Married to the mafia boss Series

MICHAEL

I’m ready to give up Tony Costa.

The number matched the one I’d called weeks before. The text was from Crash, who’d sent a proof of life photo. We’d pored over the grainy picture of Anthony, who still wore his jogging pants and T-shirt. His beard was overgrown. Chains wrapped his arms and legs. His clothes were dirty, but they weren’t splattered with blood. His vacant expression troubled me. I’d seen it before in Vinn, after he’d returned from his service in the military. It was as though he’d given up.

Additional messages said to prepare for a call at eleven this morning, which brought us to Vinn’s monochrome penthouse. We stood in his living room, streaked with black, grays, and white. Light streamed in from the wall-to-wall windows facing downtown.

Was Anthony somewhere in that maze spread below?

“I don’t like this.”

Vinn’s colossal frame straightened over the concrete table. His eyes flicked from my phone’s silent screen. “You’ve mentioned.”

“A guy who sends notes attached to dead hookers won’t hand over Anthony.”

“We’re fresh out of options.”

“I don’t think we should humor him.”

“I won’t ignore Anthony’s kidnapper.” Vinn swigged the energy drink and crammed a handful of almonds into his mouth. “You’re just worried he’ll ask for your wife.”

“He will, which makes this a waste of time. We could be searching for him. I have your prince,” I huffed, repeating the words on the note. “This is a game to him.”

Vinn waved me off. His wrinkled shirt hung like a battered flag over his pants. He paced his monochromatic apartment, rubbing his unshaven cheek. He was fucking exhausted-we all were. Since Crash took Anthony, we’d been working around the clock to find him.

Several days ago, a shell-shocked Alessio returned from a trip to New York to visit Nico in prison. Uncle Nico was furious. The news about his son’s disappearance went over so poorly that he’d attacked Alessio. Guards had to pull him off. He blamed us for Anthony’s kidnapping. Nobody was off the hook. If his son died, we were all fucked.

I needed Anthony to be all right. I’d made promises to Carmela, promises whispered in the dark as I lay there, spent and wrapped in her arms.

I love you.

I will never leave you.

What good was my sentiment if I died?

“It’s eleven.” Vinn stood. His broad frame cast a winged shadow on the cold floor. “Maybe I should do the talking.”

“He texted me.”

“You can’t fly off the handle with this guy. If he hurts Anthony-”

“He already has. Did you look at the photo?” I shook my head as Vinn shrugged. “Sadism is Crash’s thing, and Anthony’s an easy target.”

Vinn grabbed my shoulder and pinched hard. “Don’t lose your temper. No matter what he says about Carmela. Do not give him a reason to hurt Anthony.”

I pushed him off. “Fine.”

The phone rang.

I breathed deep and accepted the call.RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

Crash’s loathsome face popped into the screen. He sat in a booth of what appeared to be a diner. A glass of water sat in front of him.

A smug grin curled his lip. “Costa, thanks for joining.”

“Where’s Anthony?”

He sipped his drink. “I’ll get to him in a minute. I want to chat first.”

“Are we getting to the point sometime this century?

Vinn gestured violently, mouthing, Stay calm.

“You’re not who I thought you were. I assumed you were my total opposite. Boring. Safe. Spineless. Then I did some digging. About you. You and Beauty. Nobody could tell me when you started dating. And I mean nobody. They all gave me the same story. Those I persuaded to talk, anyway. They claimed you forced Carmela into marriage.”

The judgment ringing in his tone was precious. “If I owe an apology to anyone, it’s her. Not the piece of shit looking at me.”

“I’m the asshole? You dragged her down the aisle. Put a gun to her father’s head.” Another soft laugh shook through the speaker. “You think you’re better than me? Look in the fucking mirror, you filthy dago.”

“Where is Anthony?”

“Oh, fuck him. He’s such a whiny bitch. I don’t understand why you care about that limp dick.”

“Because he’s Nico’s only son, and he’s never been involved in the family business-”

“You Italians and your legacies. What good is that if it’s attached to a man like him? Whatever. I’ll keep him alive if you do one thing.”

“I’m not giving you Carmela.”

“Beauty is mine.”

“Her name is Mrs. Costa,” I hissed into the phone. “And I’m not handing over my wife, you sick fuck.”

He rolled his eyes, grinning. “I don’t need your permission. This is already a done deal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I have your wife.”

“Fuck you.” A horrible thrill shot into my heart. Then my phone vibrated with a notification flashing with Carmela. “She’s calling me right now, Dipshit.”

“That’s your daughter.”

“Don’t talk about my kids.”

“When you pick them up, I want you to ask for the present I gave them.” He winked, and then he smiled at something off-screen. “Say hello, baby.”

The camera panned, revealing a woman’s arm and the anchor-patterned white dress she’d worn this morning, and my wife’s terrified face. Carmela sat in the booth, pinned to Crash’s side.

No, this couldn’t be real.

“I stole her back. How’s it feel, Costa?”

A wounded howl tore from my throat as he caressed her shoulder and played with her bra. It felt like being stabbed. The agony twisted my insides with fire. Carmela ripped away from him, her mouth twisting. Her pain doubled my anguish.

“Take a good look. You’ll never see her again.”

“Let her go!”

“Never.”

“Carmela, where are you?”

“I can’t tell you. Sorry.” My wife shrieked from the speaker, “Get the kids! They’re at Salmon Creek Park!”

No.

“Where are you?”

“She’s with me,” Crash boomed, shifting the view to him. “And that’s where she’s staying. If I catch one whiff of a Costa, I will crush Anthony’s skull. Capiche?”

“You better sleep with both eyes open! Because I won’t rest until I bring her home.”

“She is home.”

The call ended, but my phone still vibrated.

A wild hope seized me as Carmela flashed across the screen. I squashed the cell against my ear, but the voice that answered wasn’t Carmela’s husky sigh.

It was my daughter’s.

“Daddy, she left us!”