Chapter 3 - THE PRICE OF HER SISTER
I had killed men for less than what Vittorio Bellucci said to my wife.
That didn't mean I could kill him now.
Not because of the treaty.
Not because of witnesses.
Because if Isabella Bellucci was hidden somewhere, her father was currently the only person in the room who could lead us to her.
So I stepped aside.
Vittorio smiled as if he'd won.
He hadn't.
He'd simply given me a reason to stop pretending this marriage was a peace agreement.
Enzo and Teresa followed him out.
Before Teresa passed Sophia, she whispered, "You always were selfish."
Sophia flinched.
I caught Teresa's wrist.
She looked shocked.
"Speak to my wife like that again," I said quietly, "and you'll spend the rest of your life remembering how much easier breakfast used to be."
I released her.
She hurried away.
The door closed.
Sophia stood perfectly still.
Then she said, "I have to go."
"No."
"He has Isabella."
"We don't know that."
"You heard him."
"I heard a man trying to control you."
"He wouldn't bluff about Isabella."
"People like your father bluff about everything."
"You don't know him!"
The shout surprised both of us.
Sophia immediately stepped backward.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"I yelled."
"Good."
She stared.
"Do it again if you need to."
Her eyes filled.
"I have to go."
"If you walk into that house, he gets both daughters back."
"He only wants me."
"Then why take Isabella?"
"Because he knows I'll come."
Exactly.
"Which means you don't."
She shook her head.
"You don't understand."
I moved toward her slowly.
"I understand leverage."
"She's seventeen."
"I know."
"She's scared."
"I know."
"She doesn't even know why any of this is happening."
"I know."
Sophia's voice broke.
"Then how can you stand there like this?"
Because somebody had to.
Because panic was useful only to the person creating it.
Because Vittorio had spent twenty years teaching Sophia that every threat required immediate obedience.
"I can stand here because your father expects us to panic."
"So?"
"So we disappoint him."
Marco returned with Elena.
My sister ignored everyone and went directly to Sophia.
Elena DeLuca was twenty-six, five-foot-three, and the only person in New York who had insulted me publicly for most of my life without disappearing.
She hugged Sophia.
Sophia froze.
Elena immediately released her.
"Sorry. I'm a hugger."
Sophia blinked.
"That's okay."
"No, it isn't. You looked uncomfortable. We'll try again in 2035."
For the second time that morning, Sophia almost smiled.
Elena turned to me.
"Marco told me."
"How much?"
"Enough to know the Belluccis are apparently trying to beat our family's record for worst wedding gift."
Marco spread blueprints and photographs across the dining table.
"I pulled every vehicle leaving Bellucci properties since yesterday afternoon."
Sophia came closer.
"How?"
"Traffic cameras, building cameras, toll systems, a few people who owe us money."
I pointed to the photos.
"Recognize anyone?"
She studied them.
Three black SUVs.
Two sedans.
One delivery van.
Then her finger stopped.
"That one."
A gray Mercedes.
"Whose?" Marco asked.
"Teresa."
"Where was it going?"
Marco checked his notes.
"Westchester."
Sophia's face changed.
"My father's country house."
"Address?"
She gave it.
Marco immediately called someone.
I watched Sophia.
"Would Isabella know the property?"
"Yes."
"Places she might hide?"
Sophia shook her head.
"She wouldn't hide. If my father told her to stay somewhere, she'd stay."
"Why?"
Sophia looked at me like the answer was obvious.
"Because she knows what happens when we don't."
Elena became very still.
I didn't ask in front of everyone.
Not yet.
Marco ended the call.
"Country house is empty."
Sophia looked crushed.
"But the Mercedes went there."
"It stopped for eleven minutes. Then continued north."
"Where?"
"Camera lost it after Route 22."
I looked at Sophia.
"What properties does your family own north of Westchester?"
"I don't know all of them."
"Think."
She closed her eyes.
"My father doesn't talk business around me."
"He talks around Enzo?"
"Yes."
"What have you overheard?"
She thought.
"A warehouse in Yonkers. A restaurant in White Plains. Something near Brewster."
"What?"
"I don't know. Hunting, maybe."
Elena frowned.
"Your father hunts?"
"No."
"So why have a hunting property?"
Sophia's eyes opened.
"I heard Enzo call it Saint Michael's."
Marco typed something.
"There is a Saint Michael's Retreat outside Patterson."
Sophia shook her head.
"Not a retreat."
I watched her memory working.
"Enzo said, 'Move the shipment through Saint Michael's.' My father told him never to say the name on the phone."
Marco looked at me.
"That's promising."
Within minutes, men were tracing property records, shell companies, permits, utility bills.
Sophia sat at the table.
Her knee bounced uncontrollably.
At 10:17, Marco's phone rang.
He listened.
"Got it."
He wrote an address.
"Former Catholic boarding school. Closed fourteen years ago. Bought by Hudson Heritage Holdings."
"Which belongs to?"
"Three shells. Final beneficial owner is a Bellucci attorney."
Sophia stood.
"I'm coming."
"No."
She glared at me.
It was the first time.
Excellent.
"She's my sister."
"And if this is a trap?"
"I don't care."
"I do."
"You don't get to decide."
The room became silent.
Sophia seemed startled by her own words.
I nodded.
"You're right."
She blinked.
"But I'm still asking you not to come."
"Why?"
"Because your father wants you."
"Then I can get Isabella out."
"Or give him exactly what he wants."
"You said I get to choose."
"You do."
She folded her arms.
"I'm coming."
I looked at Marco.
He wisely stared at the wall.
Elena almost smiled.
"Fine," I said. "You stay in the armored vehicle unless I say otherwise."
"I won't promise that."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Apparently my wife had discovered disagreement before lunch.
Progress.
The former Saint Michael's school stood behind rusted iron gates thirty miles north of the city.
Gray stone.
Boarded windows.
Dead vines covering the walls.
The place looked abandoned.
It wasn't.
Fresh tire tracks crossed the mud.
We arrived in three vehicles.
Sophia rode beside me.
She hadn't spoken for twenty minutes.
When we turned through the gates, she suddenly grabbed my sleeve.
"Stop."
The driver stopped.
"What?" I asked.
She stared at a small stone building behind the school.
A chapel.
"I've been here."
"When?"
"Years ago."
"With your father?"
She nodded.
"I was thirteen."
The blood drained from her face.
"What happened?"
She whispered, "This is where they taught me."
"Taught you what?"
Her fingers tightened around my sleeve.
"To obey."
My anger became dangerously quiet.
I wanted details.
This was not the moment.
"Stay here."
I got out.
Marco joined me.
Four men spread around the eastern wing.
Two others covered the rear.
We entered through an old kitchen.
Dust covered most surfaces.
But not the floor.
Footprints.
Fresh.
We moved down a hallway.
A sound came from upstairs.
Metal against wood.
Then a muffled scream.
I took the stairs two at a time.
A door slammed above us.
Marco shouted.
Footsteps ran.
We split.
I followed the hallway toward the sound.
A man appeared with a gun.
He raised it.
I fired first.
The shot struck his shoulder, spinning him into the wall.
I kicked his weapon away.
"Where's the girl?"
He spat at me.
Marco arrived.
"I'll ask."
The man's face changed.
Marco had that effect.
I kept moving.
Third door.
Locked.
I shot the latch.
Inside was an empty room.
Fourth.
Storage.
Fifth.
I heard breathing.
"Isabella?"
Silence.
I opened the door slowly.
A teenage girl was sitting on the floor behind an overturned desk.
Her wrists were tied.
A strip of cloth covered her mouth.
I lowered my gun.
"Isabella?"
Her eyes widened.
I raised my hands.
"I'm Matteo."
Recognition.
Fear.
I cut the restraints.
"Your sister's outside."
She tore the gag away.
"Sophia?"
"Yes."
Isabella started crying.
"Get me out."
"I will."
Then she grabbed my arm.
"Wait."
"What?"
"They're not trying to kill Sophia."
I frowned.
"What are they trying to do?"
She was shaking.
"I heard Enzo."
"Tell me."
"They need her signature."
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"He kept saying twenty-one."
"Twenty-one what?"
"Her birthday."
Sophia turned twenty-one in three months.
"Why?"
"I don't know."
A gunshot exploded downstairs.
Then another.
My earpiece crackled.
"Boss, movement outside!"
I pulled Isabella behind me.
"How many?"
"Six—maybe eight!"
The front windows shattered under gunfire.
This wasn't a hostage site.
It was bait.
I moved Isabella toward the back stairs.
Then my radio erupted with the only words that could make me forget every man shooting at us.
"Matteo!"
It was the driver.
"Matteo, the SUV!"
My chest tightened.
"What about it?"
"The bride's gone."
I stopped.
"What?"
"She got out when the shooting started. We lost sight of her."
I ran toward the window.
Below, men were exchanging fire near the courtyard.
Our armored SUV sat with its rear door open.
No Sophia.
Then I saw a gray Mercedes racing through the far gate.
My stomach dropped.
Marco appeared beside me.
"Isabella's secure."
I stared at the disappearing Mercedes.
"They took Sophia."
Isabella grabbed my sleeve.
"No."
I looked at her.
She was crying again.
"You don't understand."
"What?"
"My sister wouldn't let them take her."
I turned.
"Then why is she gone?"
Isabella looked toward the retreat's chapel.
May you like
Because unlike Sophia, she knew what Saint Michael's really was.
"She went with them."
