Page 125 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

CASSIO

The tracker led me to the hotel room in Kars. It was still dark outside, the city and everyone in this goddamn hotel sleeping. But my hunch had me dreading each step I took towards the tracker.

I knew something was wrong as I walked towards the room that supposedly held my wife even before I stormed into it. It took a fraction of a second to register what I was seeing. Luca and Alessio were behind me, but all my focus was on the empty room, tumbled sheets, and the bedside lamp knocked from the table. Evidence of struggle everywhere.

Red haze blurred my vision, the pressure in my chest tightened tenfold and detonated throughout every inch of my body, leaving a hole where my heart should be.

They took her.

The edges of my vision switched from red to black fury. In slow motion, I went through the room. Her little bag left open. Her phone on the floor. Her toiletries still in the bathroom. As I approached the bed, I picked up the lamp off the ground and that was when I saw it.

My wife’s wedding band.

I picked it up and tucked it into my pocket. Luca and Alessio both had their guns drawn but it was pointless. She was gone.

“Put your guns away,” I told them. The last thing we needed was to waste time with the Turkish police.

They both tucked their guns back into the back of their jeans. We all dressed for combat. Out here, we were killers, hunters, whatever we needed to be. Not the head of our family. Those usually ruled from behind a desk.

Like Nonno. Like Vasili.

God damn it, I was fucking tired. I just wanted my wife, safe and sound with me. In our home. Was that too much to ask?

“Luca, see where her team is,” I ordered.

Chad gave us a location, but if we had to go into the compound to retrieve her, we’d need all the backup we could get. Whether those idiots liked it or not, they would help. Even if I had to point a gun to their heads as they helped.

“They are all here too,” Luca muttered.

“We should start with her right-hand man,” Alessio suggested. “Do you know which one is her go-to man?”

I growled and he instantly realized how it sounded. I knew what he meant. No, I fucking didn’t know who her right-hand man was. I should know; she should have fucking told me her reckless plan.

I dialed up Margaret. I didn't give a shit that it was the middle of the night in the States. She answered on the first ring. Good! She should be fucking worried about her cousin, for letting her go through with her reckless plan.

“Yes?” her voice came through the headset.

“Margaret, who is Áine’s right hand man?” I gritted out.

Images of the young red-haired girl, beaten black and blue, with shattering, broken blue eyes kept playing in my mind. It was like pouring salt over an open cut. It fucking hurt my chest to think of a single hair being hurt on her.

“John McAllister. He should be with her.”

I ended the call without another word. Otherwise, I could lose my shit and take it out on her. She was family by marriage, after all and starting shit with her now wouldn't do me any good.

“Check if there is anyone here by John McAllister,” I told Luca.

It took him a short moment to dig it up. “It’s the room two doors down.”

I grabbed Áine’s bag, stuffed her phone in it and we left the room, heading for John’s.

“Let me handle this,” Alessio suggested. “You are worked-up and this time, honey will work better.”

“And faster,” Luca chimed in, unhelpfully.

I looked at both of them and narrowed my eyes. Alessio was very much like Nico in aesthetic regards. He had a more clean cut look, though he was no less lethal. Just like my dear brother-in-law. Fuck with the ones he loved, and the psycho came out swiftly. I saw it firsthand.

I gave him a jerky nod. Sure, I’d stand in the background. Let fucker John say one wrong word and I’d give himmypsychotic version.

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