Chapter 30
THIRTY
MATEO
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The days never change. The same guy brings me food.
Lorenzo still comes in to torture me. At this point, he’s getting off on it, and every day it gets worse.
My entire body is covered in small scars that will never properly heal.
I know the basics of first aid, but not enough to make any of it look good.
They gave me a first-aid kit to make sure none of these cuts or wounds actually kill me.
Today is different. The guy who brings me food and water hasn’t come yet, and the sun isn’t shining through the window the way it always does when he walks in. Lorenzo hasn’t shown up either. Something is happening, and whatever it is, it isn’t good.
I need to get out of here, or at least figure out what’s going on. Maybe they’ve finally given up. Maybe they’ve decided to leave me here to die.
Weeks ago, they took the chain off my ankle, thinking they’d broken me. I let them believe it. I tried to find a way out, but there was nowhere to go.
I lied about some of the information I gave them. Slipped in coded messages meant for Gino, just in case any of it ever got back to him. Once I knew the Russos were talking to him, I started feeding them details that weren’t quite right.
I knew we couldn’t be far outside of Rome.
I can see just enough of the city through the small window to be sure of that.
So I said things like, “Roman thought the take would be smaller if we didn’t do something dirty,” which meant Rome looks small.
Not perfect, but close enough. Gino and I have been using code since we were kids.
But as the days drag on, I don’t know if he’s picking up on it anymore… or if he’s even still trying.
I rush to the door and throw my weight against it. It doesn’t budge, not even an inch. Something is blocking it.
Fuck.
I slam my fists against the metal. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” I shout to no one in particular.
Then I hear it. A sharp popping sound, getting closer.
That’s gunfire.
It’s rapid, controlled—and moving toward me. Two louder shots crack through the air, echoing down the corridor. I’m not hallucinating. Lorenzo doesn’t use guns. Whoever this is, they came ready for a fight.
I stumble back and grab yesterday’s food tray. It’s heavy in my hands, but I lift it anyway, holding it like a shield. If this is how I die, at least I’m not going down without trying.
Then the door shifts.
Voices drift through the walls, muffled and tense. I can’t make out the words, but I hear at least two men arguing—or coordinating.
“Jesus, man, don’t try to kill me yet,” someone calls out to me.
Is that… Alonso?
“What?” I croak.
“Grab him. We have to get out of here,” another voice says.
That’s definitely Gabe.
“Let’s go,” Alonso orders, gripping my arm and hauling me upright. He wraps an arm around me to keep me on my feet as we move into the dark hallway.
Two bodies lie sprawled near the doorway. I recognize one of them immediately—the man who’s brought me food and water every single day.
We keep moving, but my legs feel like they’re made of lead. Every step takes more effort than I have left. Alonso practically drags me forward while Gabe moves ahead, his gun raised.
Three more men in suits are crumpled along the floor, blood dark against the concrete.
“Damn, you guys went to town,” I mutter, trying to cut the tension and make sure I’m not hallucinating.
Gabe snickers. “Almost a year of being held and tortured, and you still haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
We step outside, and the sudden brightness of the sun makes me wince. My eyes burn as if they’ve forgotten what daylight feels like. We move slowly toward a black SUV parked nearby.
I glance at Alonso and Gabe. They’re both dressed in black—pants, shirts, combat boots, bulletproof vests. They look like they walked straight out of a war zone.
They load me into the backseat, and I collapse against the cushions, barely able to keep myself upright. As the door shuts and the car pulls away, my eyelids finally slide closed. For the first time in nearly a year, I feel something close to relief.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Fuck—was I hallucinating?
I pry my eyes open, the beeping louder now, sharper.
“Shit,” someone mutters. “Gabe, he’s awake.”
Alonso. One of my best friends.
“Hey, man,” he says, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I rasp.
Before he can reply, several nurses and a doctor rush in, speaking rapid Italian. Alonso answers for me, his voice calm and controlled. They check my vitals, ask about my pain, poke and prod until I’m barely holding myself together.
Then they leave.
“What did they tell you?” I ask, looking between Alonso and Gabe.
“That you should be out of here in a few days, and then we’ll go home,” Alonso says. “None of your injuries need more than time to heal, so they kept you sedated for a bit.”
“How long was I out for?”
“Five days,” Gabe answers.
“Fuck.” My chest tightens. I need to hear her voice. “I need to call Vanessa.”
“No, you don’t. You’ll see her soon,” Alonso says gently.
“Is she here?” Because if she is and no one told me, I might actually kill all of them.
“No,” Gabe replies. “But you’ll talk to her when you get home.”
“What the hell? She’s my wife.”
“Yeah, no shit, genius,” Gabe says. “But there’s no point in scaring her until you’re actually on your way back.”
…And I hate that he’s right.
Three more days in the hospital and I’m cleared to leave. The flight home is uneventful, almost surreal compared to the last year of my life. When we land, Alonso drives us straight to Gino’s house. As soon as I’m out of the car, he and Gabe basically take off, giving us space.
I walk toward the house slowly, my body still sore and stiff. It’s quiet. Too quiet. It’s the middle of the morning; normally, the guys are everywhere.
“Gino,” I call as I step into the kitchen.
Nothing.
“Gino,” I call again, louder.
“Hey, man.”
I turn just as he steps behind me and pulls me into a hug. I wince, my body definitely not ready for that yet.
“Hey,” I mutter. “Where is everyone?”
I expected the house to be full, or at least for Vanessa to be here. Instead, it was empty. Did anyone even know I was back?
“Home, probably. Juliet is upstairs. Listen, we need to talk.”
“Can I see my wife first?”
“Not before we talk.”
“What the fuck, man?” I snap. “I spent the last year being tortured and held against my will, and I can’t even see my wife when I get home?”
“I need to talk to you about Vanessa.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” he says, “I’ll say that much.”
He reaches into one of the kitchen drawers. He still won’t look at me. I can tell he’s hiding something just by the way he’s moving, the way his shoulders are tight. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good.
He sets something on the counter.
“Here. That’s your phone. We recovered it from your hotel room after they took you.” Then, more quietly, “Just promise me one thing. Don’t be angry with Vanessa. She didn’t know until after you left.”
He starts to walk away.
“Know what, Gino?”
He pauses.
“Just turn on the phone, and wait a few minutes before you run home,” he says as he walks out.
I turn on my phone.
Immediately, text messages start rolling in.
Hundreds of them.
All from Vanessa.
My chest tightens. What the hell? Why would she text me this much? Did Gino not tell her I was being held captive?
Then I see the message from this morning.
Vanessa
Good morning, baby. Julian, Victoria, and I miss you so much. They still haven’t settled into a good sleeping schedule yet, but I’m trying. I can’t wait to see you—and for you to see the kids. I love you so much. Come home soon.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Kids?
Two photos are attached.
Two tiny babies lying in cribs. Light brown hair. Soft cheeks. Perfect little faces. One wrapped in a pale purple onesie, the other in soft yellow.
Before I can even think, I’m already on my feet, clutching my phone and running out the door toward my house.