Page 61 of His to Hold

I leave Leo to do whatever he and Piotr need to do and go to get dressed. I choose my outfit carefully. Pants, shirt, socks, and shoes, all in black. I put on a platinum watch and roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I slide a black leather belt through the loops of my pants and buckle it.

Standing in front of the mirror, I take a deep breath and remind myself of who I am. Antonio Volante, feared mob boss. I will get my wife back in one piece and slaughter the men who took her. Then I will drop to my fucking knees before her and beg her to forgive me.

* * *

After three hours, I’m ready to burn the city to the ground to find my wife. I’ve never been a patient man, and it’s killing me that Isabella is out there somewhere going through fuck knows what and I can’t get to her. Leo and Piotr are working flat out to find her. I know that. Yet all they’ve come up with is confirmation that the Mancinis are the ones who took her.

A black Range Rover was caught by one of the security cameras outside my home. It gave us a decent view of the car. Paolo was in the passenger seat and his son, Gianni, was behind the wheel. There was another man in the back that we weren’t able to identify. Whoever he is, he’ll die bloody for his part in this.

From what we saw, snatching Isabella doesn’t seem to be something they planned. Their car was approaching the house when Dante pulled out of the driveway. They must have spotted Isabella and followed, hoping for an opportunity to grab her. I don’t know if their apparent lack of planning makes this situation better or worse. I fear it’s the latter. If they’re reacting purely on instinct, things could turn to shit.

“Why haven’t they called with demands?” I pace back and forth in front of the desk where Leo and Piotr each have a laptop set up.

“Perhaps your wife is all they wanted,” Piotr suggests.

My stomach lurches. If Isabella tells them she was responsible for Rico’s death, their only plan might be to kill her. I start pacing again. I don’t want the Russian to see the anguish on my face as I consider that possibility.

I come to a halt as Leo’s phone pings with an incoming message. He reads it and then turns his attention back to the screen in front of him. He clicks a few buttons and then glances up at me.

“I’ve got something.”

Moving around to his side of the desk, I stare at the image on the laptop. There’s a porch and some hanging plants. It seems to be one of those doorbell cameras.

“What are we looking at?” Piotr asks.

“It’s one of our properties, a beach house,” Leo tells him. “The motion sensors on the periphery detected movement.”

For several long seconds, nothing happens. Then two men appear on the screen, easily identifiable as Paolo Mancini and his son. To get into the house, they’ll need to force the lock. That’s presumably what they’re doing when a third man comes into view.

“Max Rossi,” Leo murmurs. “He’s Carmela Mancini’s kid brother.”

I don’t give a shit who he is. It’s Isabella who concerns me. Blindfolded and gagged, her hands are bound in front of her as the third man drags her toward the door. The quality of the image isn’t sharp enough for me to spot any visible injuries, but that doesn’t mean she’s unhurt. The way that asshole is jerking her around, I’d be amazed if she wasn’t bruised at the very least.

“I need to get out there.” It’s a two-hour drive out to the beach house from here. I don’t know how long Isabella can survive in the hands of three men who’ll show no hesitation in harming her if they don’t get whatever the hell it is they want.

“Where is this beach house?” Piotr asks.

“Amagansett, Long Island.”

“That’s quite a distance.”

“No shit.” My tone is impatient, but there’s no time to waste while others point out the obvious. “I’ll take the McLaren.”

I have a garage full of sports cars I barely drive. The McLaren, an impulse buy, is the fastest car I own.

“You can’t go alone,” Leo protests.

“I’ll be fine. I want you to stay here and access the security cameras inside the house. I want eyes on every room.”

“I can do that on my cellphone, and you are not going out there alone.”

“Neither of you is,” Piotr says. “We will get there faster in my helicopter.”

There’s no time to object. Piotr is already up and striding from the room, cellphone at his ear. He spits out orders in Russian as Leo and I follow. He ends his call and turns to us with a grin. “My pilot will be on the helipad on top of your office building by the time we get there. You will find suitable weapons on board.”

His confidence leaves me in no doubt that will be the case. “I guess I really owe you now.”

“Don’t worry, I have a suitable payment in mind.” He slaps my shoulder. “Now, let’s go get your wife.”

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