Page 120 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

“Áine,” he greeted me. “Next time give us more notice. I was in the middle of getting laid.”

“TMI,” I retorted dryly, and when he raised an eyebrow in question, not understanding the reference, I added, “Too much information.”

He just rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s not waste a good day. Off into the plane.”

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath. The moment we were inside, the hustling started. Pilot went straight into his cabin, the rest of us taking our seats.

As I buckled myself into the seat before the takeoff, my thoughts wandered to my husband. My guess would be that he found Chad and would probably kill him. Maybe something was wrong with me, but I hoped he’d make him scream. Make him suffer, give him exactly what he planned for me. I was sick and tired of men that thought they could do whatever they wanted to women, to those weaker than them.

I pushed the button on the table next to me that rang directly into the pilot’s cabin.

“We are ready,” I announced.

“What do we have, John?” I asked him as the plane took off.

Turkey.My nightmare started in Turkey, and it would seem my nightmare would end there too. Bits and pieces of tapped memory kept trickling in, and I knew without a doubt it was in Turkey where it all started. It was in Turkey where I ran into Marco King.

“The information you gave helped me narrow it down to Turkey,” he started. He was referring to the information I got from Nico’s email. “There is a specific area in Turkey that seems to have a lot of traffic. It is right by the Armenian border.”

John was able to find a vague geographical area where another one of Marco’s compounds were. We’d spend the night in the nearest city and tomorrow head for the remote part of this country, where people like Marco King flew under the radar and shipped women like animals. Treated them even worse.

The Armenia-Turkey border ran from Georgia in the north to the tripoint with Azerbaijan in the south. Almost two hundred miles of the border had been closed since 1993. But that didn’t stop smugglers and people like Marco King.

The flight was long, or maybe it just seemed long because it felt like a trip back to the past. The past that I couldn’t quite remember in full but knew would hurt. I kept glancing at my phone, almost expecting to see a message from Hunter.

It never came.

When we landed in the private airport in Kars, it was almost eight at night. The city situated by Kars River was near the border with Armenia. Even as the dusk covered the city, the charm of it couldn't be denied. Though the dread of being so close to our final destination was terrifying.

And it didn’t help that I missed Hunter. We’ve been married barely a day and here I was on the other side of the world. With an ocean between us, it felt like I hadn’t seen my husband in way too long. Hours felt like days.

“I booked us a hotel,” John said. “It is late, and you look like you’ll fall off your feet at any moment. Married life must suit you.”

“Funny,” I grumbled. This wasn’t a normal kickstart to a marriage. But this was important, and if I was right, I believed Hunter would come after me. Maybe we could get rid of Marco once and for all.

We arrived at a small, charming hotel with bright pink colors at the outskirts of the city. The façade was charming and the second we stepped out of the car, I soaked in the view. The hotel overlooked the entire city, the view mesmerizing. The city dated back to the ninth century and there was something captivating to think someone stood at this very spot, watching over this land, for over a thousand years.

It would actually be a charming spot for a romantic weekend getaway. Maybe a honeymoon.

How was it possible to miss him so much already?

ChapterThirty-Nine

CASSIO

The moment I opened the door to Áine’s apartment, I knew something was wrong. The scent was off. Then I saw Margaret, seated on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table, watching soaps.

Fucking soaps!She was so engrossed into it, she didn’t hear us enter. Alessio, Luca, and I stood watching her laugh at some dumb joke.

“Where is my wife?” I barked out and she startled, jumping up to her feet.

“What the fuck?” she muttered. “This is not your apartment, you know.”

“Where. Is. My. Wife?” I gritted.

Chad sang like a canary.

By the time I was done with him, his face was black and blue, his eyes swollen shut. There wasn’t a single brave bone in that motherfucker. Not like my butterfly.

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