Page 150 of Scorned Obsession

“Try to stop us,” I muttered. I called Sticks. Nothing. “Fuck!”

A blacked-out Nissan Armada was waiting for us. I didn’t realize Tommy was following me until he spoke, “What do you want me to do?”

“Identify the dead.” I got into the SUV.

“Griselda…” he choked out.

But my thoughts were only focused on Bianca. “I’ll call you when I have news.”

I shut the door and leaned against the headrest. My temples were throbbing, probably from all the jaw clenching and teeth grinding I’d been doing. I inhaled a couple of calming breaths before I said, “Any luck trying to get through to Bianca?”

“No,” Nico answered. “Matteo is putting our men on standby. Do we know who would hit the ambulance? Albanians?—”

“My Toronto contact is pointing to Crowe Miller.”

“Miller?” Trevor spoke up. “Huh…”

“Thathuhbetter mean something.” I went through my contact list again until someone fucking answered.

“I did a background check,” Trevor said.

“I’d expect you to.”

“It passed from what I could tell, but something seems cagey about him.”

I replayed every interaction with the man. When the club started rebuilding, he’d become more of Griselda’s security than Bianca’s. But Sticks trusted him, and that was why I allowed Miller to guard Bianca sometimes.

I continued trying to call Bianca, Sticks, and Arnie, but no one was answering. But it wasn’t long before I had my answers. And the worst scenario greeted our eyes.

An overturned ambulance.

Two cop cars were facing the wrong direction of traffic with bodies of the cops sprawled on the ground.

The Expedition Sticks was driving was riddled with bullets and the front tire was flat. Bulletproof glass could only withstand so much. Jesus. Whoever did this had an arsenal.

Nico and I ran toward the ambulance. My mind went through a reel of things I should have done with Bianca. Should I have left her with the De Luccis? Should I have forced her to divorce me?

Should. Should. Should.

I got to the ambulance first and ripped open the door. Blood splatter was everywhere. Sirens howled in the distance. The EMT at the scene was slumped over, probably dead.

No Griselda. No Bianca. But there was too much blood.

My heart pounded as my lungs pumped out more ragged breaths. “She’s not here.”

My body sagged against the vehicle, suddenly sucked of strength, but my mind vomited all possibilities. “She’s not here,” I repeated.

Relief.

No.

Anger.

No.

But someone was going to die.

My eyes zeroed in on the skid marks that could have belonged to their attackers.

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