Page 12 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

"Yeah, I'm here," he says, but there's something off in his tone.

I frown, a flicker of doubt igniting in my mind. Max has never hesitated to have my back or Gia's before. Why now?

"Gia and the kids could be in danger."

“Yeah, of course. I’ll find a reason to return to New York. What about you? You don’t sound good.”

“It’s bad. I need to know you’ll be there for Gia.”

Again, a long pause. “Of course.”

“Listen, I need to get rid of this phone, but when I get a burner, I’ll reach out.”

“You'd better. Don’t be stupid, Nic. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, man.” I end the call with Max, a nagging sense of unease settling in my gut. Something's off, but I can't afford to dwell on it now. We need to keep moving.

"Pull over," I instruct Bella, scanning the roadside for a secluded spot.

She guides the car onto the shoulder, casting worried glances my way. "What are you doing?"

“Do you have a phone?”

She blinks at me, then shakes her head. “No.”

At first I don’t buy it. What nineteen-year-old girl doesn’t have a phone? But then I figure her father took it from her. It’s a tried-and-true power move to take the phone of people you want to control.

I force myself out of the car, gritting my teeth against the pain. Every movement sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I push through it. I've got to stay focused.

I limp to a nearby ditch, my phone clutched in my hand. With a grunt of effort, I hurl it as far as I can into the overgrown grass. It's a risk, leaving evidence behind, but keeping it is an even bigger danger.

Stumbling back to the car, I collapse into the passenger seat, breathing heavily. It occurs to me that along with my phone, we could be tracked by the car.

“Head to O’Hare,” I tell Bella.

“The airport? That’s back the other direction.”

“Fuck…” Does she question her father like this? “Do it, Bella.” I know I’m off my game, having us backtrack. I just hope we can get somewhere safe until I can recuperate or die.

Bella hesitates, her eyes fixed on the bloodstain spreading across my shirt. "You're hurt badly. We should find a hospital.”

"No," I cut her off sharply. "No hospitals.”

"But you need help," she insists, her voice tinged with genuine concern. I don’t know that she trusts me, but I suspect she knows she needs me. If I die, she’s out here like a sitting duck for whoever is behind this.

I turn to look at her, really look at her for the first time since this nightmare began. There's fear in her eyes, yes, but also a strength that surprises me. It also gives me hope that she won’t fall apart as all this plays out.

“What I need is for you to take us to O’Hare. After that, we head west to…”

“Jones. They have a ski resort there. My friend’s family has a cabin.” Her repeating the location again is a sure sign that my injury is affecting my memory.

“Right. Jones.”

With a nod, she puts the car in gear and pulls back onto the road. I close my eyes, giving in to the fatigue for a moment.

“Niccolo.”

A hand pokes me, pokes my wound, and I yell out as the pain is like a hot poker. “Fuck! What?”

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