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We drive on, the house coming into view behind an artificial hill, landscaped for maximum privacy. The sea is right there, an escape route we’ve considered but the mole told us that it’s too risky.
The driver parks in the circular driveway and I pop the car door open with a final nod at Burley. He’ll be right behind me. Randazzo won’t deny me all my men. We’re the fucking Mafia, after all.
I button my jacket as I wait for Burley to circle the car, taking in the place. It’s a classic Italian villa, glaringly white in the warm summer splendor, with a shocking pink bougainvillea in full bloom stretching over a pagoda, reminding me of Tasha’s ripped dress.
Tasha. When the fuck did she happen?
Another armored guard appears at the front door and nods at us to follow. We don’t speak as we enter the lion’s den, but then, Burley and I don’t need to talk to communicate. As we walk through the house, my gaze flits over the interior, making connections to what I studied last night. I’ve clipped two weapon caches to my memory by the time we’ve walked the sprawling mansion to the back veranda.
A grey-haired man is sitting at a table, a closed laptop in front of him, staring at the expanse of the garden. He is wearing a black polo shirt and chinos, as if he just got back from a round of golf. That diamond in his lobe and the ear notch confirms my target. He doesn’t even look in my direction, not until I’m right in his peripheral.
When our gazes meet, I’m flooded by this feeling that I know this man from somewhere, from some previous life. Those eyes, the dark brown of my own, so Italian, but the shape… it’s like looking into my own eyes.
Can’t be.
“Matteo Scalera,” he says, studying me keenly. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“I did make an appointment.” So yes, it follows that he’s been expecting me.
Randazzo chuckles. “Sit, mio figlio. To think Don Scalera took so long to send you to me.”
“Don Randazzo,” I say, following his lead and not shaking hands, but rather sitting down next to him. Burley has my back, and in the corner of my eye I see the mole, there where he guards Randazzo from the shadows.
“I’d stand to embrace you, but my leg—” He waves in general. “An old bullet wound is playing up more and more nowadays.”
Good. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And I’m not a fucking hugger. I had an arsenal of small talk prepped to lure this man into a false sense of security, but now there’s only one thing I want to know. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
He laughs, and the sound makes me want to crush his throat with my fist. “She claims she isn’t your wife. Fresh-faced and feisty by the looks of it. Something to tame. It’s always been my preference. It runs in the Randazzo blood.”
I shift in my seat, plugging my rage. “I’ll do the taming. And for that I need to see her and take her home.”
He shrugs, bobbing his head as if he is hemming and hawing. “I wasn’t under the impression that you were coming to see me because I have your wife.”
“And I won’t tell you my business until I’m sure she’s safe.” We’re negotiating. Soon there’s going to be a middle school staring contest, which I’ll blast the fuck out of him once I have a gun.
He nods. “Fair enough.” He pulls his laptop closer and opens the screen. “Let’s see how your pretty little wife is doing. A wife who jumps off cliffs to get away from her husband. I’d love to hear what you did to her to make her do something so drastic.”
I close my eyes, forcing myself not to tense up and show my hand. The man is a fucking psycho, but I knew that.
“Here she is.” Randazzo turns the screen to me, and my eyes home in on Tasha. Gagged. Hands tied above her head. Legs tied to something straight out of a gynecologist’s toolkit, spread with a head leaning in between her thighs. The head looks up and a tattoo gun comes into view.
That perfect sweet little pussy, marked.
Behind me, I feel every muscle in Burley’s body tense to snapping point.
I splay my fingers together as I rest my elbows on the tabletop. I press my forefingers to my lips, forcing myself to breathe. “You’ve gagged her,” I say, softly, calmly.
“She was screaming, ruining my peace and quiet.”
Which means she’s here, in the compound.
“And then you tied her up.”
Randazzo shrugs. “For the tattoo artist’s sake. The girls aren’t always willing, and I like things done… neatly.”
“I see. So do I.”
He beams. The decrepit fucker actually beams. “Another sign?—”
