Page 101 of The Hidden Heir

“It’s none of your fucking concern,” the driver replies.

He’s the scrawniest. The others referred to him as the boss. I’m guessing they’re his crew. They’re guns for hire, freelancers with no particular affiliation, much like Lanny and the people who shot up Gamberetti’s gala and attacked Luca’s transport truck.

What’s happening here is the conclusion to someone’s master plan.

And I’m smack in the middle of it.

31

LUCA

It’s been twenty hours since Valentina and Michael were taken, since I failed to keep my wife and nephew safe, since one of those fuckers got lucky and close enough to daze me, costing me fucking everything, since my most trusted advisor was rushed to the hospital, clinging to life by a slender thread.

“Mr. Petrucci,” Solomon’s voice cuts through the heavy silence.

I’m in the back seat of an armored SUV, phone in my hand, waiting for updates from our security team. They’re scouring the city, leaving no stone unturned, as they search for Valentina and Michael. I know this is Mancuso’s doing, but I can’t prove it yet.

“Yes,” I reply.

“We’re here,” he says.

Solomon left a separate team to keep an eye on the Mayfair house as soon as he found out what happened at the motel. Now, we’re outside a private venue near River North—a regular meeting spot for the Camorra. The council is about to begin, and I have neither the attitude nor the focus to deal with what’s left of the organization.

“I should be out there, looking for her,” I mutter, checking the phone again.

There hasn’t been an actionable update yet. No one on the council knows about the events that took place or Valentina’s whereabouts. Some of the members are scared, others have no idea. A few were honorable enough to send their own men out with mine to widen the grid and deepen the search.

“You’re needed here, too,” Solomon reminds me. “The last thing you want is for the sharks to catch the scent of your blood in the water. It’s what they’re all waiting for.”

“I know. It doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Sir, I don’t like it either. But with Mr. Ellison still in the ICU, they need to see you, to hear from you. We have a better shot at keeping Mrs. Petrucci and the boy safe if you keep your hold over the organization.”

“That’s going to be difficult, given how few of them were left after the Gamberetti debacle,” I say and shake my head in dismay.

“Difficult, but not impossible.”

I have to admit I appreciate Solomon’s grit. I’m fucking losing it here. I’m a walking powder keg, unable to eat or think clearly until I have Valentina back in my arms, with Michael standing next to us, but Solomon is doing a decent job of keeping me focused on the bigger picture.

“Any word on Mancuso yet?” I ask.

Solomon nods. “He’s upstairs, waiting with the rest of them.”

“What about Mayfair?” I ask Solomon.

“I’m expecting an update soon. Once I get it, I’ll ping it straight to your phone.” Solomon pauses and turns to look at me. “They took her and Michael alive, Mr. Petrucci. It means they need them both to stay that way. That should give you a bit of comfort, right?”

“I’ll keep my phone close throughout the entire meeting, Solomon. Stay outside at all times. And keep an eye on everything. I want to know every single detail, anything that stands out. The fact that it happened last night wasn’t a coincidence. There’s a bigger plan at play here.”

“I’ll be here. And as soon as we get any updates on Mrs. Petrucci or Mayfair, you’ll be the first to know. But in the meantime, we need you up there, focused and in charge. It’s where you belong.”

I give him a slight nod and get out of the car, looking both ways before I go into the building—a steel, concrete, and mirrored-glass behemoth with twenty stories and heavily armed security. As soon as I walk through the doors, I’m greeted by two large gentlemen. One of them wands me before I’m escorted to the elevator.

Every thought in my mind reverts back to Valentina and Michael. The poor little boy must be so scared, and we didn’t hear a goddamn thing until it was too late. They moved like thieves in the night. Victor was no longer conscious by the time I got to him.

They waited in the darkness for the opportune moment.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator mirror while the security guard presses the button for the fifth floor, where the meeting always takes place. It’s in the Vandenberg Wing in a private conference room with no cameras and where they regularly sweep for bugs. Personally, I don’t like the fact that I’m about to walk into this meeting without my weapon despite no guns being a central rule for every gathering.