Page 53 of The Italian Reckoning
Wow. Bold way to talk to your captain. Hold on…
Something doesn’t sit right in my gut. It takes me a few seconds to pull the call up on my own phone and the connected number flashes on the screen, sending my stomach into the pit of my ass. Having a security system that all connects to one device has its perks, but when it shows that Sarah isn’t on the phone to her captain, I freeze.
The number that flashes up is the number that was scrawled under her name on the napkin found at the crime scene.
“Sarah!” I fly across the room and crash into her, sending us both into the wall, but Sarah barely even seems to notice.
“You think because you got away once that you’re fucking untouchable,” she yells down at the phone even as I get my hand around the device and start wrestling it from her.
“Sarah, give me the phone!”
“No! He needs to know I’m going to get him! He needs to—Rocky, stop!”
“Sarah!” I clamp one arm around her waist and lift her from the floor, trying to separate her from the phone with the length of my body, but she turns into the strongest creature on earth with how tightly she clings to the device. It takes all my strength to rip the phone out of her claw-like hands and even then, she fights the air and kicks against me to get it back.
‘And the next time we meet, I won’t be so kind,” rasps an electronic voice when I place the phone to my ear.
“Listen here, you fuck?—”
The line goes dead and I relax my hold on Sarah. She immediately elbows me in the gut and rips herself out of my arms, then snatches the phone back and presses it to her ear. When she realizes the call has ended, she hits redial but the line rings out.
I wheeze, doubled over from the elbow, and wince, narrowly avoiding her flailing hand. “What the fuck was that?”
“Me?” Straightening up is painful, but I do it with a wince. “Sarah, what the fuck?”
“I had him! I had him where I wanted him!” Her cheeks are flushed red, tears cling to her lashes, and despite the crimson on her face, the rest of her is as pale as a ghost.
“No, Sarah. He hadyouwhere he wanted you. I thought you were calling your department?”
“I was going to but I… They won’t listen to me. Not really. I know they won’t. And I wanted to know why he was back. After all this time, why did he come back? Why didn’t he take the quiet life and just completely disappear? Why risk getting arrested when he had gotten away with everything?”
“That’s insane!”
She drags both hands through her hair and begins pacing away from me. “You don’t understand, okay? He’s not just… He’s?—”
Whatever else she has to say dies in a squeal of fright when the doors to the penthouse are kicked open with alarming force. Both doors swing inward and crash against their respective walls, bounce, and then they would close if not for the armed guards that storm inside.
“Sarah!” I rush for her just as the guards part and another figure stalks inside on his cane with his eyes dark with fury. “Dad!”
23
SARAH
Matteo Barati stalks into the penthouse with the clack of his cane echoing on the marble floor. Rocky lunges toward me as if trying to get between me and the armed guards who jog down the steps, but before he can reach me, he’s tackled away by one of the men leaping at him.
A tall guard reaches me and painfully grips my upper arm, twisting my limb away from my body and drawing a cry of pain from the depths of my chest. That noise seemingly ignites something in Rocky and he floors his attacker with one punch, then climbs to his feet and once again tries to reach me. Three more guards intervene and Rocky is swiftly overpowered, subdued by several punches to the face that split the skin above his eyebrow, and forced to his knees on the rug.
Fear about confronting the killer is swallowed by fear that the man who wants me dead is walking down the steps toward us. Luckily, perhaps, he ignores me and turns his fury on his son.
“I have had a very tense, veryexhaustingfew days, Rocky, so I expect you to answer me clearly,” Matteo says, stopping a few feet away from his son. “Tell me I was informed that not only is the cop I ordered to be killed still alive and well inyourpenthouse, but you killed the two guards sent to kill her. And to top it off, I find out my son is having sit down conversations with the Irish Captain behind my back. Do you think I’mstupid, Rocky? Do you think I can’t see what you’re trying to do?”
My heart pounds like a drum against my ribcage as the guard holding me makes sure to keep just enough pressure on my arm that one wrong move and my shoulder might pop out of place. Seeing Matteo with Rocky like this is so different from the man who collected his son from interrogation. Back then, he looked like a father doing everything he could to protect his son, but now? There’s a tinge of disgust in his furious eyes and suddenly, the truth is glaring.
It’s not love that fuels Matteo to get his son out of these situations. It's obligation and fear. Fear that the one who knows him the best will reveal something to his enemies, or worse, make a move himself. Rocky has never struck me as ruthless, but Matteo clearly fears it with how he bears down on his son like he’s nothing more than a ratty informant.
“It’s not what you—” The words are barely out of my mouth when the fist of my guard slams into my face and sends me crumpling to the floor. I’m hauled up a second later with my head spinning and my jaw throbbing in time to my racing heart.
“Leave her alone!” Rocky surges up only to be wrestled back to his knees by his guards while Matteo lifts his cane and places it precariously against Rocky’s throat.
