Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Fucking cunt!”
The kick comes hard and fast, knocking the wind out of me. I curl into myself, hugging my middle. I think for all my father did to me, he never beat me. Not like this. His punishments were calculated. Thought out. Strategically placed.
“Fucking scratched my fucking eye!”
Another kick, this one to the back of my head and maybe I’m grateful for it. Grateful that I don’t have to think about the smell of the sack over my head. Grateful that I pass out as I’m lifted, my head lolling painfully over the careless arm—not like how Stefan carried me. Not at all.
And maybe I’m a coward, but I’m grateful to black out.
1
Stefan
“Find her!”
I slam the phone down, spin on my heel and run my hand through my hair.
Two days. It’s been two fucking days and no word. Not a single goddamned, mother-fucking word.
“Fuck!”
Soldiers rush in and out, Millie trying for the hundredth time to get me to eat. I’m not fucking hungry. I want her back. I want her back now.
My cell phone rings. It’s still in my hand and I look at the screen.
Marchese.
Fucking Marchese. Finally.
I answer.
“If you send any more of your men to any of my properties, I’m going to offer a fucking bonus to anyone who kills one,” he threatens.
“I will search every one of your properties until I find her.”
“Where the fuck is she? What the fuck did you do to her?” he barks.
“She’d be here if you hadn’t sent your men to fucking pick her up! We had an agreement.”
“When my daughter calls me in the middle of the night begging me to help her get away from you, you can bet your ass I’m going to send my men. What did you do to her? Did you hurt her? If you hurt her—”
“If your idiots hurt her—”
“Fuck!”
I suck in a breath. I fired every man on the roof that night. Because how did an inexperienced, unarmed girl—a fucking girl—get down to the cove and into a boat without them seeing?
Marchese called me at six that morning asking where his daughter was and when I told him what had happened—still not quite convinced it wasn’t his men on the bigger boat—he sounded panic-stricken.
But I’m more likely to believe he’s a good actor.
“If I find out you have her, Marchese—”
“I’m not scared of you, Sabbioni. You’d know if I had her.”
I exhale. As much as I hate having to work with my enemy, I can’t believe he wants his daughter hurt. Or worse. “We’ve searched the island. She’s not on it.”
“She’s not in Rome.”
“Someone knew she’d be out there. This was planned.”
“How would they know?”
“I don’t fucking know. That’s my question too and since you’re the only one she talked to before leaving, you can see why I have fucking questions. Now for the last fucking time, did you stage the kidnapping?”
“Get your head out of your—”
I disconnect the call. He’s not going to tell me anything new.
She must have taken her phone with her and I’m guessing it’s at the bottom of the sea now because the tracking device comes up empty. She fell in. I saw that. Saw it in the floodlights of the speedboat, an unmarked and unnamed boat, too far for me to see anyone’s face.
They pulled her out, though. They must have. I have to believe that.
If they went to that much trouble to get her, they don’t want her dead.
But I should have had a call by now. If it’s money they wanted, I should have had a call.
The door flies open, and I spin around to find Rafa rushing in.
“I have a lead!”
“What lead?”
“I think they took her to Pentedattilo.”
It takes me a moment to register the name. To place the location. “In Calabria?”
Rafa nods.
“It’s a fucking ghost town. Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure but it’s the first clue we have. I’ve sent men from Taormina. It’ll be faster for them to get there.”
I stop. “Your father’s men?” Francesco Catalano is my uncle. His wife, my aunt, was my mother’s sister.
“Your uncle’s men,” Rafa states. “I figured this was more important than your feud.”
I grit my teeth.
“Get the jet ready.”
“Being fueled as we speak. Let’s go.”
I nod, stopping in the study to pick up my revolver and tucking it into its shoulder holster.
“Where’s your weapon?” I ask Rafa.
“In the car. I’ll drive. I’m faster than your guys.”
“Take this,” I tell him, tossing him a pistol. “I’ll drive.”
We step outside where Rafa’s SUV is waiting. I notice the deep, long dent on the passenger side, the white paint marring the shiny black of the SUV.
“You think you’re in any condition to drive?” Rafa asks as I bypass his SUV and climb into the driver’s side of the Bugatti.
“My car is faster.” I tip my head toward his, noticing a similar dent and scrapes of paint on the driver’s side. “And judging from the damage on your vehicle, I’d say I’m the best choice. Are you coming or not?”