For Luca (Chicago Syndicate Book 2) (23 page)

Immediately, she starts unbuttoning my pants, and I fall back on the mattress, gazing at the ceiling while an unidentified sensation – not pleasure – settles heavily on my soul.

“Hmmm, Luca—”

I order, “Don’t talk.”

Jesus fucking Christ! Can I not just enjoy this without thinking of her?

A heavy knock on the door has me sitting up hurriedly and adjusting my boxer briefs as Skye rises. “Yeah.”

Adriano throws the door open with his phone in hand. “Sal summoned us. I thought you would want to go right away.”

After tucking in my dress shirt and adjusting my clothes, I leave without saying anything to Skye.

A bit of hope sparks my question. “Did he mention anything about Ashton? Does he have him?”

“He’s not a man of many words.” Adriano shows me his screen with only ‘come’ written in the text from Sal.

***

“Sal,” I greet as Adriano and I enter the familiar surroundings of his underground office, and he stands up to meet us midway while Santino shuts the door. How can this guy work here? The absence of windows and this horrible artificial light feel suffocating every time I come here.

“Gentlemen, I just discovered I’m surrounded by incapable and untrustworthy people. One of the club members has been aiding Banks while they were specifically instructed to inform me when Ashton contacted them.”

“Do you have him?”

“Ashton? No.” The line of Sal’s mouth flattens. “But when a member of my club purposely defies me, I typically don’t let them live. I’ve only held back for you.”

“So where’s that member? I need to talk to him before you end him.”

“You can talk to him, but then I want him back. Do not kill him.” He pins me with a determined gaze.

“My soldier can take him to our warehouse. Then after I’ve had a chat with him, you may do what you want with him there, and we will dispose of the body.” If I help Sal to this extent, he’ll be in my corner forever. This might be the start of a fruitful venture.

He perks a brow, and the corner of his mouth pulls up. “I knew I liked you for a good reason.”

We shake hands on our morbid agreement.

“My soldier can pick up the member. Where is he? Here?”

“No, he isn’t close-by. I have captives at another location, far away from here, so I’ll text you the address where your soldier can get him.”

“Good.” I nod, and we part.

***

On Tuesday afternoon, when I’m having lunch with Adriano at
Francitalia,
fate is playing a cruel joke on me. For a week and a half, I’ve cut all ties with Fallon, but that woman won’t leave my thoughts. To this day, she’s still the first person on my mind when I wake and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. She’s permanently engraved in my heart, relentlessly bleeding through my veins.

While I’m staring at the magnificent view of The Loop and enjoying the last bite of my
fettuccine alfredo,
my phone vibrates on the table with the name ‘Fallon’ flashing across the screen. 

Adriano stops mid-chew and narrows his eyes while pointing his silver knife at the device. “Do you
still
talk to her?”

Shaking my head, I deny, “Not since I found Wade at her apartment. This is the first time she’s called.”

“Don’t let her suck you back in,” he warns with the knife pointed at me now.

Curiosity is killing me, but Adriano is correct to warn me. Rubbing my fingers over my beard, I’m still tempted to press answer but let it go to voicemail instead. “It’s ironic that she calls now, while we’re here, because this is where she and I had dinner for the first time together.”

Adriano laughs at me sympathetically. “Let it go. You two were finally breaking free from each other.”

“I didn’t answer, did I?” Waving the waitress over, I request the check.

***

By Tuesday night, Damian has dropped off Sal’s member at the warehouse.

Adriano is rolling up his sleeve as I enter the first room on the right where our captive is already strung up, hanging restlessly with his wrists tied together and hooked on the bar that runs from wall to wall. Blood is dripping from his nose and his face, which is pressed between his upturned arms. He stills his useless struggling when he realizes he’s only exhausting himself. Completely out of breath, he struggles to open his eyelids, trying to follow my movement to the left side of the room.

I return his gaze as I speak to Adriano. “Did you start the party without me?”

Snorting, he removes the bronze cufflink from his other sleeve, letting it clatter on the wooden table, and pulls two white latex gloves on. “His screams were annoying, so I punched his nose on impulse. Look at my fine dress shirt splattered with blood,” he mocks while holding open his arms.

I strip my suit jacket and hang it off the back of the chair, covering Adriano’s jacket, and take my seat. Since Adriano is already filthy with blood, he’ll handle this guy.

My phone chimes in, yet again, and confusion slashes my insides when Fallon calls for the fifth time today. She called four times at lunch, and now – again – after seven hours. I decide to call her back later and shove my phone back in my pocket.

Adriano tugs at the guy’s long black hair, yanking his head back and stretching his throat. “Stay with us, Gio.”

So his name is apparently Gio. Gio opens his mouth, but at first, nothing comes out. Then he sucks in his cheeks, and Adriano releases his head just in time to leap back, right before Gio attempts to spit on him.

Adriano points his thumb at him, and both corners of his mouth tilt up. “He has guts; you have to give him that.”

Rolling my hand, I order for him to continue quickly. Unease is starting to crawl over my skin about why Fallon suddenly wants to speak to me, and I feel the need to locate Ashton as soon as possible.

The table displays a crimper and a hammer we often use to torture captives, and a few knives are thrown in the old, corroded sink, but Adriano receives my hint and reaches for his piece. I throw him the silencer, which was also lying on the table, to attach to the barrel of his weapon.

After screwing it on, he digs his fingers in Giovanni’s cheeks. “Open your eyes, asshole.”

When our captive doesn’t acknowledge him, Adriano drives the butt of his gun in his nose.

Gio screams and kicks wildly into thin air as he dangles off the hook.

“Open. Your. Eyes,” Adriano repeats while gritting his teeth.

He obeys while coughing, irritating Adriano.

“Fucker!  Now my clothes are completely ruined! Where is Ashton?”

He wheezes as red lines of blood stream down his lips and throat. “I-I don’t…know.”

“When did you last speak to him?”

“…Yesterday...”

Adriano pushes the silencer under Giovanni’s chin. “Where was he?”

“I-Is Sal coming for me?”

“Yes, if you help us, I’ll give you back to Sal.”

Does this guy not even realize that he’s a dead man in his own organization?

Sweat trickles down his forehead. “…Lake Forest.”

My chair grates across the concrete floor as I fly up and crowd him in a quick move – pushing away Adriano while I fist Giovanni’s hair roughly. “Why Lake Forest?”

Astounded, he stammers, “H-he was…following someone.”

Adriano tugs me back. “Wait, we need clear answers before you lose your shit.” And he resumes his position. “Who was he following? I’m only going to ask this once.”

“…A girl.”

“Name?” he asks.

“Uh… Michaels.”

I break out in a cold sweat and bolt out of the room to my car while fishing out my phone.

“Luca!” Adriano is on my tail, so I roll down my window as I push the key into the ignition, missing twice.

“Follow me. This takes precedence, you hear me!” I step on the gas, screeching the tires on a hard turn and leaving a cloud of dust in my trail.

Connecting the phone to my car charger, I skate red lights and swerve around the cars that don’t get out of my way fast enough toward Lake Forest, which isn’t far from here. Fallon’s probably visiting her parents, and I’m desperately trying to remember her father’s name because I don’t know her parents’ address. During our six-month relationship, I never once met them.

I contact my hacker. “Henry, I need the address of Fallon Michaels’ parents. I think her father’s name is… Noah. Yes! Noah Michaels, get me the address
immediatamente
!” Immediately!

“I’m on it.”

I finally return Fallon’s call, and she picks up instantly. She lets out a strangled sound, and I can’t discern whether she’s crying or gagging.

“Fallon, where are you?”

She’s sniffing, and incoherent words are coming out of her mouth. “…Mom...called you…often.”

“Are you at your parents’ house?” Hitting the gas harder, I speed up as full panic fills my veins. “Fallon, you have to tell me if you’re at your mom’s. I’m already on my way.”

She hick-ups. “Uh-huh.”

Not knowing what I’ll step into, I need answers from her. “Is your mom hurt? Where’s your father?”

She’s disconcertingly quiet, and Henry texts me the address, so I enter it in the GPS. A loud honk shocks me, and I yank at my steering wheel when I look up from the GPS. My Maserati is veering into the other lane, almost hitting an approaching car. The approaching bright lights blind me for a second, but I’m able to steer back into the correct lane.

“Fallon!” I shout. “Where are your parents? Are you alone in the house?”

“They’re here with me. They’re dead,” she suddenly mentions indifferently.

“Fallon? Fallon!” She doesn’t answer, so I scream her name repeatedly, but I can’t even hear her breathing into the receiver. She must have dropped the phone because it didn’t disconnect. “I’ll be there within fifteen minutes,” I yell, hoping she’ll hear me.

Clutching one hand in my disheveled hair, I have a sick feeling in my stomach.

The phone alerts me of Adriano’s incoming call. “Where are you going?”

“She’s at her parents. It’s not good; they’re dead.”

“Fuck! Is she all right?”

“I have no idea. Are you behind me?” I ask while passing another idiot who’s driving too slowly.

“Yes, a few cars behind.”

“I’m going inside the house immediately when I get there. I need you to scope out the area and make sure everything’s safe.”

***

I park behind a metallic Audi in the driveway of a typical, old-fashioned suburban house and grab my compact semi-automatic Smith & Wesson with the silencer from the glove compartment before jumping out of the vehicle.

Of course the front door is locked. I knock and wait, but no one comes to open it. I scan the area – lights are on in most of the houses, but the street is pretty much deserted. I take the risk, and thankfully, the faint thud of my bullet destroying the lock doesn’t resound loudly into the night. Pieces of the shattered lock clatter onto the porch.

I push open the door with my shoulder and softly call her name while stepping through the silent, dark hall. “Fallon?”

No reaction, so I keep moving forward and tap the suppressor against the first door to my right to push it open; it’s the empty kitchen. A creaking noise from behind has me swiveling around lightning fast with my gun directed at the front entrance, but it’s just the draft of the wind ghosting the door open. Even though it’s cold with the breeze flowing through the hall and I’m in just my dress shirt, my hands are sweating profusely.

Continuing on down the hall, I can distinguish her soft cries and race forward, following the sounds to the last room on the left. I aim my weapon inside a study and freeze for a moment when, as the moonlight illuminates the room slightly, I witness a horrific crime scene. A dead body with a massive reddish-brown circle pooling around the head is lying right next to the door. I presume it’s her father, who was shot in the head.

Sitting on the floor in front of the desk and clutching her mother’s corpse in her lap is Fallon. She strokes her mother’s hair while she makes almost imperceptible noises. Her mom’s blood is painted on Fallon’s clothes and hands and streaked across her face, leaving dark stains where it’s dried up. Stains that will become new scars. More emotional scars for Fallon. Clearly in a state of complete shock, she looks up with impenetrable eyes and shrieks when she spots me, covering her face with her arms.

Snapping out of my own astonishment, I stash my gun in my back waistband and close the distance between us. “It’s only me.” I tug on her arms, but she fights me. “Fallon, it’s Luca. We have to get out of here. Come, sweetheart,” I coax while swallowing back the brick in my throat.

Slowly, she lets her guard down, but her hand moves immediately to her mother’s head in her lap. Her mom has been shot in the chest and has already turned white and purple. “Mom, wake up,” she whispers as tears pour down her blood-streaked face.