Page 25 of Wrong Pawn. Right Capo.

My phone buzzes twice. Picking it out of my pocket, my brows knit as I scan the content of the text. It’s from Francesco, my source, and the man who’s been my eyes and ears for the past four years.

FRANCESCO: Capo, Newark’s been approved.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. The warehouse we’ve been aiming to purchase as our depot and meeting place has finally been sold to us. It’s good news, but seeing as my father’s contingency fund, which we used to secure the place, is depleting, we have to move on to the next stage fast.

ME: Good.

FRANCESCO: Men and ammo are set for Friday. We await your orders, Capo.

I nod, fingers already typing more instructions when the attendant returns.

“I’m sorry, sir, b-but there are no spare towels at all. I promise it won’t be much longer. Our supplier should be here any moment. I am so sorry for the wait.”

I grunt in response, but she’s already scurrying away.

I’m momentarily distracted when my phone vibrates. It’s Elena. I watch it ring for a while because I’m annoyed, then I pick up.

“What?” I snap as I snatch up the phone, my finger swiping the screen.

“Adrian…” Her voice falters, like she’s holding something back? Is she…crying? “I-I ne…need you. Please…” Then the call ends.

Something snaps white and hot inside me. I sprint out of the pool house.

What the hell could have happened between the time I left her doing laps at the pool and now? I’ve barely been gone for ten minutes.

It’s been a week since she received that death threat from an anonymous number, and security has been tighter. If anything were to happen to Elena… shit. Besides the fact that Enzo would have my head on a stake, I can’t bear the thought of delivering her so easily into the hands of whoever wants her dead.

Her throat is mine alone to slit. I log into my tracker app immediately to confirm she’s still where I left her—at the pool. And she’s still there.

Breaking into a full sprint, I pick up my pace through the hallways, my pulse racing even faster than my legs.

I push past some workers and hurry toward the pool when the strong stench of chlorine almost stops me dead. Fuck. She’s allergic to chlorine!

My breath seizes momentarily when I finally see her. Her arms are thrashing wildly around her, her mouth gasping for air whenever her face breaks the surface.

Dragging my jacket off, I dive straight in, grabbing her by the midsection and pulling her out onto the pavement. My hands press down on her chest in hard, steady pumps.

“Elena!” I call out, watching her eyes for any form of reaction, but there’s none. “Come on… come on!”

Without hesitation, I press my lips to hers in an attempt to do CPR and, as I blow air into her lungs, she stirs awake, coughing out a large amount of water.

She groans as I scoop up her weak body, grab her phone beside the pool, and run to the exit. How the hell did this happen? Whoever doused the pool must have been watching her… watching us.

Shit, they knew I was going to leave for a few minutes, and they took advantage of it.

I take a glance at her pale face beside me. She’s soaked to the bone, her blonde hair plastered to her face, her eye makeup streaked down her cheeks in black lines.

There’s no scratch or sign of struggle anywhere, which tells me she didn’t interact with whoever the bastard is. Son of a bitch!

A vile thought rises up my throat. I let this happen; I did this to her. The thought of having one Rossi down should give me immense pleasure, but it shouldn’t be her. Not yet. I’d find whoever did this and make the bastard pay.

I carry her straight to the SUV and slam my foot down on the accelerator as I dial Lorenzo.

“Boss, Elena’s in trouble. Call the doctor.”

The call ends, and seconds later, Enzo calls.

“Che cazzo sta succedendo a Elena (What the fuck’s going on with Elena)!?”