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Asher was more than frustrated, too. Because Nick and Eve had forbidden him from going to Italy to check out the rumors.
He’d fought them on it.
Hard.
His words had nearly leveled me, though. “They’re there—Giselle and Dani are fucking there. I know it. I feel it!” he’d shouted at his sister, and his brother-in-law.
Out of anyone I’d ever met, Asher had the best instincts. Bar none.
That little fucker knew shit before he should. I’d witnessed it many times.
So, if he said Giselle and Dani were here—then they must be.
I just prayed that they were still alive.
So, I did what any desperate, depressed mafia king did.
I had my plane fueled and ready—and told Asher to pack his bags.
I wasn’t sure if Nick and Eve would ever speak to me again. But that was the risk I was going to take.
In the eyes of the law, Asher was an adult. He was old enough to make his own decisions.
And I needed him to follow his gut on this one.
Because I had to get my woman and my daughter back.
We walked by a loud street performer, playing the guitar. I dumped a bill or two into his case on the ground.
We were in the middle of an open market. Craftspeople from all over gathered here every day to sell their wares. All kinds of things, from jewelry to cannoli, were set up on tables for shoppers to buy.
This was where Giselle might have been spotted months ago.
Once Stefan heard that she’d been seen at an open market—the bastard had grinned.
For the first time in months.
Then he’d nodded, and said, “Yeah, I could definitely see Giselle at a market. She loved the one I took her to.”
Even though I wanted to punch him in the face for reminding me of that day—one that had ended with him telling Giselle he wanted to have a baby with her—I still thought there was a chance he was right.
This information was the most plausible shit we’d been handed in the last nine months.
“I’m hungry. You’re buying me lunch,” Asher announced as we approached a booth that sold fresh pasta and sauce.
It looked real fuckin’ good, too. As did the stunningly pretty young woman behind the table.
“Here, asshole.” I handed him enough for lunch and supper. “I’m going to keep walking around. Make sure your phone’s on.”
Like a good boy, he pulled it out and showed me it was on, and fully charged.
After that, I left him to his philandering. And his lunch.
A half-hour later, I was ready to call it quits.
For the day.
But I’d planned on spending at least a month or two surveilling this market at different times of the day.
