I came across the jet-black motorcycle a few blocks from Club Vice, overturned and riddled with lead bullets. The SUV that chased her had vanished into the night without a fucking trace. It didn't matter that I drove through the Miami streets until the fuel light blinked—my wife was nowhere to be found and her iPhone went straight to voicemail.
“Here.” Reno offers me a tumbler of straight Irish whiskey.
The slashes in my heart pour out in anguish. I scrub my eyes and knock back the neat liquor. Since reluctantly returning to the penthouse, I’ve hated how different it feels without her here.
Letterman and Reno continue to bark orders into their phones. Two helicopters cover miles from north to south Miami. While teams of men walk the streets and make the Souza presence felt in every establishment and undisclosed den in my city.
India sits on the couch with her knees tucked to her chest. Daenis is curled up next to her, both of them silent. And I’m one heartbeat away from torching the city to smoke out the fuckers who took her.
I’ve lost count of the cigarettes I’ve inhaled. Having a drink in one hand and a Marlboro in the other ensures my fingers are occupied instead of randomly pulling the trigger at anyone who crosses me.
“Yo, Dré… I’ve got Sapori on the line. He wants a word.” I drag my gaze away from the cityscape when Letterman jogs across the room to join me at the window. This is the first time I’ve despised this view. The tiny lights are shifty eyes hiding secrets and the darkness is a sadistic beast that swallowed my wife. “He claims it’s nothing to do with him.”
Giovanni’s guy has had eyes on Sapori’s movements for days now. He even managed to bug the bastard’s out-of-date yacht; however, he wasn’t able to tap his personal phone. Not yet anyway. I grab Letterman’s cell phone and press it to my ear. “Sapori.”
“You have enemies. Just like your Papá.”
“We all have enemies.”
“Apparently, some more than others,” he replies, too condescending for my liking.
My teeth grind impatiently. “What do you want?”
Sapori sighs on the other end of the phone. “This doesn’t please me, André. We have plans, you and I. If this is an elaborate ruse, I’ll find out.”
This guy is pissing me the fuck off. She’s missing, and he’s making it all about him.
“Or maybe you planned the whole thing yourself?” I spit, ready to sentence this motherfucker to the death penalty. “Perhaps if you removed her from the picture, it would justify a bloodthirsty war? I won’t let you take Miami, and if I find out you’ve hurt Sinéad, I’ll introduce you to my father’s pet tigers.”
Christ, I sound just like Papá—except all I feel is desperation, not callous satisfaction in the art of brutal torture.
He’s silent for a few minutes and then grunts a borderline laugh. An evil noise that doesn’t quite elevate to the next level. I’m going to take great pleasure in killing this fucker one of these days.
“My need for an heir is still strong at this point in time. That remains my goal. Kidnapping Sinéad before she’s pregnant wouldn’t be a wise move, given the lengths I’ve already gone to. I suggest you find her.” The way he speaks, patronizing me, chips at my temper the same way Papá’s callous orders had grated on my nerves. “It might take a while, given the Souzas have hitmen darkening their own shadows.”
If he didn’t take her, then who the fuck did?
“Oh, Sapori… I forgot to tell you…” I hang up without finishing my sentence just to aggravate the cunt and leave him wondering, then toss the phone back to Letterman.
His conversation was infuriatingly repetitive and I’m too restless to listen to his shit. I slam a fist into the triple-glazed glass, my control disintegrating, then take a long gulp of liquor—completely stressed as fuck.
My palms have half-moons burrowed into the flesh from my nails. It kills me to think she’s out there, in the streets I rule over. Yet I have no clue where she might be. That I’ve failed to safeguard someone in my circle—myfamilia—in my heart.
I rake a hand through my hair and stub out the cigarette before pacing again. Text messages and missed call notifications from people who aren’t her ping as I scroll through my contacts. Not even my brothers can help me with this fuckup.
“Do you think this is the same crowd that assassinated your father?”
“Fuck knows.” I’m about to take another drink when I realize I would become too intoxicated to head up the search party. I need my wits about me, and greeting the bottom of a whiskey bottle wouldn’t help. Not tonight. “Did you see the CCTV footage from the front of the club?”
“The captain’s team has it. They’ll run the plates and as soon as they find something, they’ll call.”
“I should be out there,” I growl, my frosty tone deflecting the worry knotting inside of me.
“We have enough manpower to tear up the city. As soon as we get intel, we’ll be all over it.”
Ignoring the unsettled rhythm of my pulse, I return my gaze to the indigo night sky where high-rise towers look like gemstone-encrusted columns, each of them competing for impact in an unclean world. Hidden behind millions of glittering pinprick windows, city dwellers carry on living, the multitude of homes and offices a harsh reminder of places I’m powerless to search.
That’s if she is even in Miami.
