Page 172 of Broken Mafia Prince
The city lights are long gone behind us, replaced by barren roads and tall, scattered trees that blur past in a haze.
Somehow, Matteo managed to hack into every surveillance feed in the city, tracking the last-known signals from Giulia’s and Isabella’s phones. The trail led us to some run-down park at the edge of the city. We traced the last car that left the area this morning—same timeframe Giulia and I were supposed to meet.
Matteo glances at the screen in his hands, his jaw tense. “We’re too far out. This isn’t just a random detour.”
No shit. This has foul play written all over it, but I’m too fucking furious to dwell on the details.
The dry heat of the asphalt and the distant hum of the engine remind me that every second we waste could be the difference between life and death.
All I can think about is getting to her. Giulia.My Giulia. The woman I love more than my own damn life.
Isabella’s phone went dark around the same time as Giulia’s, which means they likely shared the same fate.
My grip tightens around the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. “What does that mean?”
Matteo hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’ve either gotten to their destination…” He pauses, his voice dipping lower, “Or?—”
“Don’t say it.”
I won’t entertain that thought.
I don’t even want to imagine a life where Giulia doesn’t exist. I refuse to imagine that some bastard has stolen away the best thing that’s ever happened to me. What’s the aim of the strategizing, the war, the rebellion—any of it—if I don’t have her at the end?
If something’s happened to her… if she’s—no. I can’t go there. Iwon’tgo there.
I’m not a praying man, but I pray at that moment, harder than I’ve ever done in my life.
Matteo shifts beside me, suddenly sitting up straighter. His eyes snap to the road ahead. “Right there!”
I slam my foot on the brake, the tires screeching as the car jerks to a halt. Gravel kicks up behind us, and I yank the wheel to the side, narrowly avoiding the edge of the ridge.
Matteo shoots me a glare. “You trying to kill us before we actually save her?”
But I’m not looking at him. His gaze is fixed on something off to the right—a beat-up old Volvo parked sits at an awkward angle, its doors and trunk slightly ajar like someone left in a hurry.
My heart thunders. I know without a doubt—she’s here. And so is whoever took her.
I don’t wait. I don’t think. I throw the car into park and reach for my gun.
I’m coming for you, Giulia.
“Is that the car?” I ask.
“Seems like it.” He uses his thumb and forefinger to enlarge the image on the computer screen he’s been using to track down the dead motherfucker who took my woman. “But I’m not?—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. I jump out of the car, checking my gun to make sure it’s loaded. Every one of these bullets is going straight into that bastard’s skull.
“Are you planning to canvas this entire area in search of them?” my friend calls as I start my search.
“I’ll turn every stone and dig through the mountainside if that’s what it takes.”
“We have to use more tact.”
“Tact?” I spit, spinning around and heading toward him. I grab him by the collar. “While we fuck around trying to betacticalabout this, my wife could be hurt.”
“And while you’re tramping about like a bull in a China shop, you could walk right into a trap.”
“Fuck their trap,” I bite out.
