Mateo Caputo (Unseen Underground 2)

I pushed everything to the back of my mind, keeping my wits about me until we got to the mansion. As soon as I pulled into the gates, I drove to the front door, and switched the engine off.

We both exited the car and entered the mansion at the same time, but neither of us said anything as we split at the bottom of the stairs. If I would have been my normal self, I would have asked Aida if she was okay, but my mind was already full to the max.

I clicked the code into the keypad and let myself into the command center. Romeo, Rafael, and Mario were sitting around the table, papers scattered on the entire surface.

“Anything?” I asked them.

Romeo stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”

I jammed my hands into my pockets, pacing the room. “This isn’t right. Who the hell doesn’t know a damn thing about a local dealer?” I let my head drop, looking up at the ceiling, and halting in the middle of the room.

“Unless his name isn’t actually Stan?” Mario said.

My shoulders stiffened. “Holy shit.” I turned, looking at each of them in turn. “His name isn’t Stan.”

I sprinted toward the table, spreading documents out and seeing if any names looked unfamiliar. Whoever it was had to be a new guy. We knew everyone in our territories, but not this guy. Which meant he’d turned up out of the blue. And if he was using a fake name, it meant he was hiding something. Something he was determined to keep on lock down.

“There.” I jabbed the paper, reading the name. Tanner. “That’s the only name a few people have mentioned that we don’t know about.”

Romeo pulled the paper toward him, frowning down at it. “My contact told me about him.” He pulled his cell out. “I’ll call him. Find out more information.”

He turned, walking toward the other side of the command center, and I blew out a breath, relief washing through me. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

CHAPTER 17

LUNA

My head thumped like someone had been playing basketball with it. My mouth was drier than the Sahara, so I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but it didn’t make a difference. I tried to open my eyes, but it felt like they were glued tightly shut.

I didn’t have a couple of seconds where I wondered what happened. No. I knew exactly what—or should I have said, who, happened.

I rolled my neck, taking stock of my body. My arms and legs were stretched out, and when I finally pried my eyes open, I realized I was tied to a bed. The mattress was missing, the slats of the bed digging into my back and making me wince.

It was quiet, the silence almost deafening, but it gave me time to wake up fully. I needed to put a plan in motion. I needed to figure out what they wanted from me. I tried to grasp at my thoughts, but every time one would start to formulate, it would disappear again, not staying long enough for me to do anything with it.

I needed time. But as a door creaked open, I realized I’d run out of it.

“Hey there, princess.” I refused to look at Stan. Refused to acknowledge him. “Playing the silent game, huh?” His footsteps neared and the bed shook as the sound of his boot kicking metal rang out. “I like games.” He sounded happy—too happy for my liking. He was probably high.

“Fuck off,” I ground out, my throat burning at my words.

“That’s not nice,” he said, his tone flipping on its head. He almost sounded sad now. The frame dipped as he sat next to me, and with lightning quick speed, his fingers grasped my cheeks and snapped my head around to face him. He squeezed, causing my lips to purse from his bruising grip. His eyes were clear, telling me he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t high after all. “Did your mother never teach you any manners?”

“She was too busy getting high,” I spat back, feeling my hackles rise. It was her fault I was here, and I had no doubt my dad was hanging around somewhere too. He was probably in the background, letting her run the show yet again.

“Respect,” Stan murmured. “You clearly have none.” My nostrils flared, my arms pulling at the binds on my wrists, but they didn’t give. “It’s lucky you’re of use.” He dug his fingers in harder, making my teeth ache. “I know who you are.” I frowned, not understanding what he was saying. “Luna Caputo.” My breath stilled. “Wife of a captain in the Beretta Mafia.” My eyes widened. “Ahhh, she gets it now.” He leaned down, his face centimeters from mine. “You got us what we wanted last time, now we’re gonna use you to get what we want…them.”

“No,” I croaked out, trying harder to fight against the rope holding me down. I needed to get out. They could do whatever they wanted to me, but I wouldn’t let them touch Mateo.

“But first…” He let my face go with a push. “We’re gonna have some fun.” He stood, gripping my hair and pulling me up. My shoulders screamed in pain, my body threatening to break with the position he was holding me in. “This face of yours…it’s too pretty.” He winked, his grin flashing me his disgusting teeth, and a second later, his fist connected with my nose. The crunch of bone and sinew echoed off the walls, the pain blinding as blood spurted out of my nostrils. “That’s better,” he sighed out.

He pulled my hair, my scalp burning, then dropped me like I was nothing. Like I was worthless. And maybe I was, but he’d brought me here because he needed me. I clung to that last thought, determined to figure out what it was and use it against him.

I tugged my arms, testing the bindings for what felt like the thousandth time, my instinct to cover my face kicking in, but there was nothing I could do but lie there with blood trickling down my cheeks, into my ears, and over my hair. Gravity was pulling it down toward the floor.

Stan’s footsteps banged against the floor, the door squeaked open, and he announced, “Your turn.”

A sound clicked in the room, but I didn’t get chance to figure it out or get my bearings as someone ran into the room, heading right for me. The flash of hair and snarl on her face told me who it was, and then her fists were pummeling against my face, making my nose bleed harder. She caught my eye with the ring on her finger—the one I’d given to her when I was eleven. She’d been clean that Mother’s Day, one of only three I could remember where she wasn’t high.