Page 19 of Mine

“That’ll do it.”

“Carlos and I both grew up the same way—dirt poor, in the slums of Brooklyn, with massive chips on our shoulders. The difference was that his grandparents had money. Carlos’s mom was an addict. Eventually, the grandparents adopted him and his brother, Antonio, and moved them to the Upper East Side. We went to separate colleges but would run into each other from time to time. When my mother was elected district attorney, she was responsible for getting his brother locked up for tax fraud. Antonio killed himself in prison. She received several death threats after that, but none were verified. I threatened Carlos.”

“So, this goes a lot deeper than sleeping with his high-school girlfriend.”

I nod. “Not long after that, Carlos’s grandparents died, and he turned his inheritance into a real estate empire, buying and flipping lots in Las Vegas, where he settled. I haven’t seen the bastard for years.”

“Here’s what I don’t get.” Cillian frowns. “The poker game was set up so that you could win Valerie back, right? But she killed herself before the game. So, why would he follow through with the game if she was already dead?”

“To mess with me. That’s Carlos. He’s a trivial little shit, a tit-for-tat kind of guy. I have no doubt he just wanted to see my face when he showed me her picture.”

“That’s messed up.” Cillian rubs his chin. “Why kidnap her in the first place?”

I look away.

Cillian leans forward. “Astor, what did you do?”

“You know how I’ve been dabbling in real estate lately?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, I had my eye on a lot in Vegas.”

“Let me guess, one of his lots?”

“Almost his. I paid a building inspector to, let’s just say, exaggerate the faults of the high-rise he was using as collateral to buy the lot. When the deal fell through, I swooped in, bought the property, and then had his high-rise shut down for code violations. He sold it for dirt cheap, then I immediately bought it from that buyer and bulldozed it down.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “Want to know what the building was named?”

“What?”

“The Antonio.”

“You are a coldhearted son of a bitch.”

“He shouldn’t have threatened my mom.”

“You’re a twelve-year-old, do you know that? A stinky, pimply, insolent child wrapped up in overpriced Christmas paper.”

I flick a piece of lint from my sleeve.

“Well, one thing I do know is that he’s going to want her back.” Cillian jerks his chin to the back of the fuselage. “She’s obviously valuable to Carlos, considering he let you go, so that you wouldn’t kill her.”

“Agreed. That surprised me too. Find out everything you can on her—do it now.”

“On it.” Cillian begins to stand, but I grab his arm.

“I meant research on your laptop. Don’t touch her. Give her a minute.”

He cocks a brow. Cillian doesn’t miss much.

I look away.

“She did have a purse on her,” he says, popping open the overhead storage. “I took it off of her before tying her up.”

As Cillian retrieves the black Chanel from the top rack, I’m vaguely aware of the grumbles of disapproval from the back. Curse words, though it’s hard to tell through the gag.

When I open the purse, my first thought is how women can fit so many things in such tiny little bags. I hand Cillian her wallet, then sift through the other items.

“Her name is Sabine Hart,” he says.

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