For Adriano Read online

  “Don’t call her dolcezza!” Luca warns, and I laugh. He then talks to her. “I’ll be right back.” And a door closes on his end.

  “What’s up, Adriano?”

  “We’ve got problems.”

  “Syndicate?”

  “Yes and Security Simplicity. Money has been stolen. Jeffrey’s getting numbers now. And James just gave me the go-ahead to use the extent of our power to find a lead on Cam. Damian is finding a first soldier of Fat Sal’s now. I need you to come back to handle SS.”

  “Okay...” His voice trails off as he mulls over his options. “I have a wife to consider now.”

  Knowing Fallon, I ask, “What’s she doing?”

  He’s silent before answering, “Reading.”

  Just as I thought.

  “Yeah, she won’t mind coming back. I’ll tell her it’s because of Cam. I’ll make arrangements and get on the first flight.”

  “Thanks, man.” I rub a hand down my tired face and hang up.

  And I exit the house, still fully on edge. Her absence from my life is hitting me harder than I ever could’ve imagined.

  ***

  I head farther up north toward the warehouse with a song on the radio filling the space, drowning out my thoughts. The warehouse is an abandoned space the Syndicate uses for interrogations and storage of our drug supply. Sand dusts up behind the rear as I drive up to the old, one-story brick building and switch off the radio. Damian confirmed he has Fat Sal’s first soldier in custody and that he’s almost here. I stub my cigarette and push the button to close my window.

  His beamer comes into view in my rearview mirror, and he parks behind me. I wait for him to exit his vehicle and expose his captive: a man of medium build with a ponytail and wearing a sweat suit. His hands are tied at the wrists, and he’s screaming.

  I get out as Damian slams him against the side of his car.

  After shrugging out of my suit jacket, I throw it on the back seat and adjust my gun at the small of my back.

  “Do you even fucking know who I am?” the man spits.

  Damian smiles and presses his arm against his throat. “I don’t care. My organization dominates yours.”

  He splutters something unidentifiable.

  “Who is he?” I ask Damian when I’ve made my way closer.

  “Christopher,” Damian answers.

  “What the fuck is this about?” Christopher looks to me while struggling against Damian.

  “Stop fighting him,” I order. “Loosen your hold, Damian.”

  Damian conforms.

  “I know who you are, Christopher. You’re one of Fat Sal’s first soldiers. And that’s exactly why I need you.”

  He calms through his harsh breathing.

  “I’m looking for information that leads to the whereabouts of Camilla Guillermo.”

  His eyes narrow in mistrust.

  Before he starts lying, I warn, “We know she worked at the Club 7. I need to know more about her past.”

  “I don’t know anything about her.”

  “How well do you know her?” I take one step forward.

  “She worked in the fight club.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “Christopher, you’re not helpful. I wouldn’t have taken you if I didn’t already know she worked in that depraved fight and sex club. What more do you know of her? Did she have friends? With whom did she associate?”

  After a long pause, he answers, “No one.”

  I throw my head back and groan. “You just missed your chance when I asked nicely.” I wave my hand toward the warehouse entrance.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him head-butting Damian, who stammers back.

  “Fuck!” Damian cries and covers his nose, blood streaming down his fingers.

  Christopher sees his chance and storms off, tumbling into the sand with his hands tied behind his back.

  I jump onto his back, and we both grunt as we hit the ground and sand blows into my nose and mouth. Pushing a knee into his lower back, I keep him incapacitated.

  Christopher attempts to buck me off him, so I stuff his face into the sand. “Hold still or I’ll shoot you.” I spit sand from my mouth, and it lands next to his ear. “Damian,” I shout.

  The idiot is still clutching his nose.

  “He fucking broke it!”

  Serves you well!

  “Get over here!”

  I push my knee harder into my captive’s back, making him howl in the sand. Then I jerk his head back. “What do you know about Camilla?”

  Patience left my body a couple of months ago. I’m ready to kill a first soldier to find her. My pent-up rage searches for release, and having Damian in my proximity when I’ve been filled with memories of Cam all day, worsens my state. “Talk.”

  “What exactly do you want to know? Arghh!” he cries when I yank his hair.

  Granted, my question was a bit vague. “Has she been seen at or been in contact with anyone at the fight club?”

  “No!”

  “So you haven’t seen her since she left her job?”

  A confused look is sent to me.

  “What?!” I shout and twist his face more toward me. With one free hand, I grab my Swiss pocket knife.

  “What what?” he repeats frantically when I unclick the small, sharpened knife right beside his ear and struggle to keep him under control beneath me.

  Where the fuck is Damian?

  “Damian, stop being a fucking girl and get over here!” Then I demand of Christopher, “Why were you surprised when I said Cam left the job?”

  “I w…w…wasn’t,” he stammers.

  Damian finally steps closer, and I shift off Christopher and motion toward my knee in his back, silently ordering my soldier. Damian takes Christopher’s wrists and mirrors my position.

  On my haunches, I keep Christopher’s hair locked in a death grip and cut his wrists free while Damian restrains him with his body. I grab one arm and Damian the other, spreading them.

  With my knife next to his face and Damian holding him down, his fighting is useless. “If I don’t get helpful answers, I’m going to cut a finger off.”

  His eyes widen, and he stutters, “She…she never left. She ran.”

  “From the club?” She must’ve run from the underground fight and sex club. I’ve been in that underground area once, and it didn’t seem like everyone was there by choice.

  “Fight club.”

  At least I can confirm if he’s telling the truth. But I’m not sure I want to hear what’s coming. “Has she been back to the club?”

  He hesitates just a second too long and his eyes avert. “No.”

  He’s lying, because she was in that club once when I was also inside – we didn’t cross paths, and I have no idea what she was doing, but I did discover later that she was also there. So many questions swirl around.

  “Is she with Fat Sal? Is he hiding her?” I spit more sand from my mouth.

  No answer. Why the hell is he suddenly silent?

  “Answer me!” My fingers clamp around the knife handle, and I break the thin skin on his hand by following the faint blue trail of an artery.

  “Stop!” he screams and struggles, causing me to tighten my hold on his wrist.

  “Is she with Fat Sal?” I grit my teeth.

  “No.” He jerks against Damian, almost throwing him off.

  “Jesus Christ, Damian, get a grip!” I reprimand him shamelessly in front of a captive.

  “What’s with you lately?” Damian retorts with an irritated look.

  “You know,” I growl, almost reaching my limit for today.

  He’s quiet and stands down. “Camilla?”

  My jaw clenches when I hear him speak her name, and this is the moment that I break. That all the pent-up emotion spurts out. “I told you she was off limits!”

  “Did she tell you about that night?” he asks, astonished.

  Why did he say ‘night’? And not ‘kiss’? I hide my surprise and lie, “Yes.”

>   “We were drunk, and it wasn’t supposed to go that far. I never thought she’d tell you we slept together,” he reveals.

  “What?!” I roar, his words issuing a vehement rage.

  Christopher has the guts to mutter, “Why…are you interested in her? She was… just a slave.”

  My temper explodes, so I twist the knife into his hand, making him cry in misery as I rotate it. “Wrong day to piss me off, amico.”

  There’s so much outrage and regret holding me on the edge of sanity, and I conclude that I need to leave before I kill them both.

  “We’ll lock him in room one.” I haul Christopher up, and we hang him on a bar in the first room of the warehouse.

  Outside, while walking to my car, I order Damian without looking at him. “Stay away from me if you don’t want me to murder you.” I get in and slam the door.

  Driving up the abandoned road, I realize I didn’t get any vital information about Cam. I speed back to the Loop filled with more ire than ever, wondering about how many lies she’s told me.

  CHAPTER 9

  Camilla

  I look up from my place in the diner to see a BMW coming to a stop across the street at the ATM. No one exits the vehicle right away, and the tinted windows block the identity of the two people inside. I’m holding my breath as the car door opens.

  CHAPTER 10

  Adriano

  I turn up the air-conditioning in my BMW, glaring at Damian in my rearview mirror as I speed away from the warehouse. The clouds in the sky begin to close, casting a factual shadow over my mood. I’m losing command of my emotions. Damian’s declaration of sleeping with Cam triggers a new level of anger.

  “Fuck!” I clutch my hair with one hand in disbelief.

  It was imperative that I leave immediately because I could feel myself spinning out of control. And I’m not at liberty to kill a true member of the Syndicate without the permission of the Capo crimine. Furthermore, I wanted to think about my options. But first, my rage needs to be conquered, and that seems impossible at the moment.

  I should’ve demanded to know when Damian slept with Cam. It was obvious he had a hard-on for her, yet I didn’t notice it being mutual. Was I just missing signs? This is exactly what I loathe. This feeling of self-doubt Cam induces within me. Even after two years in each other’s lives, even after nine months apart, she still evokes emotions I can’t dominate.

  Never, never did I betray her. She hated my flirting. I even caught her calling me a man-whore. And all the while, she was the one that slept with someone else.

  As I race down the road, her face keeps attacking my mind. I release a deep breath, trying to find some sense of calm, but fury boils in my blood.

  “She fucked him!” I bellow in the small space, veering into another lane when I hit the steering wheel.

  After taking a sharp turn, I swerve off the road and spin out, so I hit the brakes and slow down while bumps and uneven ground make it challenging to get back in control of the car. Coming to a stop, I put it in ‘park’, too livid to drive any more. My seat vibrates as the engine continues to run. Leaning my elbow on the window, I rub the tension in my jaw.

  What can I do with Damian?

  For now, nothing. While I’d like to bury my fist into his face for ever touching her, it’s in my best interest not to let my resentment rule my course of action. I’ll have to answer to James and explain if I go back and hurt Damian. I’m not willing to clarify the depth of my relationship with Cam to James, because she’s his daughter. I haven’t even told Luca, although I do know he’s had his suspicions due to some questions he’s asked. I trust Luca, but I never told anyone about Cam’s scars or my uncertainties regarding her past. It’s between Cam and me.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, so I check the screen; it’s Jeffrey, the Financial Director of Security Simplicity.

  “Yes?”

  “Adriano, I e-mailed you a report from Finance. Did you get the chance to go over it?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  A pause before he continues, “We should discuss the numbers. Were you planning on returning to the office today? It’s almost six p.m. already.”

  I rub my eyes with my fingers. It’s important that I finish my talk with Fat Sal’s first soldier, so I’m going to have to travel back to the warehouse. I’ll go to SS now and then return up north to conduct a proper interrogation after I’ve cooled off.

  “I’ll come in now,” I say tiredly. My rage is slowly ebbing, but intense jealousy stays right beneath my skin.

  “Okay. I’ll wait here.”

  I end the call and shift the car into ‘drive’, resuming my ride.

  Just as I turn on the radio, my phone alerts me again. The person I’ve been eagerly anticipating an update from. I connect it to the car charger and answer, “Henry.”

  “We’ve got a lead.”

  I instantly straighten in my seat.

  “She just used her card in Englewood,” he adds.

  “Address?” I demand, blocking everything from our messed up past and focusing on not letting her slip from my grasp. Entering it into my GPS, I ask, “Have you informed James?”

  “He didn’t answer, so I called you. I’m about to call him again.”

  “I’ll do that. Stand by in case I need you,” I order.

  “I’ll be here.”

  I cut the call and contact James, who picks up on the first ring.

  “Adriano,” he says, hopeful. The background noise tells me he’s in his car too.

  “We’ve got a lead. Cam used her card in Englewood. I’m on my way.”

  “Let me check how far away I am.”

  I repeat the address and wait.

  “How long until you’re there?” he asks.

  I check the estimated time on my navigation. “One hour and twenty-three minutes.”

  “I’m further. At least a half hour behind you.”

  “I’m going,” I blurt, speeding alongside the river.

  “I wasn’t expecting anything less. Adriano, be careful and call me the instant you have something.”

  “Capito.” Understood.

  Time can’t pass fast enough as I hit the gas like a madman.

  Hope is a treacherous thing. It gives you a reason to continue, yet it can be crushed within a second. But as I chase toward the street where Cam withdrew money, I’m experiencing a shadow of faith in finding and talking to her. Hope prevails, and my rage is quelled slightly, for now.

  CHAPTER 11

  Camilla

  It’s almost the end of the workday.

  I sit in plain sight as a man in a fitted suit steps out of the BMW across the street and checks the area. I recognize one of Fat Sal’s bodyguards. His eyes scan the shops, and they pass by me behind the diner’s window. But then his head turns back to me, and a devilish victorious smile plays across his face.

  I swallow and clutch my bag in my lap as he crosses the distance and opens the door to the diner. Nervousness pads my stomach, and my already deteriorating resolve wavers even more. While this morning and this afternoon, I was resolute about ending this one way or the other, now that the exact moment is here, I don’t feel bravery. Just anxiety.

  What the hell am I doing?

  This is a death sentence for me. I didn’t think this through because of my weariness of hiding.

  Just as he enters the diner, another man steps out of the BMW.

  My head whips around, and I jump up, but a hand on my shoulder pushes me back down onto the hard surface of the seat.

  He bends down, and his fingers dig into my skin. I try to loosen his hold as he says in a deep voice, “Camilla Guillermo, Sal’s waiting for you. Come with me quietly. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  I follow his gaze to the other man standing in front of the window next to a short, blonde woman and her toddler. His hand is tucked inside his jacket pocket, and I can tell he’s aiming a gun at the child. I suck in a breath and rise to trail the first guy out with
out saying a word.

  The few customers in here are oblivious.

  The men flank me on either side and guide me to the car. I get into the back seat with the second guy sitting next to me.

  The pressing silence is frightening while we travel the streets lined by high-rises, back to Club 7.

  Drained from always looking over my shoulder, I rub my temples.

  My every move is inspected, but no one restrains me.

  Within an hour, we’re driving up a familiar street: the one that leads to the back entrance of Club 7 from where I escaped.

  I’m not manhandled as I get out of the car. Then I’m motioned inside the building and retrace my steps back to that underground area. Purple, green, and black flash from the corner of my eyes as I walk through the hall – the one lined with the familiar Andy Warhol pop art posters.

  In the elevator, I close my eyes for a second to muster up some courage.

  Stay calm.

  If anything, I need to know what happened to Santino and the hostess. They helped me, and there’s an urge in me to find out where they are. Refusing to think about anything else in order to block out my fear, I keep my back straight while I’m being led to Fat Sal’s office.

  The suffocating scent of this underground area permeates my nose.

  Behind one guard, I enter the brightly lit office and squint my eyes.

  I’m stopped by my arm in front of Sal’s desk as he leans back in his chair. His mouth turns down in aversion while he scans the length of me. “Ah, the elusive Miss Guillermo.”

  His rough voice sends a shudder down my body.

  Sal waves a hand, ordering his two guards out, and the door behind me clicks shut.

  He picks up a ruler from his desk and twirls it in between his pudgy fingers. “No hello after all this time?”

  I meet his glower but stay quiet.

  Sal tilts his head to the side. “You’ve been busy.” He grips the ruler when I don’t acknowledge him. “Nothing to say? Well”—he slams the ruler on the edge of his desk, startling me—“I have a lot to say to you.” And he brings his phone to his ear. “Bring in Santino.”

  My eyes widen in surprise and dreaded anticipation of what I’m about to see.