Page 48 of Wrapped in Silver

It’s been twenty-four hours.

No more cops at her front door. No more signs of her in her room.

This doesn’t add up at all.

I’m pacing in the house across from Quinn’s, sniper rifle scope in hand, rubbing my eyes from a long night on the set ofChilling Desires. I swear, if I have to watch one more corny over-the-top murder scene from that stupid soap opera, I really might intervene to show ’em how it’s done.

It’s currently nine a.m. I’ve checked both burner numbers I gave her, and now it feels like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Shit.

Usually this would be the time my paranoid self assumes she went to the police and is rushing to get her father free at any moment, but there haven’t been any notifications of activity near any of the stage homes—other than TV shootings. What the hell is going on here?

The Russians wouldn’t have tried to…

No. Not with the police watching her every move. Besides, I would’ve heard about something that big from Donny.

As my brain starts to churn in obsessive ways, I rush to my duffle bag and yank out the files I have under Quinn and her father. The black market database us Valentinos use comes in handy every so often. Flipping through photos of Captain Dall laughing with his pig friends, I notice that I’ve seen both of them in person now. Ferraro Julius and William Stanfer. Two right-hand lieutenants. They’re probably the ones in charge of keeping a detail on her wherever she goes. So, the question is, where did they follow her to?

She’s an Uber girl, unfortunately. No way to track her whereabouts when she moves around like I do—a different car on every turn.

Against my gut feeling that the house is vacant, I have to be sure, so I use my burner to order breakfast to her door.

The half hour it takes for them to get there feels like days. I’m worried about her. After seeing her father, when she was in my arms, there were tears of happiness. She trusts me. She wouldn’t…

Peeking through my blinds, I watch the driver go up the stairs, ring the bell, and step off the stoop to see if anyone is looking out the second-floor window. He curses to himself—I can tell from the extra mist shooting off his breath.

That confirms it. She either skipped town, or decided to go live with a relative. And the fact she hasn’t texted or called? It means I’ve been played.

I rip off my shirt, step out of my pants in frustration, and head straight for the bathroom. Slamming my hands on the sink makes the whole room quaver. I stare into the mirror, noting my trim black beard streaked with silver, dark circles under my eyes.

It takes everything not to smash the mirror into pieces right now.

Even though I should leave it alone…I can’t.

Her face brightening in my mind—there was no lying in it. She trusted I would let her father go, and shewantedto be in my arms. She’snot playing me.

It all hits me like a brick to the head. Why was Captain Dall so easy to transfer? Why were the Russians so lax about his capture? It’s all over the news, except it was delayed a day.

Why were the cops sooff trail?

Because they’re fucking in on it. Not just the bratva part of the force I previously thought. No… the one’s closest to Quinn’s home. They’re bought and paid for.

I punch the sink again and nearly crack it in half.

How could I have been so blind?

When I took Captain Dall, I hijacked someone’s pay day. Someonecloseto the Dall family.

And now they took some new collateral.

Quinn.

I stomp back to my files and sift through the addresses of all the rookies that have been on duty. No. Not likely a rookie can sway a whole force in the wrong direction. It has to be one of the higher ups. I narrow my eyes at the two lieutenants. William and Ferraro. Neither of them look crooked. Then again, I don’t have the full story… yet.

Picking up my burner, I dial my old constituent.

“Hello.”

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