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My body stills as an intensely destructive emotion bleeds through my chest.
“What about Eden?”
The fucking phone keeps ringing, and when Quincy glances at it, I get up and stalk to the device vibrating on the tiled floor.
Seeing Tyrone’s name on the screen, I glance around the lobby for Eden while I answer, “It’s Dario.”
“Fuck. The fucking motherfuckers took her. Call the cops. They fucking grabbed her while I was on the phone with her,” he shouts, his anger and worry out of control.
Ice floods my veins, and everything becomes eerily still in me. My tone sounds emotionless as I ask, “Who?”
“The dealers who are looking for that piece-of-shit mother of hers. They came by the apartment and shot another thug before taking off again. I called Eden to tell her not to come home.”
“I’ll find her,” I assure him.
“I’m calling the cops,” he tells me.
“They won’t find her in time,” I snap, and not giving a flying shit, I say, “The Cosa Nostra will handle this.”
“The fuck you just say?” he gasps.
“My people and I will deal with this problem.”
“The mafia. You’re mafia?” he asks, his tone filled with disbelief.
“Yes. Don’t do anything, Tyrone. I’ll find Eden,” I order before I end the call and tuck her phone into my pocket.
When an ambulance stops in front of the building, I wait until they’re tending to Quincy before I leave the lobby.
Walking to my car, I send a text to the group chat.
Dario: Miguel’s men grabbed Eden. I’m going after them.
As I slide behind the steering wheel, one text after another makes my phone vibrate like crazy.
Renzo: On my way.
Franco: Wait for us.
Angelo: I’ll get my men ready.
Damiano: We’ll meet at your place and take things from there.
I ignore the speed limits as I race home and don’t even bother parking the R8 in the designated spot. Darting out of the vehicle, I rush to the elevator and slam the button repeatedly.
My patience wears thinner and thinner as I ride up to my floor, and when the doors open, I run into my apartment.
“What’s wrong?” Esmerelda calls out as I dodge Bella and take the stairs two at a time to get to my office, where my system is set up.
I switch everything on, and while the monitors flicker to life, I shrug off my jacket and drop it on the floor. Taking a seat, my fingers begin to fly over the keyboard, and information starts appearing on the monitors.
I pull up CCTV camera feeds around the ballet company, and scanning a photo of Eden into the system, I’m able to get footage from outside the Starbucks. It’s grainy and dark, but I’m able to make out as men drag Eden out of the building before shoving her into a van.
Knowing they can change the number plate of the van at any given time, I quickly put the numbers into my system and start to track the van from CCTV camera to camera.
Suddenly, Renzo and Franko rush into my office, and Renzo asks, “What do you have?”
“I’m tracking a van that’s heading toward Brooklyn,” I mutter, my fingers not stopping for a second.
