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26
GABRIEL
Idon’t bother going after Igor. Wherever he’s headed, whatever plans he has, they don’t matter. Nothing matters except getting back to my family.
I bolt back towards the hotel, texting my driver and calling the pilot, letting him know I need the jet fueled and ready to go back as soon as possible. The next call is to Bella, but there’s no answer. No answer from her, or from Agnes, either. I keep trying, over and over again, until the sound of the ringing sets my teeth on edge, all the way to the jet hangar.
No one picks up.
I’m out of the car before it’s even fully come to a stop on the tarmac. My bags were left back at the hotel—my clothes and personal items are the last thing I’m worried about. I break into a run as soon as my feet hit the ground, bolting for the jet as I wave to the pilot to get on board.
“I need to get home. Now.”
He nods, disappearing into the cockpit as I drop into the first seat. I call Bella and Agnes both again, but there’s no answer. No answer, over and over, until the jet is in the air, and I drop my phone into my lap, closing my eyes as I lean my head back against the seat.
I haven’t felt this helpless in years. Not since I watched my first wife die, with nothing I could do to help her. Now I’m on a plane, so far removed from what’s happening that I could come back to find them all dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it right now. My hands clench into fists as I sit there, nails digging into my palms, as I will the plane to go faster, for time to slow until I can get to my family.
I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have trusted that the mafia was capable of protecting someone who they never really cared about in the first place. Bella has always been disposable to them.
I was meant to protect her. And now?—
The riot of thoughts doesn’t quiet. I sit there, muscles coiled tight, getting up and pacing, sitting back down, until the plane touches down at the hangar near the estate. I’m down the steps the minute the door opens.
The car waiting for me isn’t one of mine—it’s a taxi. No one has answered my calls, and the icy ball of panic that’s formed because of that has settled heavily in my gut, leaving me terrified of what I’ll find when I get home.
“Stop here,” I tell the driver when he’s halfway up the long drive, not wanting to risk putting him in any line of fire. I toss a handful of bills at him, jumping out of the car and breaking into a dead run up the uneven path, sweat breaking out along my spine as I run.
I see the front door hanging open before I’ve reached the front yard. But I don’t hear gunshots.
I race up the front drive, just in time to see one of my men step out, gun at his side, clothes spattered with blood. He looks up and sees me, starting to raise his weapon in the split second before he recognizes me, and then he lowers it again.
“Holy fucking shit, Gabriel.” The man, who I now recognize as Edgar, looks at me tiredly. “I tried to call you?—”
“I just got off the plane.” I stare at him. “What the fuck happened?”
“We’ve got a house full of dead Bratva, is what happened. You missed the fighting by five—ten minutes? We’re about to send men out to look for your family.”
“They’re not—” Relief washes over me, followed quickly by the fear that something has happened, and they just haven’t realized it yet.
“The kids were out with Aldo this morning.” Gio walks out, equally blood-spattered, his hair stiff with gore. His hands are bloodied gloves. “Agnes ran as soon as the Bratva broke in. I told her to get out there and warn Aldo and the kids, that we’d cover her and make sure no one followed.”
“And Bella?”
Gio’s jaw tenses. “I don’t know. We haven’t seen her. She’s not upstairs?—”
“Shit.” I push past him, running into the house. The carnage is shocking—there are bodies everywhere, furniture and walls filled with bullet holes, splintered wood, and broken glass crunching underfoot.
My first thought is that if Bella sees this, she’ll be heartbroken. So many weeks of work?—
All that matters is that she’s alive. This can be rebuilt.
I break into a run, skirting around the bodies, the crunch of glass filling my ears and the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood filling my nose. Two of the Land Rovers are missing out back, and my stomach clenches, hoping that means that Bella took one of them.
The lurching tire tracks that lead away tell me that she almost certainly did.
I jump into the older one, starting it up and slamming it into gear as I follow the curving tracks, the dirt dug up where Bella must have fought to keep control of the car. And then?—
My heart drops into my stomach when I see the accident.
