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I look between the three of them, feeling a little less miserable knowing how much they care about Alexander. But this is something I have to do myself, even my cousins know they're not coming with me.

“Thanks, but like I told Martha, you guys have to stay here in case he comes back.”

Doctor Hill joins us and we all make our way out of the hospital. My cousins and Alexander's friends leave in the limo, while Dad and his siblings head toward their respective cars. Davide leads me to the SUV, where Doctor Hill climbs into the back seat beside me.

“Take me to the warehouse,” I tell Davide as he gets behind the wheel. Then I turn to the doctor, who's already pulling out his iPad. “I'm sorry, I just have something to attend to, and then we'll be on our way.”

He gives me a nod and returns his attention to the screen. The drive is relatively quick since it's past rush hour, and when we arrive at the warehouse, I get out of the SUV and make my way inside with Davide. Before we went to Long Island, I made it clear to my men that the bastard who tortured Alexander was to be taken alive. I wanted him to experience every bit of pain he inflicted on Alexander before I finally put him out of his misery.

Davide leads me down the hallway and stops in front of a heavy metal door. He unlocks it and pushes it open, stepping aside to let me enter.

I have to admit, I like what I see.

He is tied to a cross-shaped wooden frame in the middle of the room, his arms stretched out and his feet barely touching the floor. His face is badly bruised, and there are several cuts across his chest and stomach. Dried blood stains his skin, and judging by the state of him, my men haven't exactly been generous with the painkillers.

This is clearly Carmine's work. My cousin has always been exceptionally good with knives, and it looks like he's been putting that talent to good use.

The man raises his head weakly when he hears us enter, and the moment he recognizes me, his eyes widen in terror. I approach him slowly, watching his gaze move between me and Davide. His lips part, and he tries to say something, but I have absolutely no interest in hearing whatever pathetic excuse or plea he's managed to come up with.

I hold out my good hand, and Davide places my Beretta in it. The man's eyes widen even further when he sees the gun, and he begins shaking his head, mumbling something I don't bother trying to understand.

I raise the Beretta and pull the trigger.

The first shot hits him in the chest, and his body jerks against the restraints. I fire again, then again, the deafening sound of gunfire filling the room as I empty the magazine into him. By the time I lower my gun, his head is hanging forward, and his body has gone completely limp. I hand the Beretta back to Davide and turn toward the door, feeling remarkably better than I did when I walked in.

Now, I can concentrate on finding my man.

Chapter

Thirty-One

ANTONIO

We follow a sweeping route down the East Coast, starting from Pennsylvania. The search is exhausting and time-consuming, with us moving from one town to another, checking hotels, motels, and even the small rural communities along the way.

I show Alexander's picture to anyone willing to listen, asking if they've seen him or someone who looks like him. Davide does the same, making inquiries at gas stations, restaurants, and anywhere else Alexander might have stopped.

Every time someone takes a closer look at his picture, I find myself hoping they'll recognize him, only to be disappointed when they shake their head and hand my phone back.

I know it's a fucking long shot, and there's every possibility that Alexander is nowhere near any of the places we're searching, but returning to New York without him isn't an option.

I can't bring myself to go back to our house and sleep in our bed, knowing he isn't there. I miss the sound of his voice, his ridiculous jokes, the way he always has something to say, and the way he demands accountability from me. I'd give anything to have him beside me right now, even if it means listening to him complain about how overbearing I am.

Doctor Hill changes the dressing on my neck and replaces the sling on my arm while we're on the jet, shortly before we land in Virginia. He isn't pleased with how much I've been moving around, but he knows by now that telling me to rest is a waste of his breath.

Virginia turns out to be another dead end, and we move on to North Carolina, then Georgia, and eventually Florida. We follow every lead we can find, but none of them brings us any closer to Alexander. With each passing day, I grow more frustrated, especially when I think about how easily he could have disappeared into any of these places without anyone noticing.

I keep checking my phone, hoping he'll call or send a message, but there's nothing. Not even a fucking text to let me know he's okay. By the time we touch down in Huntsville, Alabama, it's already late. My neck and shoulder are aching, and even Davide looks exhausted from the constant traveling.

We decide to check into a hotel for the night and continue the search in the morning. I don't want to stop, but I know I won't accomplish much by dragging everyone around an unfamiliar city in the middle of the night. Besides, Doctor Hill has been threatening to sedate me if I don't get some rest, and I have a feeling he might actually do it.

Davide is walking a few steps ahead of us as we enter the reception area of the Trilogy Hotel when he suddenly veers to the right and takes off at a run. I exchange a confused look with Doctor Hill, and for one hopeful moment, I think he's spotted Alexander. My heart starts racing, and I'm about to follow him when he returns, dragging someone by the arm.

But it's not Alexander.

It's Vincent.

The motherfucker who betrayed me and helped the Falcos kidnap my man.