Broken Bride

“On it!” Mark leaps out of bed and is gone in a flash. Angelo follows him. Apparently, this is a very big deal.

* * *

Angelo

Mark checks the tapes. They are very comprehensive, and they catch Bobby walking out the front door at around seven in the morning.

“Where was he going?”

“End of the drive,” Mark says. “Car picked him up. Had embassy plates. British Embassy. I’m going to ping his phone, hang on… yes. Got a reading. Looks like a hotel?”

“The Hilton,” I say.

Mark looks at me sideways. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Stay with Tilly. I’m going to get him back.”

Mark hesitates. “You’re sure you don’t need me?”

“I’m sure it’s still too dangerous for you to be seen in the city. And I’m sure Tilly needs someone to watch her. Stay here. Keep her safe, no matter what. Be ready, Mark. Anything could happen.”

“You don’t think Bobby has betrayed us? He’s been so good lately.”

“When have you ever known Bobby to be good, Mark?”

I leave Mark to go after Bobby. I need to get my boy back. Obviously, the English have been in touch. Digby must have gotten the brown suit man to slip Bobby his number or something. Now that they have him, there is a range of possible outcomes. They could be bribing him. They could be torturing him. They could try to hold him ransom. Or he could already be dead.

I know one thing for sure: I have never made the drive into the city so fast. I am focused, as I have not been in a long time. I can taste blood already. It will be shed today, one way or another. It is up to the English as to how much, and who it belongs to.

Cold fury propels me into the Hilton lobby, where I do not have to waste time asking for room numbers.

“This way, Mr. Vitali. We’ve been expecting you.”

The brown suit man is waiting once more, anticipating my arrival. I stride past him and charge into the elevator. My boy is up there, and I’m going to get him back.

* * *

Tilly

“It’s been a whole day,” I say. “Do you think they’re alright?”

“It’s been a couple of hours. I think they’re fine,” Mark says. “We have a whole host of security measures that would be triggered if Angelo was hurt.”

I’m not so sure. It was all so sudden, the way Bobby disappeared, and then Angelo was just gone. The house feels empty without them. Empty and way too big. Angelo’s energy is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I can literally feel him in the house. Now I can feel his absence too.

“Have they at least called? Sent a text message?”

“They won’t until it is handled.”

“It’s my uncle, isn’t it. It’s Digby.”

Mark shakes his head and tries to concentrate on the article he’s reading. I’ve looked over his shoulder. It’s something about sea turtles. I don’t know how he can think of sea turtles at a time like this.

“I don’t know, Tilly.”

“Yes, you do. Of course you do. It’s Digby.”

“It’s Digby,” Mark confirms, though he might just be humoring me.

“He’s dangerous,” I fret. “He’s so much worse than anyone understands.”

“The same could be said for Angelo,” Mark reminds me.

“I know, but Digby must have a plan…”

* * *

Angelo

Digby has a plan. He has my boy tied up in a chair next to him, and a knife in his hand. It makes for quite a striking scene as I step off the elevator.

“Mr. Vitali,” he says. “As you can see, it’s time you came back to the negotiating table, now that I have something you want…”

I know what he expects to happen. He expects me to be impressed. He expects me to freeze and offer him anything if he’ll just let my lover go. I’m sure these sorts of tactics work on the sort of men he’s used to intimidating. But I don’t negotiate.

BLAM

That’s the sound of me shooting Sir Digby Spencer in the leg. It’s followed by an immensely satisfying screech of pain and shock.

“What the bloody hell!”

“You let me walk through the door armed,” I tell him. “This is on you.”

I turn around. “Close the elevator doors and keep them closed,” I tell the brown suit man. “I have some work to do here.”

Digby has collapsed onto the floor and is holding his leg for dear life, which is a good thing because I may very well have nicked an artery with the bullet judging by the way his blood has gone absolutely everywhere. He’s going to get a very big cleaning bill for this room.

“Miles! Miles! Call the police!”

Miles, aka, the brown suit man, won’t call the police, because I paid him off the day after I met him, and I’ve had him on retainer ever since. Digby is not the only one who knows how to spot a weakness. He is, however, the only one to fall prey to a falsely advertised weakness which doesn’t exist.