Page 119 of Destined for the Devil
And now I had to ask him for help. The reality broke me further.
"You still don't know anything? Any leads?" His voice was hoarse, the damage to his vocal cords a stark reminder of what I’d done to him—not enough. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and threw it at him.
He watched the video twice and then leaned back on his pillow, exhaling slowly. "Fuck. What the fuck is GP?”
“Get me the location. I want the exact coordinates, and get every singleboyevikready. We’re getting her as soon as we know where she is,” I spat out instructions, then dropped onto the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands buried in my hair.
How had I not killed him yet?
My head throbbed violently, and I ripped my eyes open to see morning light streak through the blinds. It was the same room that Sergei had been in, but I was lyinginbed, under the blanket, still in my clothes and shoes. Did I fucking pass out and sleep through the whole day and night?!
I bolted downstairs, rehearsing the accusation I was going to throw at Sergei when I caught sight of him limping around his marble-clad kitchen. The arm that Kirill stabbed was in a sling, and the bruises on his face and chest were blooming in full force. I opened my mouth to rip into him but his eyes lit up when he saw me rush in.
“Good news!” He beamed and raised his coffee cup in a toast. “We have a location. Last time the phone had been turned on was in Switzerland, right on the border with Italy. We got something!” He looked so happy, like I was supposed to be overjoyed with this information too. At the same time, it wassomething.
But then he ripped it all away. “Except, there were three other locations pinned after that. Milan, somewhere in Germany, and once in Austria. So…we don’t have the exact location. She could be in Austria. Or Germany. Or anywhere…really.”
Fuckingfuck!
I blinked at him, ready to fucking smash his entire kitchen to bits. Yesterday, or whatever day it was, I wassureI was about to end this. Now…I was back at square one. "But Rodriguez called you." I shot my eyes into his, my heart coming back online. “Said that you need to go see Vincenzo. He's waiting for you at one o'clock this afternoon.” He glanced at the clock. “Which starts in an hour, so go home and clean up."
Resentment and wild rage battled inside me just at the fucking sight of him. At the same time…I was grateful. He was obviously the one with the clear head right now, and he gave me more than I’d even hoped for.
At exactly five minutes to one, I pulled up to Vincenzo’s monstrosity of an estate. This was ripped right out of Tuscany. A luscious and meticulously maintained garden bloomed at the front; Roman columns, statues, fountains, and his collection of vintage cars all greeted me as I slammed my car door shut, hurrying up the marble steps.
Vincenzo was the head of the Italian Mafia in our part of the world. They were a well-oiled, hundred-year-old institution of vicious violence and custom tailoring. They snipped dead weight like expert gardeners; they were under control. Never sloppy…mostly.
I was guided to his office by a staff member and sat there impatiently, nauseous, and unable to concentrate on anything. I wondered what he could possibly have called me in for. I had zero—zero—business with this entire group, and I knew they couldn't have taken Isla.
Not sixty seconds later, Vincenzo stepped in. He was an older, shorter gentleman, dressed impeccably, wearing his classic white dress shirt and blue pants. His signature Brunello Cucinelli loafers made no noise on his marble floors.
Vincenzo had gray hair and looked like one of those grandpas who strolled around their vineyard with a glass of Prosecco. But there was death and blood underneath all that serenity.
I shot up to my feet, and silently, we shook hands. He motioned for me to sit down, the look on his face one of pity and empathy. "Claudio called me back and briefly caught me up. You're missing your girlfriend?" He began.
"Fiancée." I corrected him.
He nodded slowly. "Even worse. It wasn't us.” He assured me right away. “That's not why I called you, but I did look into GP—sorry, you want coffee?" He offered me a drink right in the middle of divulging important information!
“No, thank you.” I shook my head vigorously. “Please. Continue,” I said quickly, ready to reach over and yank the words out of him, but I kept it polite. Leveled. I was at the mercy of everybody.
"Right.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I don't know what the G is, but…there was asottocapoforty years ago. His last name was Pietoso. He’s the only one we know of whose last name started with a P.” Vincenzo dropped the news, and I stared at him, furiously trying to make sense of anything.
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed," Vincenzo replied simply.
I had no clue what to do with this. "Do you know anything else?" I begged for more details, hearing the desperation in my voice.
Vincenzo pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "He had a son. Younger than me. But he was never involved. Pietoso kept him out of it, and the son wanted nothing to do with the business."
"What was his name?" I leaned forward, trying to devour every single piece of information he was willing to share.
"I don't know.” Vincenzo shook his head. “He disappeared once his father died. Never came around; no one ever saw him again. No records, nothing. A ghost.”
I sat back, forgetting to breathe. This was a fucking start, at least. Of course, this could have also been nothing, because at the end of the day, I had no fucking clue if GP were initials or not.
I chewed my lip nervously, wondering what else I could possibly ask Vincenzo to get something—anything—more out of him.
