Page 100 of Wicked Rivals

“What?” I repeated.

“Fuck,” he said. “It’s worse than that.”

Tony frowned, clearly annoyed with the men, but kept his eyes forward, helping Jimmy look for openings to jump lanes.

Sweat coated the inside of my fists. I clenched and relaxed my jaws. My shoulders carried the heaviness of my rage on them, making the stitches in my arm tighten with a stinging sensation.

Pain could be as useful as anger. It focused my senses and sharpened my resolve.

“Explain,” I ordered.

“Valerie told the men they should eat her cookies while they were still warm,” Tony muttered. “Then she went upstairs with the boy, leaving them to it.”

Red clouded my vision. I pulled breath in through my nose, the ring on my left hand digging into my flesh as I hung on to what little self-control I had left.

“Are you telling me baked fucking goods distracted my trained soldiers?”

“No one thought she would try to leave your house, boss. You laid down the law with her. She had to know it’s the safest place for her and the boy. The excuse I'm getting is she behaved very obediently with them, seemed reasonable even.”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? So they’ve never met a strong woman protecting her child? Reasonable doesn’t even register. I swear to Christ, if I don't get her back, Tony, I'll kill every one of those lazy motherfuckers.”

“Leave it to me, boss” Tony said.

As my second, Tony had the right to demand nearly the same level of respect from the men as they gave me. He trained them and they answered to him, so when they failed, he failed.

“I’ll give you one shot to make it right before I step in. One, Tony, that’s it. Understand?”

He nodded.

“Good. Now shut the fuck up and get me to Con Amore.”

It took us forty fucking minutes to get to Brooklyn.

I could have walked faster.

The second we pulled up in front of the café, I knew something had gone very wrong. The night before, after making sure Val and Enzo were safe, I called in a few favors to ensure the cops on my payroll helped process the scene.

One of my crews met them and covered the broken windows with plywood. They tacked a sign to the front door telling customers the place was closed for renovations. Some excuse about a pipe bursting and a promise that Con Amore would reopen for business soon.

I planned to rebuild it. I knew how much Val loved the place, how much hard work she’d put into it over the years. More than that, Enzo needed continuity. He needed to have the only home he’d ever known available to him when he needed it.

Hell, I had my own personal attachment to it.

Once the police released the scene, I intended to send my men in to fix the damage and bring in associate subcontractors for the improvements. I wanted to make it the same for Val and Enzo, but better.

More comfortable. Stronger. Safer.

The place needed new ovens, top-of-the-line commercial coffee machines, and solid furniture. I would make this right for her and spare no expense.

But as I stared at the building now, I noticed how the plywood dangled, how the new lock on the front door hung by a thread after likely being smashed with a hammer.

No question, Val hadn’t done that.

She’d taken her purse. She had a key for the back door.

“You should stay here. Let me have a look first,” Tony said.

“Fuck that. I’m going in.”

---