Page 75 of Fatal Sloth

The rage inside me begins to boil over. If he lays a finger on her, I'll make him pay. I'll gut that pezzo di merda and watch him bleed out until he takes his last breath.

Dario pulls up the house camera feed, and the truth hits me like a freight train. Mia ran out of the house alone, leaving in my Mercedes.

I grit my teeth in frustration, my hand clenching into a fist as I watch her peel out of the gate. I've called her a dozen times, but she isn't answering any of my calls or texts. Where the hell is she going? What the fuck is she thinking?

Roman leaves about two minutes after Mia does. I don't think they're together, not with the way she raced out of here. But I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye. Something doesn't add up, and I'm going to find out what’s going on.

Then, relief hits me like a ton of bricks. "The Mercedes has a tracker," I mutter to myself.

It takes a few tense minutes for the computer to pinpoint the exact location of my car, and when the dot on the screen stops blinking over the address, my blood runs cold. Rage pulses through my veins as I lead a dozen of my men through the streets toward Russo's house.

By the time we reach the mansion, my mind and body are a hurricane of fury. I don't bother with pleasantries, and Peter can go fuck himself if he thinks otherwise.

I burst through the door like a bull in a China shop, my voice a thunderclap as I demand answers. "If you fucking hurt—"

But my words die in my throat as I see the old man holding a rag over his bloody forehead, with the Bride of Chucky by his side, tears streaming down her face.

I see red, and without a second thought, I lunge forward, grabbing him by the throat, my fingers digging into his clammy flesh. I lift him until our faces are inches apart. His eyes widen in fear as I apply more pressure, feeling the skin beneath my grip warm with his blood.

"Where is she, you slimy bastard?" I snarl, my voice echoing off the walls.

His breath comes out in choked gasps, his hands futilely clawing at mine, but I only tighten my hold, ready to snap his neck if he tries to lie. "She's not here," Peter chokes out, but the old man is trying to play me for a fool, spewing lies. Before I can squeeze the truth out of him, Peter continues, "You're too late."

Too late? The words knock the air out of my lungs.

I release my grip on the old man, and he crumples to the ground. Staggering backward, the frustration bubbling up inside me boils over until I can’t contain it.

"Fucking hell!" I curse, kicking over a nearby table.

"He already has her. He's taking her to you," Peter wheezes.

Trying to stay focused, I wrangle in my fury and turn on my heels with a clenched jaw. "Who is he?" I bark.

"Nico," Karen's voice is barely a whisper but still, it echoes through the room.

My heart races as a million questions flood my mind like a tsunami. Why the hell does Nico have her?

I snatch my phone from my pocket, fingers flying over the screen as I dial his number. But it doesn't ring once before a message pops up—call failed.

The bastard blocked my number.

I bark orders at one of my soldiers before rushing out of the mansion. I head straight for my car; my mind is racing and my heart is full with fear.

Just as I'm about to get in, a text from an unknown number comes through, and I curse under my breath.

Unknown number: You're not in charge.

The message reads, making my blood run cold.

My grip tightens on the phone as I swipe to view the image attached—a picture of Mia, her hand protectively cradling her belly. Rage pulses through me, driving me forward with single-minded determination: I will find out why the fuck Nico has my woman, and I'll make him regret ever laying a finger on her.

42

Mia

The engine roars to life as the car speeds along the winding road, the city lights fading into the distance behind us. I sit in silence beside Nico, his smile unnerving in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

"So, are you taking me home?" I finally muster the courage to break the silence.