Page 49 of Beneath the Shadows

“You can’t,” Dante snaps back. “Valentino was so damn insistent on us going to this party. If we don’t show, someone’s going to notice, and they’ll report back. I’m sure he’s covered all his bases.”

A tight knot forms in my gut. “I don’t like this.”

Dante’s expression mirrors my own tension. “I don’t like it either, but whatever’s happening, we have to play along. There’s one thing Valentino missed,” Dante says, holding his phone so I can see the screen. “The trackers on the cars. Once we’ve made our appearance, I’ll slip away.”

“I’m going with you.”

“We both can’t leave. It’ll look too suspicious,” he warns, glancing around the room before fixing his eyes on me.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

“Anton,” Dante says firmly, his voice drawing my focus back to him. “I won’t let anything happen to them.”

* * *

The party is as revolting as I thought it would be. The women are here, but they’re not guests. They’re prisoners, their eyes hollow, bodies moving as if they’ve lost the will to live. I sit off to the side, nursing a glass of whiskey, watching our men. Some of them are taking advantage of the women. I make a mental note of who they are. When the time comes, they’ll regret this.

But the smarter ones see what’s going on. Instead of indulging, they’re making sure the women have food, water, and safety. At least for tonight.

My phone buzzes on the bar.

Dad:Something’s wrong. The driver left the route.

Antonio:Did he say why?

Dad:He has the divider up and locked.

Fuck. I shoot to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest. Without a word, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. I hit Dante’s number. Two rings, then it connects.

“Where are you?” I bark.

“We’re ten minutes behind them, but the signal just went dead,” Dante says, his voice tense.

“My father texted. The driver left the usual route to the warehouse district. They locked the divider. Something very fucking wrong.”

“We’ve got two cars on them. They can’t be that far,” Dante replies, his voice low and resolute.

The phone buzzes again. My father’s calling. I quickly answer and merge the call with Dante.

“Where are you?” I demand.

“East Oregon,” Dad says, his voice tight. “The railyards are coming up ahead.”

“We’re on our way,” Dante cuts in.

“The door locks engaged. I can’t open them. I’m stuck in here.”

He pounds on the glass. “Rico, open the fucking divider.” His voice is muffled, thick with panic, but I hear it clearly through the phone. It’s no use—the divider is soundproof. The driver either can’t hear him or doesn’t care.

“Dante, where the hell are you?” I shout.

“South Delaware. We’re going to cut them off,” Dante replies, urgency lining his words.

Dad’s voice drops, cold and grim. “Vigo set me up. Promise me you’ll take care of your mother and Cecilia, Anton.”

“No,” I say, grabbing the back of my neck, panic starting to rise. “You’ll be fine. Dante’s on his way. He’ll get you out.”

Tires screech in the background.

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