Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
"No one came for her, Luca," Lucky told me, shaking my head.
"What are you talking about?"
"That possibly this woman was at the docks for nefarious reasons after all," my father chimed in, walking over, face grave. "She waited until you were gone, until she got everyone here to think she was sick. And then she took off out her window when one of the guards walked around to the front to talk to Dario. Or so we assume. No one has any idea when she took off."
"Then no one knows if she was taken either," I insisted, my heart starting to slam against my ribcage.
"She left. She rearranged the furniture in her bedroom so that she could climb up, balance, then jump down," my father told me. "She even took a second to close the window again before she ran off so that no one would know until she was far enough away to be impossible to track."
No.
This couldn't be happening.
"How did you know she was gone?" I asked, looking to Lucky.
"My ma dropped by to give me some of her anti-nausea shit for her head. I went to see if she wanted some once Ma left. And she didn't answer. No growl even, so I went in and she was gone."
"Fuck," I hissed, gaze going to the woods behind the house, trying to remember what was on the other end, if there was a main road she could end up on, if she might be walking or running down the street.
"We already have men in cars looking," Lucky told me.
"Where are you going?" my father asked, but it was background noise to me as I shoved between him and Lucky, making a beeline for the corner of the house where two men were standing.
"This is your fucking fault," I growled, slamming my hands in my brother's back, making him stumble forward before catching himself, spinning around.
"Don't," he demanded, shaking his head.
We hadn't come to blows since we were teenagers. But when we used to, it was always ugly, only coming to an end when one of our father's men would pull us apart.
"I handle shit here, Matteo. You fuck around and spend money. Stay in your goddamn lane, do you fucking hear me?"
"You're the one on my ass all the fucking time about not being present enough. I come to help, and I get shit about it?" he asked, shoving a hand into my shoulder.
"You wouldn't get shit about it if you didn't fuck everything up when you came back."
"Maybe if you were thinking with your head and not your dick, you would see there are a lot of fucking holes in that woman's story. You can't be mad at me because you dropped the fucking ball, Luca."
I meant to keep it from getting more physical.
And, sure, maybe he had a point about my growing feelings for Romy.
But doubting my ability to do my job despite that? That was over the line.
And I had to show him that.
We'd always been fairly matched in a fight. I had better stamina, he had better bull strength.
I took a blow to my jaw. He took one to his chin.
Before I knew it, we were both on the ground.
Then there was a hand grabbing the back of my neck, strong, familiar, throwing me backward off my brother.
"If we're done acting like children," our father snapped, voice low and lethal like I remembered it from when we were pain in the ass kids, "we have a missing woman to find. Get up and get on it," he told us. "You, you need to watch your step," he told Matteo. "And you, you need to get some control over yourself."
Chastened, I pushed myself off the ground, went inside the house, took a two-minute shower, threw on some clothes, got in my car, and took off.
I should have been angry.
At the situation.
At the men.
At my brother.
At Romy for taking off instead of confronting me.
All I felt as I flew across town, though, was panic.
At the idea that I might not find her.
At the possibility that Matteo was right, that she was bullshitting us, that she was playing me, that I was losing my edge, that I wasn't the boss material I always thought I would be.
"Fuck," I hissed, slamming my fist on the steering wheel.
Her car, that we had taken and parked behind Famiglia, was still there.
She had some of her things, but she didn't have access to her money.
There was nowhere to go without some cash. You couldn't even drop down in an all-night diner to get your shit together, make a plan for your next move.
Then again, if Matteo was right, if she wasn't working alone, if all of this was just a ploy for something more nefarious, if this supposed sister of hers didn't actually exist, then she would've had people to come get her. Because she did have her phone.