Michael Fiore’s face is a mask of shock when he opens the door to me and Dante. Maybe it’s our fierce expressions that communicate our willingness to ruin lives to get what we want. Either that or the fact that I just threatened to shoot the guard at the gate if he didn’t let us through.
“Where’s Toby?” I demand.
“T-Toby? He’s here. Why?” Michael stammers.
I pull my gun from the waistband of my suit pants and hold it against Michael’s temple. “I can shoot you right now and go inside and get him. Or you can call him out here.” I press the cold metal into that little indent at the side of his forehead, and his lip starts to tremble.
“D-Dante?”
“Don’t fucking look to him for help, you piece of shit. You have five seconds to get him out here or your brains are going to decorate this porch.”
“Call him, Michael. You know he’ll do it. If Toby’s here, there’s every chance you’ll both get out of this alive.”
Michael keeps his eyes focused on Dante. A man he’s worked for ten years—a man he trusts.
“Toby. C-come out here, son,” he shouts into the house.
I remove the gun from his temple and take a step back, bouncing on the balls of my feet while we wait.
Five seconds pass. “Where the fuck is he?” I snap.
“He’s coming from upstairs. He’ll be here in just a minute,” Michael assures me, his face as white as the walls of his house.
A moment later, Toby comes to the door, all smiles and wet hair. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t let him utter a single word. Grabbing his hair, I force him to his knees.
His father lurches forward, and under different circumstances, I’d admire his instinct to protect his child.
“Don’t!” Dante snaps. Michael freezes, rooted to the spot.
“Dad? Maximo?” Toby pleads. “What is this? W-what?”
I press the cold steel barrel between his eyes.
“Dante? Please?” Michael begs.
“If the kid’s done nothing wrong and he tells us what we need to know, he has nothing to fear.” Dante stands, watching me impassively.
“W-what?” Toby asks again.
“Who did you tell about me and Joey?”
“Y-you and Joey?”
I shove the gun against his forehead, pushing his head back. “Don’t stall on me, you little fuck. Answer the question or I’ll blow a hole in your head. Those are your only options.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Maximo. I haven’t told anyone anything.”
“That night I came here to pick her up, did you tell anyone about that?”
“N-no.”
“You sure about that?”
He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Toby?” I demand.
“I’m thinking,” he cries. “It’s kind of hard to do with a gun in my face.”
Dante chuckles. “Now, you see I woulda thought that would help matters, wouldn’t you, Max?”
“Sure would.”
A bead of sweat rolls down Toby’s temple.
“You either did or you didn’t, Toby. It’s not fucking rocket science. Now, I’ll give you ten more seconds to come up with an answer, or your dad here will be wearing your entrails on his suit.”
The boy nods, his eyes still screwed tight and his mouth clamped shut.
I start counting to ten in my head. When I get to four, he speaks. “Monique,” he spits the name, and I drop my arm, glaring at him.
“What did you say to her? Did you tell her Joey and I were together?”
“No!” He fervently shakes his head. “I didn’t know you were. I told her what happened, that’s all. That you picked her up on your bike.”
Dante clears his throat. “Monique called Joey in the car while we were driving home from the cabin. Said she was on her way to our house, but Joey told her she wasn’t home. She knew Joey left with you and didn’t come home.”
“Monique.” The name burns my tongue like battery acid, and I give Dante a look filled with apprehension. “D. Joey’s at her house.”
Taking a deep breath, he checks his watch. “She should be almost home by now.”
Stepping to the side, I dial her number while Dante helps Toby up and smooths things over. Her phone goes straight to voicemail and my heart rate kicks up a few gears. I dial Ash next and his phone rings out and now my blood is thundering so fast around my body I sway on my feet. I can’t fucking breathe. When Ash’s phone goes to voicemail, I can barely see straight for the pounding in my head and adrenaline thundering around my body.
“Joey and Ash didn’t answer, D.”
“Call Henry.”
I dial Henry’s number, and it rings and rings until voicemail kicks in. Dante stares at me like I have the answers to the meaning of life. I shake my head, and the pain on his face makes me want to puke my guts up. Holy fucking fuck. We dropped the ball.
“Let’s go,” he orders, and the two of us race back to his car, leaving Michael and Toby standing on their doorstep.
Tires spin, spitting gravel as Dante guns the engine and heads toward Monique’s house. “I never should’ve let her got to that fucking party, D.”
“Try their numbers again,” he barks.
I call each of them again and the response is the same. “Drive faster,” I snap at him when he slows down for a red light.
“You think I’m not as fucking terrified as you are, Max? I’m driving as fast as I fucking can,” he shouts at me.
“She’s my whole fucking world, D. If anything happens to her—if I let something happen to her because I was too focused on Vito and Kristin—” I can’t finish the sentence.
“We’re going to fucking get her,” he insists. “We’ll speak to Monique, and she’s gonna tell us Joey is drunk on cocktails and wouldn’t get out of the pool. It’s going to be okay.”
Despite knowing Henry and Ash would never miss a call from me, I cling to his words, trying to convince myself that my girl is perfectly safe and that I haven’t let her down in the worst possible way.
“There’s Henry’s car.” Dante nods at the black sedan in Monique’s driveway. “Maybe they’re all inside?”
But as we draw closer, I see the figure of Henry slumped over the steering wheel and my heart almost bursts through my ribcage. My lungs stop being able to take in air and my stomach twists into such a tight knot that I think I’m going to throw up all my internal organs. My door is open before Dante brings the car to a grinding stop. Scrambling out as quickly as possible, I run toward Henry’s car. The driver’s side window is open, and even before I pull Henry’s head back, I see and smell blood. The blood spatter is consistent with a sliced jugular, which is confirmed when I place my palm on his forehead and the gaping wound grins back at me.
Henry Jones was a good man and an experienced soldier. This wasn’t the work of an amateur. Straightening, I take deep breaths. I need to hold it together. I’ll be no good to Joey if I fall apart. “He’s dead, D.”
“Fuck! Henry.” Dante nudges me out of the way and leans forward to close Henry’s eyes.
With a nod, Dante follows me to the front door of the house. Not bothering to knock, I draw my gun and shoot through the lock. Silence greets us.
“Joey?” I shout.
As expected, there’s no answer. Because she’s not fucking here. I would know if she was. We stalk through the house toward the back patio and find the pool empty except for a giant inflatable chair and a floating pink flamingo. My girl sat there only an hour ago. My heart is splitting in two. If I didn’t believe my own eyes, I’d be sure someone had their hands inside my chest and was tearing it apart. This can’t be real. She can’t be gone. Because I cannot fucking breathe without her. There is a deep, visceral ache in my chest that makes me heave for breath. I hold onto the door frame before I fall on my ass and can’t get up again. Half-empty cocktails sit on tables and towels are draped over the sun loungers as though everyone left in a hurry. I look at the inflatable flamingo again and my heart almost stops beating. If I could only travel back to that moment, the moment Ash told me she was safe … before my whole goddamn world fucking fell to pieces. If I could go back, I could keep her safe.
“Max?” Dante calls me and I spin around. “Here.” He disappears, and I hear him mumbling. I find him crouched over Ash’s body. There’s a bullet hole in the center of his chest, and Dante places two fingers on his throat, checking for a pulse.
Eyes wide, he slaps his hands down on Ash’s chest. “Call 911!”
“He’s alive?” The question is rhetorical, so I don’t wait for an answer. Ash might know something that can help us find Joey, which means we need to get him medical attention immediately.
After I call the ambulance, I take over from Dante, applying pressure on Ash’s wound while he calls Lorenzo and tells him what happened. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s coming.”
Dante finishes his call and crouches beside me, taking back over trying to stem the flow of blood from Ash’s bullet wound. “Lorenzo’s on his way. He’s coordinating reinforcements. All the men we can spare and Dmitri too. While we go to the hospital with Ash, he’s going to tear this place apart and find something to tell us what happened here.”
I can tear this place apart while we wait for him. Noticing a scrap of blue fabric on the cabinet, I stand up and cross the room. It’s Joey’s wet bathing suit. I pick it up and hold it to my nose hoping for her sweet scent, but all I smell is pool water. I keep it in my hand though because it was on her skin not so long ago and that makes me feel closer to her.
“We’ll find her, Max,” Dante assures me.
“Hmm,” I mumble as I pick up the cocktail glass nearby. It’s full. I sniff the contents and confirm it’s a margarita. Glancing around the room I see the small dustpan and brush. Inspecting the contents reveals shattered glass. I pick a piece up and hold it to my nose. More margarita.
“She was drugged,” I say.
“You think?”
“She told me Monique had made a fresh pitcher. There’s a full one and this glass had margarita too. My guess is Joey drank hers, Monique didn’t, and she dropped the glass onto the floor when she passed out. Then Ash came in and Monique shot him.”
“Likely,” Dante agrees, his eyes scanning the room. “Joey’s purse is gone?”
“Looks like. They probably dumped it somewhere.”
“Her St. Christopher?” he asks.
“It’s broken, remember? When they took me. It’s on her nightstand.”
“Fuck!” he snaps. “I promise you we will find her.”
“I know, compagno, because I will tear this goddamn country and everyone in it to pieces until we do.”
