Page 58 of Unholy Union
So, I let her go this morning. Let her see her father under Lazaro’s watchful eye. It wasn’t out of kindness. Notreally. More so to clear my conscience and tell myself I wasn’t a total asshole. That had to count for something, right?
Another Valente Luxura exec is rambling on, showing there’s no end in sight for this damn meeting.
I glance down at my phone and thumb open the tracker app. Sabrina’s on the move again. The little green dot pulses next to Old Westbury General.
My brows furrow watching it approach the hospital a few miles away from the Valente estate.
Why the fuck would Lazaro take her that way?
Coming from Mill Neck? It makes no logistical sense. Unless there was some kind of traffic accident and road detour, I can’t think of why he’d take her down that route.
I’m about to send him a text to ask when the door to our meeting room flies open and my assistant, Harper, comes dashing in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Valente, there’s been an emergency!” she exclaims, her face a chalky white. “I… I think you’ll want to hear this in private.”
My gaze shifts to Papà at the head of the table, who sighs and then gives his nod of approval. I dismiss the room, cutting the meeting short.
Everybody files out with the exception of me, my father, and Harper, who’s wringing her hands. Once we’re alone, I raise my brows at her, signaling for her to continue.
“I-it’s your wife, Mr. Valente,” she stammers. “There’s been a serious accident. The car she and Mr. Zanetti were driving in was run off the road and shot up.”
The words don’t register at first. It takes a few seconds before they sink in and I realize what she’s just said.
Like a switch has been flipped, my blood roars. Heat surges through my veins, testosterone-driven rage barreling through me with a force I can’t contain.
Someone went after her. Someone out there targetedmy wife.
They didn’t just try to hurt her. They tried to take something that belongs to me.
It feels like battery acid on the tongue to even utter; corrosive and blistering to even try.
We’ve got our problems. We can’t even fucking stand each other, but that doesn’t mean anybody gets to hurt her.
When I married Sabrina Corsini, I vowed to protect her for the rest of her life. I made her mine and that means something.
They didn’t fucking realize attacking her was worse than coming for me.
I grit my teeth so hard it aches in my molars, forcing myself to remain calm and not lose my shit.
Not here, not now.
That can come later.
Right now, it’s more important to get the facts of the matter. Sort out what I can and then make immediate plans to slaughter whoever the fuck would have the audacity to do such a thing.
My fingers curl under the table, tight enough that my nails bite into my palm.
At the head of the table, my father sits as cool and nonplussed as can be. You’d think Harper just delivered the fucking weather report, not that his daughter-in-law is in the goddamn hospital. His expression is empty, his brow relaxed. He sips from his cup of coffee like he’s got no real care in the world, like some part of him expected this.
Like it’s all going according to plan.
The coldness of it makes my fury spiral. It takes everything in me not to knock the cup straight from his hand.
“I trust they’ve both survived?” he asks mildly. “Then I see no reason for concern.”
Harper frowns. “Mr. Zanetti is in surgery. Mrs. Valente is still being seen by doctors.”
“Do we know who’s behind it? The police have anybody in custody?” I’m on my feet, striding toward the door.
