Page 23 of Tainted Blood

My father explodes at this. “She’s not. She’s nowhere. While you’ve been fixated on keeping this idiota alive, our men have torn this entire place to hell. All they found was this…” He hurls a silver bracelet onto the bed.

It’s Lola’s. I remember sitting next to her in the Platinum Bar the day she showed up unannounced, watching her spin it around her wrist. She never took the damn thing off.

“What makes you think he’d know?” I motion to Sanders’s hacked-up body. “He’s been a little incapacitated this evening.”

But as I say it, there’s a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Something that doesn’t feel right. Something I’m missing.

Picking up the bracelet, my father reads the words engraved on the inside as if he’s spitting out a mouthful of nails. “My only love sprung from my only hate–SS.”

“Romeo and Juliet,” I drawl, recognizing the quote. “How fatalistic of you, Sanders.”

But he isn’t looking at either of us anymore. His eyes are glued to the bracelet. “It was a gift,” he says flatly.

My father either doesn’t hear him, or he doesn’t care. The pressure of the gun on his forehead increases. “I warned you to leave my daughter alone, but you fucking Santiagos… You have to destroy everything good and pure in this world, don’t you?”

That particular bullet strays a little too close to home.

The gnawing sensation in my chest chews its way up my chest, sinking its teeth into the dark place I keep it caged. I let it feed on the realization, slowly bleeding its way into clarity.

Two stray bullets. Two criminals who can’t see beyond their own hate. Two innocent targets.

That’s when I know.

“She’s with Thalia. They were taken together.”

My father swings around to face me. “What makes you think that?”

“This mafia princess trafficking ring… Whoever took Thalia wouldn’t just settle for her. They’d make the effort worth their while.”

His eyes close. “Dios ayude a mi cielito.”

“God can’t help them. But we can.” My heart pounds against my ribcage, a disjointed rhythm of fury and hope as I focus on the dying American. “We can’t find them without him. We need him alive.”

Glancing at my father, I see the fury straining his neck muscles. Seconds tick, and then he’s sliding his Glock back in its holster.

“Make it fast.”

I turn to Sanders. “We need more. Think hard.”

Nodding, he closes his eyes, and I count every second of silence.

One. Two. Three.

Dark images slither into my head.

Four. Five. Six.

Thalia and Lola, trapped in some hellhole with no escape.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Thalia and Lola, covered in blood.

At ten, I’m at breaking point, and reaching for my own gun when his eyes suddenly pop open.

“I Vecchi….” He shakes his head, his fingers taking hold of the sheet. “I Vecchi pecca… Shit, what did I hear them say…”

“I vecchi peccati hanno le ombre lunghe.”