Page 69 of His to Ruin

“Who is she?” One of the men, a heavy-set guy with a buzz cut, nods toward me. “She’s not the wife.”

“She’s Reznov’s bitch,” the man on the bench opposite me replies. They all have accents, not Russian, but something similar. “The Italian punk was supposed to grab her, but he failed. We got lucky she was with Volante.”

As the doors slam shut, my heart thuds. I guess if nothing else, I’ve learned that both Leo and I were targets of these thugs. I don’t know why anyone would want to hurt my family and Piotr, but it must be something to do with business.

As the van takes off, its tires spinning on the asphalt, I realize nobody has bothered to restrain me. Clearly, they don’t see me as a threat. I can use that to my advantage.

Leaning into the role of damsel in distress, I heave out a dramatic sigh, close my eyes, and flop forward onto the metal floor of the truck. The impact reverberates through my already aching body, but I don’t make a sound.

One man chuckles darkly. “Pathetic whore. I hope I get to fuck her before we kill her.”

It takes every ounce of strength I have not to flinch at that. As nobody makes a move to pick me up, I continue to play dead. The weaker our abductors think I am, the more likely they are to let their guard down. If they focus on Leo as the greater threat, they won’t notice what I’m doing. I’ll wait for the right moment to get myself and Leo out of this mess. Then I’ll gather the joint forces of the Volantes and Reznovs and make the men who took us sorry they were born.

CHAPTER 23

Piotr

When I was a child, my uncle Boris disappeared for three days, taken prisoner by the Irish mafia. My grandmother did her best to assure me that everything would be alright, but even then, long before I was inducted into the Bratva, I knew what my family’s enemies were capable of. I’d seen evidence of the pain they could inflict. Thinking of what my uncle might be going through had driven me mad. To this day, I remember the fear and helplessness I’d experienced. My uncle was safely returned to us and I vowed never to allow myself to sink into such despair again. Today, I’m breaking that promise. The dread I feel at the thought of what Olivia is going through is almost too much to bear.

It’s been six long hours since Antonio Volante banged on the door of the honeymoon suite to tell me his brother and my wife were missing. As we drove here to the office in his home, he relayed the details of her phone call to him. He’d heard the crash, her screams, then silence.

We’ve pooled our considerable resources to search for Leo and my wife, but we’re still no closer to bringing them home safely. We have no idea who took them, whether this was an attack against the Volantes, or me. Perhaps we were both targets. We have several enemies in common.

Our phones ping constantly with messages from our men, letting us know they’ve hit dead ends or are pursuing new leads. Olivia’s brother, Matteo, has been out with Jimmy, hunting for Dario Maroni. My gut tells me he has something to do with this. It’s too much of a coincidence that he turned up at the hotel tonight before my wife went missing.

Dante Parisi is helping my right-hand man, Josef, to scour through footage from security cameras around the site where Leo’s car was found wrecked. There wasn’t a camera at the scene, but they picked up two black Mercedes SUVs and a gray truck following Leo and Olivia along another street. They haven’t found any decent images of the men involved yet. The vehicles were last caught on camera heading for the George Washington Bridge, so we have men out kicking down doors in New Jersey, looking for anyone who knows something about the abduction.

Alessandro Volante has been tasked with the job I would want the least. Along with my uncle Boris, he’s ensuring the safety of the women of the family. Apart from Antonio’s wife, Isabella, who insisted on staying here, the women have been taken to a secure location just outside of the city. The last thing we need is another kidnapping.

I can only imagine how high emotions are running at the safehouse. Vinnie Volante is no doubt distraught that her husband is missing. I’m barely holding on myself. It’s the lack ofprogress that gets to me the most. Everything that can be done is being done, but we’re getting nowhere.

When I get my hands on whoever took Olivia, I will kill them in the most brutal way imaginable. I’ll take my time to flay the skin from their bones. They’ll pay in blood for the terror that grips me at the thought of losing my wife. Anyone who so much as touches her will suffer a slow, agonizing death.

If Olivia comes out of this alive, I intend to spend the rest of my life making up for the way I treated her last night. When I saw her with thatsukin sym, I lost all sense of reason. I should have given her a chance to explain why she rushed out of the party to speak to him. Instead, I used her mercilessly and threw my possession of the photographs in her face.

Needing fresh air, I slip out through the French doors onto the terrace at the back of Antonio’s house. As I stare into the darkness, I fight back tears. I haven’t cried since I was a boy, but tonight I may succumb. If I don’t get the chance to kneel before Olivia and beg her to forgive me, I may never recover.

“Regret is a waste of time.” A soft voice startles me as Isabella Volante joins me on the terrace. Her footsteps are so light, I didn’t hear her coming.

“I feel it anyway.”

She comes to stand beside me at the wooden railing. “Antonio told me what you and Livvy fought about.”

When Antonio asked me why his sister was with Leo and not safe with me, I spilled the entire story. I admitted everything, right down to the shameful way I revealed I had the photographs. Antonio looked as if he wanted to kill me and, in that moment, my self-loathing was so great I’d have let him. Then he shruggedoff his anger, telling me it was between me and my wife. Clearly he didn’t mean that since he shared my private business with Isabella and fuck knows who else.

“Do you think Dario Maroni is the man in the photos?” she asks.

Though I still don’t have proof, I think it’s likely that the photos connect him and Olivia. I no longer believe she’s seeing him behind my back. I’ve replayed their encounters in my mind and realized something. She isn’t comfortable in Maroni’s presence. He makes her skin crawl.

“Antonio shouldn’t have told you about the photos.”

“I already knew about them.” Isabella smiles ruefully. “Olivia came to me when Joey Gallo tried to blackmail her into spying on her brothers. I did what I could to help, but ended up making a huge mess of things.”

This isn’t a story I’ve heard before. “How?”

“I let Joey and Vito into the house, thinking they just wanted to talk to Antonio.” She grimaces as I arch an eyebrow at her. “I know. It was stupid, but sometimes when we’re trying to help someone we care about, we don’t think things through.”

I nod in understanding, though I doubt I would ever be so naïve. “What happened?”

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