Page 48 of Risky Vows

"Hey, man. Can I talk to Andie?"

"Andie is missing. She was supposed to come back a couple of hours ago from a dinner with friends. I didn't want her to go, but they were here from out of town. I've been talking to Rocco, trying to figure out who did this."

I pop my knuckles. Something isn't right. What are the odds that Amara and Andie would disappear on the same night? Unless… they planned it all along. My stomach curls like it's been punched. "Are you sure she's missing? Did you track the limo? Her phone?"

"The cell phone was a couple of miles from the restaurant. We're looking for her driver. The limo was left behind. They probably took a different vehicle to get to wherever they wanted to go," he says impatiently like he's wasting time telling me this.

Dante should have called me first thing. I'm the head of the family. But that's a conversation for another time.

"Dante… do you know what time she disappeared?"

"Why?"

" I argued with Amara, and she slept in the guest room. She left our home in the middle of the night but called Andie beforeshe left. I'm trying to clarify if Amara met Andie." I choose not to share the possibility of them running together from the life we can offer. Maybe they bonded quickly and decided it was time for a clean slate.

"I hope she hasn't… because it looks like Andie was kidnapped. If Amara met her, they would have taken her too."

Taken.

The idea that someone would have the balls to kidnap my wife lights a fire in my chest. That person is already dead if that's the case. I run my fingers through my hair, fucking frustrated. Not knowing sucks. "Do you have any idea who's behind it?"

"My money is on the Santinis. I didn't tell you, but three days ago… I was in the crossfire. They tried to bribe one of our employees for tips about our digital gambling operations. I went after them and wanted to shoot the person who proposed the bribe, but instead, I shot one of the Santini boys. He died yesterday. They're trying to get back at me."

Fuck. My jaw clenches, and my entire body stiffens with anger. I could kill Dante right now. He knows he can't keep such a big piece of information from me—that could cost us our lives. "Why the fuck would you keep it from me? Are you insane? I need to know these things."

"I wanted to fix it alone. I had a meeting scheduled with the Santinis for next week and thought I could offer them something in return for the misunderstanding. I planned to talk to you before then."

I run my hand over my face, which now feels cold and clammy as my panic rises. The odds don't look good. I'd love to lecture Dante over his colossal mistake, but we must find our women first—alive.

"I'm coming over. We need to figure out what happened."

29

Amara

A creaking noise fills the space, signaling the door opening. I open my eyes with a start.

I see a thin ray of sunshine trespass the window. We've been here overnight.

My throat is dry. I look over at Andie, who is finally sleeping after being awake forever. Zings of anxiety dart through my body, elevating my pulse. When Ugo hurt me years ago, I knew him. Deep down, even though the situation traumatized me, his killing me was never an option. He wouldn't have been dumb enough to eliminate the only capable heiress. I was a commodity; my parents would not have forgiven him.

Now?

Now, my survival isn't a certainty. If anything, my demise seems inevitable.

Footsteps yank me from my thoughts. Heavy and deliberate, like our kidnapper wants to warn us of their presence.

I look at the person standing on the concrete ground. A small part of me wishes he’d worn a ski mask so we didn’t see his face.That would’ve given us a slight hope of getting out of here alive and not in a body bag.

But my hope vanishes when I see the bald man with faded tattoos and deep wrinkles crisscrossing his face. He's tall, broad, and carries himself with confidence.

I watch him, and my gazes drop to his pockets, looking for the outline of a weapon. Keys, a knife, anything I can snatch later when I'm in a better position. Sadly, his pockets are flat.

"Wake up, bitches," he says in a raspy voice. "This isn't the Four Seasons."

"Who are you?" I ask, then immediately regret my question.

"Call me Wrench, sweetheart." He winks at me.

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