Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Brichese, Italy

◆ MILES ◆

"Where you at?"

"Somewhere you never been. What's up?"

"You workin' a job?" I put on my headset and switched off speaker mode. Although I didn't pay for the guy's salary, I knew Niccolo would do me a solid if I asked, and despite our not so idyllic past.

I stared at my phone, hatching the last part of my plan. I just had to make sure Mykaela stayed safe all the time. New York was a big city also full of money-hungry, power-obsessed scums as far as I knew.

"Depends," Niccolo replied in a singsong tone. Some rock song was playing in the background.  "Why?"

"How much would be the damage if someone were to keep track of digital signatures and comms?"

"Depends on the scope."

"It's urgent. Subject's in New York."

"Huh," was all Niccolo said after a few seconds of silence.  "You wanna spy on your girlfriend now?"

Spy on my girlfriend? I wanted to roll my eyes but soon enough realized he wouldn't see it so I didn't bother. Of course Niccolo would figure out my plan sooner than I could provide specifics.  "How much?"

"Hmm...  I smell trust issues.  Is it just me, or what?"

"Just answer the damned question, Nicco."

"Lo farò gratis, se vuoi." Niccolo chuckled.

For free? And he wanted to do it himself?  I pulled a face, utterly suspicious. "Sei serio?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'm bored."

"But...I mean consistent tracking. Every day. I'll pay you." Actually I didn't have much compared to my father who regularly paid for the wages of thousands of people under his employ. But I had enough to pay for a friend's first layer of security.

"Yeah. Daily. Otherwise, why even bother?" Niccolo scoffed. "GPS? Child's play. Want me to tap her phones? Scrub her emails?"

Instead of answering, I sighed to myself and mulled over the circumstances.  Shit.  That would be an explicit invasion of someone's privacy, but, I had to make sure. I just had to. "Scan and forward suspicious messages and emails to me first," I specified.

"Roger."

"When can you start?"

"I said I'm bored, didn't I?"

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Florence, Italy

Just one of the family's old, abandoned, manufacturing warehouses.

Sure. It was another one of their factories and storage facilities no longer used by the hotels. Nothing more.  It smelled of mold, musty, soiled wood, and only a few of my father's security detail guarded the exit and entry points.

Pappa Stefano had brought us here on a whim, which I just found odd. My  father was always "the planner" in the family.

Why did he bring me along this time? Were they going to rebuild and revive this place? For what exact purpose? I had yet to find out.

Sure. This brief sightseeing could be as harmless as how my father described, but I knew better. Especially since Ricchar told me Pappa had always had second thoughts about letting us run the family business in the future.

Although Pappa was barely around, I knew well he monitored all of my activities every single day.  I just knew. Most probably, he also took note of my troubles coping with my new corporate duties and how I was adjusting to my new routine. He might've heard of me abusing substances again. Hence him making time to "hang out" with me today.

He could've picked a much better venue, though...one that wasn't dilapidated, for starters. This place just gave me unwanted thoughts and suspicions.

"Be present during meetings. Speak up when you're told to. Your Pappa needs you to get enough training and exposure," was Ricchar's advice for me the first week I dipped my toe into the cutthroat world of the corporate elite.

So today, being another work day, I sat in an old storage room just waiting for a new set of instructions from the big boss.  I glanced at the lamps on the stained paved walls.  They gave ample lighting in this stale room. At least the power lines still worked.

Almost an hour.  I'd been waiting that long for Pappa to finish scanning every inch of the place.  All I could do, really.  Wait.  Be patient.

With a sigh, I checked my phone again, which disappointed me as expected. No good cell service in this remote area outside the city limits. No messages waiting for me, either.

But then a strange, faint sound reached my ears.  Almost instantly, I felt my shoulders stiffen at the noise.

Was that...a woman moaning?

The strange noise echoed within the old, dusty building walls. I got up from the wooden chair, grabbed my coat, and hastily stepped out of the first-floor storage area. Shoot.  I should've inspected the upper levels of this derelict warehouse. Just in case.

One of the bodyguards rushed to my side before I could use the rusty metal stairs. "Signorino, ci ha detto di restare qui."

I turned to the guy and held back a scowl. I actually missed Alessio, who was currently on leave.  At least Alessio gave a crap about my privacy from time to time. "Ho sentito strani rumori."

"Signor—"

"Stay here. All of you." A quick and stern hand gesture accompanied my instructions. I took the stairs. I ignored the creaking noises my shoes made on the rust-covered steps.  At the moment, slightly louder noises of a woman grunting poked my curiosity.

Reaching the topmost level only took me a minute or so. I took furtive steps and looked around. No guards. No watchdogs. No sign of  Pappa, either.

Where was he?

I strode along the empty hallway. My stealthy hunt for answers led me to a door to another storage room on the third floor where the odd noises seemed to be coming from. No bright lights up here, though. Just thin streaks of sunlight passing through holes on the demolished roof.

Then I heard his voice. From inside the room, Pappa was talking to someone in English. I didn't waste another second and pushed the metal door open.

What I saw next immediately froze me on the grimy floor.

"Bambino." Stefano straightened once I stepped foot in the room. He was wiping off stains of some startlingly red liquid all over his hand.

Blood?  What the fuck?

Helplessly bound on a table in the middle of the room lay a dark-haired woman restrained by thick tape. Thick duct tape. A folded cloth was wrapped over her eyes and mouth, silencing her enough. She lay still on her back, her neck and wrists bruised enough for me to notice at first glance.

"Che diavolo ci fai qui?"

"What the fuck!" I rushed forward to check if the woman was still alive. Her chest and limbs were still moving—thank God.

"Ti ho solo chiesto di darmi ascolto e di avere pazienza?"

"The heck is wrong with you, Pappa?" I heard her sobs and breathing get louder as I leaned over the poor woman in pain. The girl's wrinkled dress reached her grazed knees. She moaned weakly now, as if she was losing consciousness.

"Girati e vattene via da qui."

Did Mamma have any idea what my crazy father was doing out here?

Of course not. Of course my suspicions weren't just suspicions...my father obviously was having illicit affairs again, lying to his clueless wife about his "business appointments".  As usual.

But what was I doing here? Why did he bring me here if he didn't want to get caught? Or did he?

"Why are you so surprised?" Stefano furrowed his thick brows and wiped the blood stains off his knuckle. A long silence followed.  "You've been having too much fun yourself with the girls you meet. I'm not even sure I still know you that well." He laughed a little.  "Why does this one offend you?"

"Is she even conscious?" I watched the woman's limp figure on the table. Thick sheets of duct tape bound her slim wrists and ankles. Not older than 30, definitely.  I stepped closer and put my fingers on her neck to check her pulse.  "You kidnapped her?"

"She works in one of Leandro's nightclubs. Just looking to pick up a customer."

Not even a tinge of remorse in his voice.  My father's poker face was on display now, as if to intimidate me.  I backed off but continued to glare at him, clenching my teeth and hands until my jaw and fist hurt.

Something about watching my father take advantage of the poor girl's helpless state wrung my chest into painful knots. I even felt partially responsible, for some inexplicable reason.

"Were you going to kill her?" I muttered amid my fairly steady breaths. I had to keep my cool. Or else.

"Kill her? Why would I?" Stefano tended to the woman on the table and wiped the blood dripping off her wrist. The rest of her looked as flawless as her partly covered face.  "I need her. We need girls like her."

I approached the table again with caution, then glanced over the girl's bound limbs and upper body, in case she had other fatal wounds.

"Like them, I mostly choose these ones. Inexperienced but easier to handle."

Like them? Easier to handle?  "Do you hear yourself right now?"  I wanted to punch him now. Repeatedly punch some sense into his head until he realized the gravity of his actions. But I might just get shot dead for it.

"Business is business, bambino."

"She's just a girl, Pappa."  I scowled. I didn't need to ask to be sure the girl was not even the least bit willing to be here—my father's narcissistic, murderous nature assured me enough.

"Most of them, yes. I can afford to make that choice. Besides, why would I stick with old products if I can choose newer? Better?" Stefano shrugged. "Our clients demand premium service. You know that."

Product? Premium service?  He made this choice because he could "afford" it?  So his faithful wife of almost three decades was nothing but old product to him now?

The son of a bitch. "You, are just incorrigible."

"You might think you know how everything works, but hypocrisy doesn't suit you, bambino." In the dimness, Stefano turned on his heel to throw something in my direction.

I blinked at the same time my breath halted in my throat again. I'd caught something with my bare hands. The shiny lens of a small camera?  The lens shone on my stretched out palm. Wait. Was he recording the whole thing?  "What's this?"

Stefano put on his trench coat and stared at me from behind the table. His close-lipped grin brought a terrifying shiver down my spine. "For a good friend." He then threw a black duffel bag to my feet. The loud thud caught my undivided attention.

I didn't need to inspect the contents. The bag's zipper stretched wide open, revealing a jumbled collection of guns, ammunition, and possibly dirty money from whatever "friend" he was talking about. I should have known better.  "Who are you even talking about?"

"Ignazio, Luciano's brother. Major stockholder of the group. I'll introduce you one of these days."

I dropped my gaze to the dingy floor and took a step back.

Brother of Luciano Tomassini? Lorenzio and Leandro's father? Head of the Tomassini empire? Apparently, another wealthy pedophile who had too much money and influence...with all the right connections to satisfy his illegal and perverse pastimes.

Huh. I'd always had a feeling the Tomassinis had major skeletons in their closet.

"Ask Lorenzio what type he prefers. I'll handpick the packages myself."  Stefano patted my shoulder and chuckled. His pupils looked dilated and his voice sounded eerily relaxed. "Might just keep him too busy to think of Mykaela."

I froze on the dusty cemented ground, too stunned to react. I stared at the girl again.  How the heck could he keep up a normal conversation like this?  While fucking high and after assaulting someone this badly?  Was he real?

"Go home." Stefano sighed at my defiant glare and glanced at the trussed girl on the table. "I'll call Niccolo instead."

One of the guards entered the room to retrieve the poor girl in restraints. Another guard grabbed the duffel bag full of automatic weapons and taped hundred-dollar bills.

But I could do nothing but stand by the door.  Niccolo? As in Niccolo Vinciguerra?

"He'll know what to do."  Stefano exited the room and left me standing by the door.

No way.  No way he meant Niccolo, my ex.  Did he hire Niccolo to...   Niccolo killed people for him now?  The fuck?

The next frantic minutes passed by in a blur.

Left alone to absorb the shock, I paced around the room, my phone stuck in my hand, my heart beating faster than I  could control.

Shit.  I really needed to get away from this crazy, criminal family. Not anytime soon, but, eventually.

To keep sane.

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