Chapter Twenty-One
Marcello
The gravel on Salvatore’s drive pops under the tires as Carlo pulls the car to a stop in front of his house.
I lied to Elio about going on a trip. It was a necessary lie.
I needed to see what he was up to and he wasn’t going to tell me.
He’s been hiding stuff from me and it has something to do with Salvatore.
So I spent the night at Carlo’s so we could figure out what the hell Elio is up to.
It’s a good thing I didn’t leave town too. One of my men called today to inform me Elio had left my home without a security detail. He took an Uber and wouldn’t tell anyone where he was going. He’s naive enough to think it would end there. It didn’t.
It only took Dante five minutes to get the Uber driver’s name and another five to get the destination.
Ridgecrest Road. That’s where Salvatore Marchetti’s estate is.
I knew that bastard would be involved in this somehow.
His visit the other night was calculated and designed to sow distrust between Elio and me.
What I don’t know is why Elio willingly drove to his home without his security detail.
I take a deep, calming breath as I study Salvatore’s home.
The estate is surrounded by cypress that block the sightlines from the road, no doubt strategically planted for that very purpose.
There are two cars parked near a detached garage, but no people visible.
While Salvatore may not have men at the gate, there’s no way he doesn’t have security on the grounds. They’re probably inside the home.
“Seems peaceful,” Carlo says.
“Yeah, well if Salvatore has hurt Elio it won’t stay peaceful,” I rumble. “I’ll murder the asshole.”
“Elio came here willingly.”
I scowl. “Seems that way. I could strangle him for being so reckless.”
Carlo sighs. “Maybe he’s just having a friendly visit.”
“Then why not let Dante drive him?”
“No idea. Who knows what goes on in the mind of a civilian? They seem to have no self-preservation skills.”
“That’s the fucking truth.” I shake my head. “It’s not a good sign that Elio hasn’t answered any of my texts. He always responds right away.”
Carlo glances over at me. “Salvatore would have to be insane to think he could hurt Elio and get away with it.”
“I agree, but something is going on with him. When he came by my home, he was trying to come between Elio and me. Why would he want to do that? How would that benefit him?”
“Maybe he has a crush on Elio?”
I grimace in distaste. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Probably not. Nothing ever is.” Carlo pulls on gloves. “So, are we going to knock politely, or go in like a wrecking ball?”
“I don’t see any point in giving Salvatore a heads-up. I say we go in hard and fast and hopefully catch him off guard.” I check the magazine on my Beretta and chamber a round.
Carlo does the same with his, quick and practiced. “Sounds like a plan.”
We walk to the front door, advancing swiftly.
When we reach the door, we don’t hesitate.
Carlo kicks it hard twice, and the door slams open.
Within seconds a burly guy appears, blocking our path into the house.
I point my gun at his head, registering that the guy has scratches along his forearms and face.
“Step back,” I snarl.
He grits his teeth but he obeys. Carlo moves forward and has the guy’s weapon out of his holster before he can blink. Carlo shoves him against the wall and holds him there with one hand flat on his chest and the gun under his chin.
“Hi,” Carlo says. “Where’s Elio?”
“Who?” The guy plays dumb.
Salvatore appears at the end of the hallway. Eyes wide, he appears startled to see me. That’s surprising. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he’s holding Elio here against his will. Salvatore’s a fool if he didn’t see this coming.
“Marcello.” Salvatore’s brittle smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I… I thought you were on a trip.”
“That’s a weird thing to say to someone who just kicked in your door.” I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Elio?”
“Elio? How would I know?” His face twitches. “I… I haven’t seen him in days.”
Anger roils in my gut and I walk toward him. He doesn’t retreat, which I’ll give him credit for. I stop close enough to see there’s sweat on his upper lip, and his eyes flicker nervously.
“Don’t lie to me, old man. I know an Uber dropped him off here this afternoon.” I hold his gaze menacingly. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t have eyes on Elio?”
Something shifts behind his eyes. He has to know there’s no version of this where the lie holds.
Even so, he lifts his chin defiantly. “What right do you have to burst into my home and start accusing me of things? You’re out of control, Marcello.
First you go after the Lucchese syndicate and now you’re coming after me? How dare you.”
“Are you for real?” Carlo laughs. “We know Elio is here.”
“He’s not here,” Salvatore snaps, holding my gaze. “I told you to keep better control of your omega, Marcello. Now you’re running around acting like a fool because you don’t know where he is? He probably ran off with that alpha who texted him. How is any of this my problem?”
I curl my lip. “You think I believed your lies? I know a snake when I see one. I’ve always known you couldn’t be trusted.”
“I couldn’t be trusted?” Salvatore hisses. “I’ve never been anything but loyal to the Foschini syndicate. For god’s sake my only son died because of you and your family.”
“Bullshit,” Carlo rasps. “Cristiano died because of some asshole in jail. That wasn’t the Foschini’s fault.”
“Of course it was,” Salvatore retorts. “They destroy everything they touch.”
My anger boils over and I grab Salvatore by the throat. He gurgles as he struggles, his face turning red. He claws at my hand but I just tighten my grip and his eyes bug. His security thug starts to move forward, but Carlo pushes his gun into his face so he stops.
I lean close enough to see the pupils of Salvatore’s eyes. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Salvatore, and you need to think very carefully before you lie to me again,” I growl. “Where the fuck is my husband?”
Wheezing, Salvatore manages to say, “Upstairs.”
I release the pressure on his throat. “If you’ve hurt him, you’re dead.”
Coughing, Salvatore glares at me with hatred. “He’s fine, but I should have killed him.”
Ignoring his vitriol, I take the stairs two at a time, leaving Carlo to watch the others. The upstairs hallway is dim, a runner on the hardwood, oil paintings on the walls. The last door on the right is closed so I open it.
Elio is on a narrow bed, on his side. His face is bruised, purple spots darkening along his left cheekbone.
There’s a split in his lower lip, swollen and crusted with blood.
His knuckles are raw, both hands, the skin torn across the ridges.
There’s a red mark across his throat that looks like a handprint and anger rises in me.
It’s obvious he fought hard, but he’s half the size of the thug downstairs.
I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed.
Elio is unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow movements.
One hand rests protectively over the baby bump, and his hair is matted with sweat and blood.
Furious that Salvatore dared to lay a finger on him, I clamp my jaw so hard my teeth ache.
I put my hand on his throat, gently, avoiding the bruises. His skin is warm and his pulse steady under my fingertips. He doesn’t stir, which worries me.
“Elio,” I whisper. “Tesoro. I’m here.”
Nothing. He’s out cold. It’s obvious he fought with everything he had.
His torn knuckles and split lip tell me that much.
Elio is tough, but he didn’t grow up in this world.
He’s not used to brawling with thugs who have fifty pounds of muscle on him.
I push down my rage because what matters now is to get him to a doctor so he can be checked over.
Then I’ll handle Salvatore.
I make a quick call for Dante to come to Salvatore’s home.
Next, I gather Elio carefully, one arm under his knees and one behind his shoulders, and I lift him.
His head falls against my chest. He’s light and I feel sick thinking about him going up against that guy downstairs.
He must have been so scared. So hopeless.
I was supposed to protect him, but I failed him.
I carefully carry Elio down the stairs. Carlo has Turi at gunpoint near the wall, while Salvatore stands beside them, his hands at his sides, looking angry and defiant.
His expression changes when he sees Elio in my arms. Something like shame flickers in his eyes as he takes in Elio’s unconscious form.
But the moment he realizes I’m watching him, the defiant mask slips back into place.
I meet Carlo’s gaze. “Dante will be here in a minute to take Elio to Dr. Quirino. Salvatore comes with me, his muscle stays here. Make it so he can’t follow.”
“You got it.” Carlo drives the butt of his gun into the base of the guy’s skull. The burly man goes down like a felled redwood and hits the floor face-first.
On my way past them, I kick the guy in the ribs two times. Hard. That’s what he gets for beating up my pregnant omega. Lucky for him I’m a reasonable man. He’s just a soldier doing his job. The blame for what happened to Elio lies with Salvatore, or he’d get way worse than a kick in the ribs.
Carlo grabs Salvatore by the back of the neck and marches him toward the door.
Salvatore doesn’t resist. Carlo zip-ties Salvatore’s hands and puts him in the back of our SUV.
Five minutes later, Dante drives up and we carefully put Elio in the back of his vehicle.
I kiss Elio softly and leave him in Dante’s capable hands.
****