how scared the bitch would be when she realized she was going to die, Paul closed his eyes in satisfaction. Maybe he’d ask Andrew to film her death. It was risky, but he could delete the video right after he watched it. He wanted to see her suffer. Needed to see that.
He smiled in anticipation.
“You gonna talk now?”
Valentino squinted at the man in front of him out of the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.
He had no idea where he was, or who the man beating the shit out of him was.
The last thing he remembered was being at the bar in Tunis with a smokin’-hot chick.
He’d been onboard the ship so long, if he didn’t get some pussy, his dick was going to fall off.
He’d been denied shore leave at the last two ports since he was the newest officer on the ship, and he’d been so fucking happy to get approval to go ashore when they’d arrived in Tunisia, he’d pretty much ignored the safety warnings and gone straight to the part of the city where whores frequented.
He’d almost immediately started talking to a woman who was all over him.
She’d gone to the bathroom, and he’d decided to stop dicking around when she got back.
He wanted to fuck, and he didn’t need all this seduction bullshit that went along with it.
He wasn’t going to date this woman, he was going to slake his need then send her on her way.
Maybe he’d find someone else to suck him off later.
He needed to get off as many times as he could before he had to be back onboard the next afternoon. Stuck on a ship filled with men for who knows how long until he could get off at the next port.
But somewhere between the woman agreeing to bring him to her place to fuck and now, something had gone extremely awry.
He was in a room he didn’t recognize with a man he’d never seen before in his life. The guy hadn’t told him why he was beating the shit out of him; he just was.
Valentino was sitting on a chair with his hands cuffed behind him and his legs tied apart. His shirt and pants were nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t have his boots and socks on anymore either. He was sitting there in nothing but his underwear.
But the most alarming thing about the situation was that there was a huge piece of plastic under the chair—and the man in front of him wasn’t wearing a disguise at all.
Valentino could describe him to the police in detail.
He had longish black, greasy hair, which was tied back from his face with a rubber band.
He couldn’t see any visible tattoos, but he wore a black shirt and a black pair of pants.
His teeth were yellow and his nose was crooked from being broken at some point in his life.
At the moment, the man’s knuckles were bloody and scraped from beating on his face, and Valentino couldn’t help but eye the knife in a sheath on the man’s belt with terror.
“I think you’re ready,” the man said, answering his own question.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Valentino asked, hating how weak and slurred his own voice was.
“Who I am doesn’t matter, but what I want…yes, that’s the right question.”
The man stalked toward him, and Valentino wanted to spit on him, wanted to kick him between the legs and get the fuck out of this room. But as if the man could read his mind, his fist struck out, hitting him so hard in the face he couldn’t breathe for a second.
“I want to know where Elodie Winters is.”
“Who?” The question popped out without thought.
The man beating him didn’t even hesitate, he turned and headed for the other side of the empty room and grabbed something that had been propped up against the wall. Valentino hadn’t noticed it earlier.
It was a long piece of wood. Without a word, the man brought it up high, then swung it low and hard against one of Valentino’s shins. Then he did the same to the other one.
He howled as pain radiated up his legs, making him retch all over his own lap.
The man beating him simply chuckled and hit him again.
“Where is she? All you’re doing is making this harder on yourself,” the man said.
“I don’t know anyone with that name!” Valentino protested.
“Protecting her is valiant, but stupid,” the man told him, and brought the board down on his thighs.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Valentino yelled, desperate for the man to believe him.
Thankfully, the guy paused in his beating. “Hmmmm. I think I might believe you. She may have been using another name. She was on the Asaka Express with you. You had your arm around her fucking shoulders when you docked in Sudan after the ship was hijacked. Am I ringing any bells?”
Valentino blinked. “You mean Rachel Walters?”
The man beamed as if Valentino had just told him he’d won a million bucks. “Ah, Rachel Walters. Yes, that’s her. I remember now, that’s what the newscast said her name was. Where is she?”
Valentino’s heart dropped. The guy had been fucking with him all along.
If he knew Rachel’s name the entire time, why was he beating him to try to get it out of him?
Nothing made sense, and Valentino was in so much pain he couldn’t think straight.
He opened his mouth to tell this asshole that he had no idea where the damn cook was, but before he could say anything, a piercing agony went through his thigh.
Screaming, Valentino jerked his hands, forgetting they were restrained behind him. Looking down, he saw the hilt of the knife that had been at his tormentor’s waist, now sticking out of his thigh.
“Oh, I missed,” the man said, then reached for the knife.
“No! Don’t!” Valentino yelled, but he was too late. The man yanked the blade out of his leg, and Valentino threw up once more.
“This will all stop if you just tell me what you know about Rachel and where she is. You looked awfully buddy-buddy with her when you got off the ship. Don’t lie and tell me you don’t know where she went. Is she on another ship?”
Valentino’s mind spun. He’d do anything to make the pain stop, even give up Rachel.
He had no loyalty to her. No way. But the problem was, he honestly didn’t know where she was.
He’d done everything he could think of to get the frigid bitch into his bed, but she’d resisted.
He’d assumed she was gay…until he saw her with that fucking Navy SEAL.
It pissed him off enough to try one more time to fuck her, but she’d lit into him after he’d put his arm around her at that news conference. Bitch.