Theirs to Protect (Mafia Menage Trilogy 3)

There was only one reason why Marco would’ve restrained himself from violently defending Ashlyn: her life had been in danger.

A block of ice dropped in my stomach. My family was missing, and I had no idea where to even begin searching for them. I didn’t find any blood in the room. And the hotel staff seemed calm, so there hadn’t been a scene.

But they must’ve left the hotel somehow. Someone must have seen them.

I bolted out of the room and raced downstairs to the lobby, not caring that I must look half-mad with fear and desperation.

“Russo!” I was halfway across the lobby when someone called my name. I spun toward them, anticipating an attack.

Ciro Amato stood by the hotel entrance, three men flanking him. I didn’t take the time to question why he was in Sorrento; I rushed him, not caring that I was unarmed and outnumbered. His guards converged, blocking my path to their boss. I dodged the first man, slipping under his outstretched arm to sink a punch into the second man’s solar plexus. The third man caught me, his fist colliding with my jaw. Pain knocked me to one side, and the uninjured man at my back grabbed me from behind, restraining my arms before I could get in another hit.

Ciro Amato’s thick brows drew angry slashes over his dark eyes. The third guard—the one who’d punched me—wore an identical expression.

No, not quite identical. The guard was younger, his face lacking the craggy lines of age carved into Ciro’s tanned skin. But the eyes were the same, the nose, the cheekbones. It was more difficult to tell if the set of their jaws was similar, because Ciro’s was covered by a thick black beard.

I blinked. Ciro didn’t have a beard. At least, not as of two days ago, when I’d seen footage of him on the security camera at the wine bar where he’d harassed Ashlyn. I shook my head slightly, struggling to clear it. The punch hadn’t been that bad; it was rage and fear that clouded my mind.

“You’re not Ciro.” I offered it as an explanation for my actions without an apology. I didn’t know who these men were, and at least two of them were very clearly related to Ciro by blood.

The bearded man scowled at me. “No, I’m not. I’m Elio, his brother. I came here to meet with your…friend, Marco De Luca. He didn’t show, so I came to your hotel to look for him. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

A security guard approached, clearly coming over to break up a fight. I made a quick calculation and said to Elio, “I was mistaken. I’m sorry. Marco is missing, and I wasn’t in my right mind.”

He nodded at his guard, and the burly man released me. I straightened my shirt, struggling to look and act like a reasonable human being when every cell in my body was screaming at me to find Ashlyn and Marco.

Elio said he’d arranged a meeting with Marco. I didn’t know what the fuck that was about, but it was more information to go on than I had five minutes ago. I was completely isolated here, with no allies or resources to look for my family. Elio Amato seemed like a good ally right about now.

The security guard noted that our scuffle was resolved, and he strolled back where he’d come from. I turned my full attention to Elio.

“I didn’t know Marco had plans to meet with you,” I explained quickly. “He and Ashlyn didn’t show up for our lunch date, and when I came back to the hotel, I found their phones in the suite and nothing else.”

“Someone took them?” The younger version of Elio was scowling again, but I didn’t think his ire was directed at me. His brown eyes scanned the lobby, as though searching for the people responsible for taking my family from me.

“Yes.” I didn’t need any more proof to know that they hadn’t simply gone sightseeing. They wouldn’t have left their phones. They wouldn’t have stood me up for lunch.

“Max, why don’t you talk to the hotel staff and see if they know anything while I catch up with Mr. Russo.” It wasn’t a question. Elio was obviously in charge, even though he wasn’t barking orders.

Max nodded and motioned for the two other men to accompany him to the lobby desk, giving Elio and me some privacy.

“Max is my son,” he explained. “He’s the reason I agreed to meet with your Marco.”

Oh. Ciro had been exiled to America because he’d threatened Max. He’d been released from prison after five years, only to find that Elio’s son, his nephew, had come out and was living with a man. And Elio had stood behind Max’s decision. If Ciro had been in charge, Max would be dead; a weakness culled.