Page 42 of DeLucas After Dark

“I won’t budge on this.”

“Will you at least prepare us?” Tácito asks. “How many pregnancies are we talking?”

Sloane shakes her head and smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I’m not giving you a number to countdown so you can off my doctor after they deliver the last baby. Nature will decide how many kids we have.”

I sigh, seeing where this is going, but needing to put up one last show of resistance. “Is this promise the only thing standing between us and being by your side for every pregnancy milestone?”

“Of course. Do you think I don’t want you there? I miss you so much, but I’m standing firm on this.” The glittery resolve and her admission knocks the walls of my resistance down.

From Tácito’s slumped shoulders, he’s also ready to give up the fight.

“Okay, we’ll agree to let your doctor live,” we say.

“And you promise not to injure them,” Sloane prods and Tácito and I repeat like put-upon school children.

“Finally! You guys held out way longer than I expected.” Sloane snags my phone, fiddling with it before handing it back to me.

New invitations fill my calendar app inbox. They’re all Sloane’s upcoming appointments. I show Tácito who discreetly wipes his face.

“Thank you, principessa.” I pocket my phone as the car comes to a stop.

The light hearted mood shifts as we ready ourselves to face our enemy. As soon as we step out of the vehicle, we head toward a guest house. Someone prepared the site, covering every surface with drop cloth. The temperature is in the eighties, causing us to remove our light outerwear. In the corner, two plastic tanks sit with ladders resting against their sides. They are almost as tall as the ceiling. And in the middle of the room is our reason for rushing home. Except with Pierangelo is his son Piergiuliano who is in a ball. His shoulders shudder and a low-resonating no issues from him. The two men are chained to the floor.

“Valentino, I’ll make amends if you promise to let my son go.”

Piergiuliano perks up at the possibility of being freed.

“Before we negotiate, there’s one agreement you need to make now.” I squat in front of him and pluck his phone from his breast pocket while Tácito and Sloane’s silence speaks to their support of whatever I’ll do next.

“Anything you want, I’ll do it for the sake of my son. Per favore, Valentino.”

I sneer at the lump loudly sobbing beside his father. Disgust fills me. How are these two DeLucas related to me?

I hold the phone to his face to unlock it. “Call off the hit on my brother.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll do whatever you need once you untie me.”

“Hmm, nah, I think you’re where you’re meant to be. Tell me who the number is under and I’ll dial it for you.” I shake the phone in his face.

He turns his head away as he mumbles, “Reward.”

I place the phone on speaker. A man with a Scandinavian accent picks up after the first ring. “Your order is on the way. Is there a problem?”

“Yes! I’d like to cancel.” The whites in Pierangelo’s eyes grow as we wait for confirmation on the other end of the line.

“And might I inquire as to your reason for canceling, sir?”

“It no longer fits.”

“There is a cancellation fee for returns after an order has shipped.”

“That’s fine! I’ll pay however much you need, just cancel the hi—contract.”

“I can confirm your delivery has been cancelled. Please remember us for all your future delivery needs.” The man disconnects the call before I do.

“Now let my son go,” Pierangelo demands.

Piergiuliano raises his head. His skin is blotchy from weeping, marring his classical Italian good looks.