Page 187 of Phantom Mine

With an enraged bellow, he rains blows down on the glove compartment until it dents. His hands come away soaked with blood, but he doesn’t even notice as he scrubs his palms down his face.

He taps her name and tries a thirty eighth time.

I’ve unintentionally been keeping count because every time he’s sent to voicemail, he gets progressively more furious. Worse than his fury though, is his terror. Fear practically pours off him,so suffocatingly thick that I roll down the window to suck in a breath of fresh air.

“Valentina,” he pleads, leaving her yet another voicemail. “Please pick up the phone,cara mia. Pick up, okay? Just… pick up.”

I flatten the pedal to the floor and blow through a red light, just narrowly escaping a collision with another car. Dread clamps my gut in a vice. I know why she’s not picking up and deep down, I think Matteo knows it too, he just can’t let himself face it.

“Enzo.”

I rip around a corner and down a side street, now only five minutes away fromFirenze. “I’m driving as fast as I can.”

Matteo tries calling again, his entire body shaking. His legs jerk manically up and down and he shoves his fingers through his hair to calm his twitching hands.

“I can’t get a hold of her,” he shouts, his voice worn raw.

We were already in Matteo’s garage before the call with Valentina cut off. The second she said she was meeting him, we were out of our seats and running.

Someone must have cloned Matteo’s phone and lured her toFirenzeto kidnap her. It’s not hard to guess who. It’s partially the guilt eating Matteo up. If Guido took Valentina, it’s our fault.

A sound pierces through my racing thoughts.

Sirens.

And they’re getting closer.

I look in the rearview mirror and see cop cars appear.

Two of them.

Behind them, there’s three fire trucks.

“You don’t think…”

My gaze goes to Matteo. He’s white as a sheet with violent undertones of green.

He looks like he’s going to be sick.

“No.” I say it with an assurance I don’t feel.

“No,” he repeats tonelessly.

The sirens chill my blood to ice. This isn’t a typical emergency response team. It’s the kind of convoy you send for a major incident.

The cars pass us and I fold back into the lane right behind them, sticking close to take advantage of the cleared path.

“Leni—” Matteo starts before I hear the beep followed by a robotic voice announcing he’s reached her voicemail and it’s full. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck,FUCK!”

Matteo slams the phone down on the glove compartment. I hear the screen crack but when he flips it over, it still works.

He stares through the windshield at the firetruck in front of us with a look of such despair in his eyes, it twists my stomach. We’re closer than brothers and seeing the pain ripple off him infuriates me.

“They’re still in front of us, Enzo.”

Firenzeis to the left, down one block, and to the right.

“They’ll turn right here, you’ll see,” I assure him.

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