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)
His brows furrow together but he climbs into the passenger seat and not a moment later, tires scrape gravel, sending up a dust storm as I speed to the gates, exit the property and make it to the small airstrip where my jet is housed in just under fifteen minutes.
The captain and small crew await, and we board. They must know this impromptu trip is not a social one. No one talks or even greets me apart from a nod from the captain as Rafa and I board. A few moments later, we’re in the air.
“What was your tip?” I finally ask.
“My father has friends in the area. Two nights ago, there was talk at a bar about a girl. One of his informants followed the men and noted unusual activity.”
“And he just decided to tell us now even though I’m guessing he knew of Gabriela’s disappearance two nights ago?”
“He wanted to be sure, Stefan.”
I’m not sure I believe it, but I know Rafa. His relationship with my uncle, Francesco, is not an easy one. And it drives me insane that he still seeks the old man’s approval.
“What was the unusual activity?”
“Two vans. Blacked out windows. Looked like they carried a bundle inside and they’ve had the building guarded ever since.”
“A bundle.” Christ. I suck in a tight breath.
“She’ll be okay, Stefan. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have gone through the trouble they did.”
I nod.
It’s less than an hour before we’re climbing back out of the plane at Calabria’s regional airport where Rafa has arranged a car for us. Well, his father has.
I try to shove all thoughts of my uncle out of my mind. I need to focus.
Rafa and I ride in the same vehicle. It’s just over an hour as we approach Pentedattilo. I haven’t been here in over twenty years but seeing the cliff town brings back memories.
My mother had a special fondness for places like this. Abandoned. Old. So much in Italy is old I’m not sure why it fascinated her to the degree it did. Pentedattilo is a ghost town now, with few inhabitants. But the tourists still come piling in.
“Get around them,” I snap, sliding my window down to yell at them to get the fuck out of the way.
The driver honks his horn, and someone gives us the finger. I’m tempted to shoot it off.
Rafa puts a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be okay, Stef. We’re almost there.”
I turn to look at him, see he’s got his phone out. He’s tracking the locations of the men his father sent.
I try to relax, forcing myself to breathe a deep breath in.
The tourists thin out as we climb deeper into the town. I’m grateful for the stifling heat keeping the throngs away.
The four SUVs behind us follow along.
“How many men does my uncle have up there?” I ask, trying to decide if it’s better to go on foot.
“A dozen sharpshooters.” He turns his phone toward me, and I see the red dots situated in buildings surrounding the one we suspect Gabriela is in.
“How many are guarding the property?”
“Three outside. There are six total from what they saw.”
I wonder if they thought we wouldn’t find the place or if they wanted us to find it when I hear that number.
“Keep driving or go on foot?” the driver asks me when we’re about two streets away.
I rub my jaw, the back of my neck. This is easier than it should be, which makes me question why. “Only six men?”
Rafa nods. “You want them to take out the guards outside?”
I shake my head. “No kill shots but incapacitate them if we need to. None of them will walk away anyway, but I have questions. Let them know we’re coming by cavalcade.”
He nods and sends the message to the soldiers surrounding the property as well as those in our vehicles. He waits to receive confirmation.
Once we have it, I gesture to the driver, taking my pistol out of its holster as we drive on.
I see the first two men when we turn the corner. They look almost weepy from the heat. They’re leaning against the wall of the building, each smoking a cigarette, each with a machine gun slung over his shoulder.
“Where’s the third?” Rafa asks.
I’m already scanning. “There. Taking a piss.” The man is the first to see us as he walks out of the bushes along the side of the road. A look of panic crosses his features and I watch as he fumbles with one hand on the fly of his jeans while trying to get his gun with the other.
Before he can get either done, he’s down.
The shooter must have a silencer on his weapon because although I don’t hear the shot, I know exactly when he hits his target in the right knee, dropping him instantly as he screams in agony.