Page 3 of Hostile Bond
I need to hear André’s voice.
To know he’s okay.
Her light touch on my elbow makes me flinch. “Please stay seated, ma’am. You’re in shock.”
I rub a hand over my chest where it aches like I’ve swallowed a bucket of acid. Of course I’m in shock. My husband’s hotel was blown up before my eyes and he won’t answer his damn phone. Never mind the trail of dead bodies that were left behind on his yacht.
He could be…dead.
My heart withers as I shake my head, struggling to inhale. “Stop telling me to sit the fuck down. I’m not hurt.” I don’t mean to snap at her, but I can’t think straight. “Where’s…”
“It’s okay, ma’am… take a deep breath. Let’s start with your name?”
This woman is testing my patience. “Sinéad… Souza.”
As soon as my married name splices the atmosphere, Giovanni reappears from the side of the vehicle. My stomach cramps when I see his handsome face. Those familiar features, so unintentionally heartbreaking. He’s not the man I adore, even if his dominating height, dark facial hair, and raspy Latino accent are all impressions of my husband.
Liquid sorrow threatens to spill from my frantically searching eyes, trying to read his stoic expression. His phone is still held to his ear and the gunshot gash on his cheekbone is neatly fixed with sutures. It hurts my heart just to look at him.
Please don’t tell me bad news.
His pale green eyes find mine. “Time to go.”
Plain clothed men swarm us, their coiled wire earpieces and grim expressions tell me they’re Souza security.
“Wait… sir… are you the yacht owner? We have to figure out what happened.” The woman in uniform moves in front of me. “A helicopter went down in the ocean where the yacht was anchored. The police need to speak to—”
“Our legal team will be on hand to answer any questions you may have.” Giovanni interrupts, his tone clipped. “Sinéad.” He holds his large hand out and I don’t think twice about taking it.
“Please… tell me what you know.” I persist, my voice a hoarse whisper as he guides me away at a hurried pace. “Have you heard from him?”
The afternoon sun peeks out from behind the mass of billowing smoke, brutalizing the Miami skyline. My legs are weak from exhaustion, but the adrenaline in my bloodstream is working overtime.
Giovanni quietly ushers me to a fleet of waiting SUVs and opens the passenger door of the middle one. “Get in.”
I obey his order, the sickness of fear crushing my organs. Once I’m inside, he climbs in and scrubs his face. “I haven’t made contact with him yet. Tommy wants us off the streets. We have unlimited resources at our disposal and half of the police force in our pocket. We’ll find him.”
“I can’t go back to the penthouse and just sit there… waiting… doing nothing.” I swallow to smother a sob and quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, pretending I’m not unraveling in this nightmare.
“And you think that’s what I want to do? I should be over there—” Giovanni bites out, his posture rigid. “Tommy calls the shots in situations like this. None of us are safe. This is clearly a Souza threat, so we lie low and let our men bring him home. Those are our orders.”
My heart hammers behind my ribs. “What about the yacht… the crew… the bodies? Won’t the Coast Guard blame us?”
“A new crew has already taken over the yacht.” His voice is gravelly from frustration. “Don’t worry about it.”
The motion of our vehicle moving makes me lightheaded. Nothing feels real right now. Anxiety claws its way through my muscles. I sit back against the leather upholstery and try to control my breathing. It’s a hard task to accomplish when the explosion keeps replaying on a loop in my mind. That, and the short video clip of the rooftop bar, where I’d caught a glimpse of Reno in the background.
Our convoy speeds through the streets and eventually slows to gain access to the gated garage beneath the condominium.
“Who did this?” I rub my tired eyes. “I want to know who was responsible for trying to take him away from me. Was it Frankie? I’ll kill the bastard myself if I have to.”
A guard opens the passenger door from the outside. Giovanni steps out first, his gun pointed toward the shadowy dark corners. Once he’s certain there’s no threat, he dips his face into the back of the vehicle to meet my bloodshot eyes and wild hair.
“No. This wasn’t Frankie. We’ve had eyes on him for ages now. We managed to tap his phones too. That fucker can’t wipe his own ass without me knowing about it.”
I climb out and tug the foiled sheet around me even tighter, not paying attention to the security team who escorts us to the lobby and surrounds us in the elevator.
Daenis barks when the first guard enters the penthouse. I follow behind, noting how the room is filled with armed men, and then my heart stills. India sways, standing in the middle of the living space, her cheeks tracked with black mascara tears, and her arms wrapped around her midriff in a self-hug.
