Chapter 41

I’m exhausted when I get to the oasis around nine at night on a Tuesday. It’s one thing to run a crime family, but I’m also a working tax lawyer on top of that shit, and occasionally my legitimate clients cause me actual headaches. I’ll get some very nice billable hours, but I have enough going on without the extra bullshit.

As I reach the house, my usual parking spot is taken up by a dark truck. That’s unusual, but I roll past it toward an open space further down in the shadow of a huge tree. I get myself situated, kill the engine, push open the door, and start to head toward home, already thinking about a glass of wine and Elena in my lap.

When hands grab me.

I react on instinct. I elbow someone in the throat, turn and slam my briefcase into another guy’s face. There’s a grunt, some gagging, and I see four more attackers coming at me. I backpedal, get ready for a fight⁠—

When something very hard hits me in the back of the head.

I go down to one knee, growling in rage. But then I’m getting pummeled, punched and kicked from all sides, until a black bag gets yanked over my head and my hands are zip-tied behind my back, and I’m plunged into darkness.

“What the fuck is going on?” I grunt as I’m dragged away. I keep waiting for them to toss me into a car, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m taken up a porch and into a house. I test my bonds, but they’re solid, and nobody’s speaking. Whoever took me must be a professional.

I try to calm myself, but my head’s dizzy and I’m hurting from a dozen different bruises. Still, I pay attention as they take me into a basement. Twenty steps, bare concrete floor. I get shoved into a chair and someone wraps more rope around me until I’m totally bound and unable to move, the hood still over my head, my breath making the interior warm and damp. It smells like clean cotton.

Then I’m alone. Or at least I think I’m alone. I can’t hear anybody, only the pounding of my own heart as I try to steady myself.

I’m in one of the oasis houses. They couldn’t have taken me far—which means they likely yanked me into the closest structure. I’m pretty sure that one was supposedly a guest place, which means it’s empty, and whoever did this is probably associated with the Bianco Famiglia, since they’re the only ones that would know who lives where.

Meaning I was just kidnapped by my own in-laws.

But that can’t be right. I’m on good terms with everyone. We had fucking dinner last night. Simon seemed totally normal, and if this was the Biancos, the order must’ve come directly from him. There’s no way they’d kidnap the head of a crime family and the husband of Elena without fucking running it past the damn Don.

I don’t know what the hell is going on, but they make me stew.

I have no clue for how long. It could be two minutes or it could be an hour. Time doesn’t mean much when there’s a black bag over my head. I try to count breaths, try to steady my heartrate, but I have a throbbing fucking headache and I’m pretty sure one of my ribs is cracked. My wrists and ankles ache, and I’m about to flip this chair sideways in a very stupid attempt at escape, when a door opens and there are footsteps nearby.

My hood gets ripped off. I blink against sudden, blinding light. I grunt looking around, until people come into view.

“Sorry for the dramatics,” Simon says. He’s standing next to a folding table. Davide’s leaning against a bare concrete wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his face unreadable. There are four other men I don’t know by name, but I’ve seen them around: members of Davide’s personal bodyguard. The best of the best.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask my brother-in-law.

Simon runs a hand through his head. “I’m hoping we’re about to figure that out.” He looks down at the folding table. There’s an assortment of very nasty instruments laid out like a surgeon’s tools. Wire, hammers, knives, pliers, clamps, and a car battery with copper leads snaking out toward the floor. The display is meant to intimidate and terrify, but they’re obviously not props, based on how everything looks well-used.

I’m trying to understand why they’d do this. And I keep coming back to one thing. “You know about Santoro, don’t you?”

Simon seems surprised. “I thought I was going to have to beat that out of you. So you admit to meeting with him?”

I close my eyes and nod. “It’s not what you think.”

“One of our people saw you in a public coffee shop with Luciano Santoro. You allegedly looked very comfortable together and you were deep in discussion about something. You realize how bad that looks, don’t you?”

I look over at Davide. He still seems completely neutral. But that isn’t a comfort. When the big man moves, I suspect I’m in for some serious pain.

“Clear the room,” I say.

Simon laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me? You need to start talking right now, Quinn.”

“Get Elena and clear the room. She’ll make you understand.”

Simon’s grin fades as he looks back at his brother. Davide seems thoughtful and nods at one of the soldiers.

“Emilio, go find Elena,” he says. “And bring the others with you.”

One of the guys grunts in return and the four guards exit together, their footsteps stomping on the stairs. That’s good, if they really bring Elena in here, she’ll make them understand.

“Why the fuck would my sister know about you meeting with Santoro? What did you drag her into, Quinn?” Simon’s pacing now. He reminds me a lot of his sister when he does that, and I wonder if it’s a family trait. Except Davide’s standing like a statue, so maybe not.

“Because I told her about it a few days back. She’ll confirm my story.”

“How about you tell me that story now before I lose my fucking patience. The only reason you’re not sliced and beaten is out of respect for my sister.”

I don’t bother pointing out that I was beaten, since I kind of deserved it. “She already told you that I was planning something. Well, I’ve been keeping it to myself, because the fewer people that know, the safer I am.” And then I proceed to spill it all, starting at the beginning. Simon listens, occasionally glancing over at Davide, who remains utterly still. When I’m done, Simon’s scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“This whole thing is some double-agent bullshit? You’re tricking Santoro into exposing himself?”

“I’m taking a massive risk here, but if it works, it’ll solve a whole lot of problems. Think about it, Simon. With Santoro arrested, you’ll be able to pick apart the rest of his organization in weeks, and then the war will be over. He might be able to run his family from behind bars, but you can always hire someone to shank the prick in the showers. This will effectively strip him of his power for good.”

There’s a bang on the door upstairs and Elena comes running down the steps. When she spots me, she gasps and her hands fly to her mouth. She runs over and kneels down by my side and starts untying the ropes.

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses at her brother.

“He saw me with Santoro,” I say gently. When my wrists are free, I put a hand on her arm and squeeze it. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.”

Simon looks pained as he processes, and it’s Davide who comes forward. “Can you confirm his story?” he asks.

“He told me everything a few days ago. It’s true, he’s been meeting with Santoro, but he’s doing it to take him down.”

I finally feel relieved when Davide nods and comes over to help finish freeing me from the chair. He helps me to my feet and pats my back. “No hard feelings,” he grunts.

Elena answers for me. “Definitely hard feelings. You guys can’t kidnap my freaking husband.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her and hope that Davide understands. “If I were in your position, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“But this is a new problem,” Simon says from his spot near the torture devices. “You’re running an extremely tricky op on Santoro, and you’re doing it without any help. You’re basically begging to fuck this up.”

“He’s not wrong,” Davide says.

“Santoro is too smart,” I tell them, rubbing the back of my head. There’s an ugly fucking lump. “If he caught even a whiff of anything off, he would’ve killed me and backed out in a heartbeat. If any of you had known, you would’ve sent guys to follow us, or insisted on wiring me, or even just put some stupid fucking ideas in my head. You would’ve ruined it for me, and I’d have a hole in my chest right now. I don’t regret not telling you. Although I wish you hadn’t concussed me.”

“We’re going to have a talk later,” Elena hisses at her brother.

Simon ignores her. “I need more details of this plan. I want times, places, everything you have. Brody, I knew something was up, but fucking this—” He takes a deep breath. “You’re asking for a lot of trust.”

“It’s too late now,” Davide says and shakes his head as he heads to the stairs. “The damage is done. Now we might as well let it play out.” And with that proclamation, he exits the basement.

There’s a drain on the ground beneath the chair I was sitting in, and I wonder how close I just came to these guys cutting off pieces of my body.

“We’ll sit down and talk,” Elena says and jabs a finger at her brother. “But you’re coming to our place.”

“Fine,” he says, sounding tired. “I guess I just made family time fucking awkward.”

I grin and slap him on the back as we walk past. “No worries, Don Bianco, so long as you don’t put a black bag over my head ever again.”

“No promises,” he mutters as he follows us back to our house.