Page 117 of Destined for the Devil
Merciful
Roman
Ithadbeenthreewhole days of no word from Isla, and I wasn't sure how I was still alive.
She disappeared. The last place her cell phone was turned on was in New York, around her apartment, and then nothing.
I had flown to New York with Kirill and spent forty-eight hours on a wild hunt that led to absolutely nothing.
Nothing.
None of mine or Kirill's contacts could place her. Her name didn't show upanywhere.No tickets were purchased under her name, she wasn’t on any flight database, no cameras picked her up in any airport or train station—nowhere. No one could locate that car.
It was like five years ago all over again. Vanished into thin air.
I sat on my couch in the middle of night three of no sleep, and looked over my reflection in the window. Was that me? I didn’t know the man who stared back at me.
I willed myself to get it the fuck together. Time was not on my side, and after I had exhausted every single path that could lead to her, I headed to see Claudio in the morning.
The door to his office swung open from one swift kick, but he wasn’t alone. In front of him was an unknown man, about to be a dead one. Without a second thought, I pressed the trigger. The bullet flew right through the man’s temple, his body jerking violently to the side beforeslumping over like a bag of sand.
Claudio flinched behind his desk and froze, his shoddy little eyes on me. "You wanted those contracts so bad, you fucking decided to take my girl?" I took a seat where the man used to be, my voice low and calm, a stark contrast to my inner state.
In return, Claudio raised his hands in defeat, his eyes bulging out of his eye sockets. He stayed silent, unable to piece together a sentence, and looked from me to the bleeding, dead man on the floor.
Jesus fuck, he didn't know where she was either.
"Ro-Roman…I didn't…I didn't do nothing, man. I swear, I don't have your woman." Claudio gulped hard, visibly doing his best to remain calm and diffuse the situation.
God, I was going to lose my mind. No one had any fucking clue where she was. Not Sergei, not Claudio, not The Triads, not the Albanians who I’d visited yesterday. The only ones left were the Italians, but I knew it couldn’t have been them. As strange as it was, we’d never crossed paths—not even once.
"Call Vincenzo," I ordered and jutted my chin out in the direction of the phone on his desk. He obeyed without question, dialing a number he apparently knew by heart.
A man picked up, and with fear in his voice, Claudio started from afar, speaking about random shit. I waited, listening to every word. Then, he casually mentioned Isla, and Vincenzo let out a low hmm.
"Claudio.” Vincenzo’s voice was strict and confident. “You know we don't do this. Leave this to the Russians and the Albanians. We don't kidnap for ransom. We don’t take to apply pressure."
"I know Vincenzo, but...” Claudio’s eyes darted to me as he picked his next words. “There are…extenuating circumstances. Do your research. Give me a name." Claudio pressed on, but there was silence on the other line.
A minute. Two. And then a long and annoyed sigh.
"I'll ask, but…I don't think I’ll be able to get you what you want."
The conversation ended, and I still sat there with my gun aimed at Claudio. I had no fucking clue what to do next. I was beyond defeated. Hollowed out and empty, ready to blow my fucking brains out just to escape the chaos, the guilt, and the lack of any information about her.
Claudio opened his mouth to say something I didn’t want to hear, but right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text.
FromIsla.
I jumped to my feet as if electrocuted. My fingers fumbled over the screen, clumsy and shaking as I unlocked the stupid device and pulled up the conversation.
It was a video. Of her.
My legs shaking and my heart ready to burst through my chest, I pressed play, mentally preparing for the worst.
But the video was bright and quiet. She was sitting in a chair in a well-lit room, and she looked…calm. Gently, as if trying to find the words, she spoke.
Hi Roman,
