Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Tom cries out in pain. He speaks so quickly the words blend into one incoherent sentence. “The flight is at eight; that’s all I know, swear on my mother’s grave.”
He slumps against the wall when I let him go. I can hear his groans of pain as I take long strides out of the room.
In the hallway, the hotel guy trembles against the wall. Poor guy looks like he’s about to piss himself. Grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, I stick a few bills into his chest. “This should cover it.”
His hands quake so much he drops the money onto the grimy floor. He mutters a shaky thank you.
Grace looks on with steady, determined eyes. “We’re going to the airport.”
Grace
Matteo drives like a suicidal maniac, which is perfect. We’ll either catch up with Jack or die trying.
My whole body vibrates with restlessness. I feel useless, just sitting here while Jack’s fallen into the hands of a kidnapper—and not just any kidnapper, but a mafia boss. “Drop me off at Arrivals. Call me when you’ve parked the car.”
“No,” comes Matteo’s response, firm and unyielding.
“We don’t have any time to lose. I can’t wait for you to park the car.” My impatient fingers rub the door handle.
“That’s why I won’t.”
I bite my tongue. Asking Matteo questions won’t get us there any faster. I’d rather not force him to divide his attention between me and the cars we swerve around. Besides, the roaring engine makes it hard for us to have a conversation anyway.
We pull up to the drop-off point. The car has barely stopped when I push the door open. I don’t care what Matteo’s plan is; he’s a big boy who can take care of himself. I need to find my baby.
Racing through the glass doors, I hear Matteo’s footsteps catching up to me. He’s left the car at the sidewalk, the engine still running.
Northeast. That’s what that guy said.
I bound on my feet as my gaze sweeps the list of flights on the big screen. “Desk twenty-one,” I shout loud enough for Matteo to hear.
Running at full speed, I dodge people milling past me, slow as sloths as they lug their suitcases across the cavernous hall.
“Watch it!” a gruff voice yells at me.
Matteo is way ahead of me, speeding with ease on his long legs. My heart hammers against my ribcage, my eyes riveted on him as he scans the people lined up at the desk.
Even though I was born into a mafia family, I’m only vaguely aware of what it takes for my dad to buy us the massive mansion, the shiny cars, and the designer bags.
When Matteo delivered on his threats of violence against that guy at the hotel, I had no idea how to react. I just stood frozen in the hallway, partly horrified, partly fascinated, and completely gratified. He deserved it.
My eyes search for kids in the crowd. What was Jack wearing? He’s been insisting on wearing blue exclusively, so it could be the sky-blue shirt with the picture of a pirate on the chest or the blue-and-white checkered shirt.
Is he wearing a jacket, though? Did the kidnappers remember to grab a jacket for him?
When I come to a stop by the desk, Matteo’s holding a phone up to his ear. That can’t be a good sign. Hasn’t he seen the other guy? Matteo’s fists must be itching to pummel him.
“Seen anything?” I ask, panting for breath. My blood runs cold as he shakes his head.
No. This can’t be the end.
Oh, God. Jack, where are you?
“What the fuck have you done?” Matteo barks into his phone.
Tears, like pinpricks against my eyes. All through the ride here, I imagined taking Jack into my arms, holding him tight and never letting him go. He’d cry. I’d cry. Matteo would be drawing a crowd around him as he makes the kidnapper cry.
I tried not to get my hopes up, but I guess it didn’t work. Tears escape my eyes, but Jack is nowhere in sight.
Shit. I can’t believe he’s not here.
Everything turns into a blur as I watch Matteo and listen to his side of the conversation. Who is on the other end of the line? What is he saying?
I want to insist on Matteo putting the call on speakerphone, but I want to find Jack even more. I can’t stand in the way when Matteo’s tracking Jack’s scent like a bloodhound.
“Don’t touch him.” Matteo taps the phone screen and grabs my hand, going straight up to the counter.
People in the line turn their heads as we pass them by, no doubt wondering what kind of entitled assholes we are. Ignoring them, I ask, “Where’s Jack?”
“On his way home,” comes his grim reply.
“Home? As in . . . your home?”
“My father’s home.”
Terror seeps through my flesh and stabs my bones. Goosebumps prick my skin. My legs tremble as I keep up with Matteo’s furious pace.