Page 12 of The Pawn
“Cassian,” Jet calls.
I look up to find him at the top of the stairs. “You’ll want to see this.”
I walk up the stairs, meet Jet outside one of the bedrooms. I look inside. It must be the little boy’s room. Daniel. His bed is unmade, a teddy bear dropped somewhere between it and the door. Jet waits for me to get to the next room.
“This is Amal’s room,” he says as I take in the state. There was a fight here. That’s clear. The room is wrecked,one of the lamps crashed to the floor, the bathroom door splintered.
“How do you know it’s her room?” I ask before noticing the open books on the desk and seeing her name at the top of a notebook.
He bends to pick something up. “Someone took her by force. She’d never leave her phone behind.”
I glance at it, watch him tuck it into his pocket. I walk out of the room and go into the next one which is, or was, Allegra’s. I walk in and switch on the light. This room is undisturbed. No one here to kidnap. She was already taken. The room is neat, the design simple, not overly feminine, the bed made, the desktop empty. I walk over to the nightstand where a framed photo is on the floor. I pick it up to find the glass is cracked. It’s a picture of a younger Allegra with her mom. There’s a birthday cake and I see the balloon behind her. Fifteen. The year they were kidnapped. The year her mother died. It was two months after this photo was taken. Two months and her whole life changed.
“Malek’s room is untouched,” Jet says.
I don’t turn around yet. Instead, I slip the photo out of the frame and tuck it into my pocket.
“Which one is it?” I ask, very aware of the rings that had been delivered just hours ago as well as that bullet still inside my pocket. I’d planned on marrying her before we left Atlantic City. I scrub my face. Christ. It’s been a fucking day.
I follow Jet into Malek’s room. I can smell the cologne he must fucking bathe in. His desk is there. The top is cleared off and the drawers locked.
“Break those locks and get everything inside. I want it all.”
“Yes, sir,” one of my soldiers says.
I walk out to two remaining rooms, the master and a smaller room. I expect Michael’s to be the smaller one, but from the state of things, he moved himself into his father’s room. It’s messy and dirty and on the nightstand is an ashtray full of the remnants of cigars he half-smoked. I recall the marks on the back of Allegra’s neck. I know now who put them there, at least the fresh ones. I’m still not convinced her father isn’t to blame for at least some.
“Let’s go,” I tell my men. “Keep eyes on the place. I want a call if anyone comes or goes. Anyone.”
“Yes, sir,” the man says.
I walk out, Jet at my side. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to think. What does he want with her? Why kill Michael and keep her alive? There’s only one reason. Only one thing that makes sense and everyone knows it. He plans on taking over the family. He’s not blood, not a natural successor, but Allegra is Alaric Moretti’s daughter. She is his blood.
The thought makes my hands fist, but I’ve never been one to bury my head from truths I don’t like.
At least he won’t kill her, I remind myself.
He needs Allegra. If he marries her, he’ll have more than a foot in the door. The family will follow him because of her. He’d have to force her to do it, though. She’d never agree unless she had no choice.
I look back up at the house. Amal and Daniel. Did he have his own children kidnapped to force Allegra’s hand? She loves them, I know that much. Would he hurt his own family for his ambition?
My phone rings. I hurry to answer, hope swelling like a helium balloon when I see it’s Angelo.
“Angelo?”
“I’m not sure how this is related, but the Lombardi children were seen last night at Richard Moore’s house.”
“Amal and Daniel?” I ask, glancing at Jet, who shifts his gaze to me. “You’re sure?”
“I have eyes on the house.”
“But no sign of her?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
I draw a deep breath in. “This is something.”
“I’ll keep looking.” We disconnect.
