Page 140 of Brutal Heir
I pull out my phone again and reread her last message.
I love you, Ale. More than my own life.
Dio, why didn’t I tell her how I felt sooner? Why didn’t I just marry her right away? I failed her. I promised I’d keep her safe, and I fucking failed.
“You’re going to get her back,” Matteo says quietly beside me as if he’s plucked the thoughts from my mind.
I nod once, slowly.
I wouldn’t just get her back, I’d burn down everything in our way to do it. And I’d save thatbastardo, Conall Quinlan for last. He deserves a very special brand of punishment for what he’s put her through.
My phone buzzes again. An encrypted line.
It’s one of our men. Pietro from Rome.
“Speak,” I bark.
“We tracked a pattern of recent supply deliveries headed north, big shipments of liquor and food, but the delivery addresses aren’t licensed businesses.” His voice is clipped and precise. “One of them matches an old estate owned by the Quinlans, just outside the city.”
“Send me the coordinates,” I snap. “That must be where he’s holding her.”
Then I allow myself a minute to process his words. Big shipments of liquor and food can only mean one thing. Could that psychopath really have organized another wedding?
“They’re already en route.”
I end the call and glance at Matteo. “We have a location.”
His eyes harden. “Then let’s do this.”
Another message comes through on my phone, but instead of the coordinates I expect, it’s from Serena.
Sere: We’re an hour out from Belfast. Don’t do anything stupid until we get there. Antonio’s men from Milano are on their way too for backup.
A twist of irritation and relief wind their way through the jumble of emotions in my gut. My fingers hover over the screen, torn between telling her to get the hell out of here or hurry the fuck up.
Finally, I settle on the two words that come first.
Me: Thank you.
Then I whirl at Matty, brow arched. “You told them?”
I don’t need to explain. He knows exactly who I’m talking about.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “I had to. It’s the cousin crew. That’s what we do for each other, right?” He grins and squeezes my shoulder.
“Get each other into deepmerda?”
“Exactly.” That stupid smile only grows wider.
“You better hope nothing happens to the girls or Luca and Dante will murder us. Family or not.”
“Relax, Ale. We’ve got this.” He leans forward to the driver and spouts off an address.
The big SUV jerks to the left as the driver whips the car around a corner.
“What’s the ETA?” I bark.
“One hour and thirty-nine minutes,capo.”
