Page 13 of Wild Angel
“Do we want to, though?” he asks, grimacing. “He’s a grumpy fuck when he’s hungry.”
“This can’t wait, Vito.” I look down at Nyx and have to force myself not to shift a lock of hair away from her face. “Whoever left that message at her motel, they don’t look like patient people.”
Chapter Eight
Savage
Sergio’s bedroom door opens as I lift a hand to knock. If he’s surprised to see me, not a flicker of it shows anywhere on his face.
“Are you up early, or haven’t you gone to sleep yet?” Sergio asks, his eyes taking me in with one quick sweep before moving on to Vito.
“Little bit of both,” Vito says.
I don’t have to look back to know he’s grinning.
“Can we talk?” I cut in, probably saving Vito from another backhand. Does he get off on being slapped around? Because honestly, sometimes he asks for it.
“Of course, son.” Sergio walks out of the room, not looking back as he holds out an arm. “Accompany me downstairs. I need something taken care of, and it can’t wait.”
We do exactly that, Vito keeping up the rear and me walking beside Sergio. Even this early, the villa is full of life. Staff are everywhere, dusting and cleaning. When we descend the main staircase, the smell of breakfast food greets us.
We walk past the kitchen though, and out the back door. The swimming pool’s fountains are on, water splashing playfully from a marble statue. Another naked woman, of course. Father has a thing for erotic statues.
The silence between the three of us thickens as we walk.
I’d never been called out for going off-script.
Yesterday, when I’d warned Nyx about the sniper who was targeting her from a nearby window while she tried to eat a burger and look casual, everything had happened so fast. As soon as Nyx had bolted, I’d dropped everything and gone after her.
It wasn’t the plan.
Vito was supposed to have led her to the safe house. But, just like my father, I’ve never been good at delegating. If you want something done right…
I haven’t heard anything from my uncle since then. Not a text, not a call. Obviously news of my seemingly impulsive actions would have reached Sergio and my father by now. And obviously they’re pissed off.
Nyx was supposed to die—triggering the cartel war Sergio so desperately wants.
I was supposed to stay hidden so the Bogota would still be under the impression they’d killed me at La Buena Papa.
None of that happened.
And I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Men fall in around us as we head for the stables. The villa keeps three thoroughbred racehorses. Father and Sergio sometimes ride them, but they’re more for show.
The big barn behind the stables is mostly for storing the equipment our staff uses for cleaning the grounds. A John Deere utility tractor, a pair of golf carts, that kind of stuff.
And, on the odd occasion, a hostage.
The smell of piss and shit hits my nose the moment Sergio’s men throw open the barn doors. It’s a violent contrast to the aromatic scents of food my brain is still lingering over and my stomach twists. Vito makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t say anything.
Surprisingly, because usually, he’d be bitching like a little girl. He hates getting his hands dirty with shit like this.
Literally.
“I hear you weren’t around for long yesterday,” Sergio says conversationally as he leads us past the larger pieces of equipment and toward the back of the barn.
I say nothing, but Vito clears his throat uneasily.
