by Mia Madison
That day at the campground, I promised myself I wouldn’t regret our time together. It’s a vow I intend to keep. Right now, though, it’s hard because we have unfinished business.
I should have told him goodbye that day, but I wasn’t ready. So I need to see him one more time, and say the things I have to say. Then I’ll have closure, and I can let him go and move on with my life.
He’ll always be in my heart. It’ll be a long, long time before I can look at another man, if I ever do. But at least I’ll have some measure of peace.
Lando should be here any minute with a few of Carlo’s guys to pick us up. Right now, it’s just the three of us, taking a moment to relax and enjoy how far we’ve come.
“Six months ago,” Bree muses, “we were struggling to get through one day at a time. Look at us now.”
She and Jade exchange glances. They’ve both been very protective of me since I got back and Matteo disappeared again. I think they wanted him to show up for me even more than I did.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You know how happy I am for you two; you don’t have to pretend to be single for my sake.”
I’ve met Matteo’s parents, Alma and Nario. They came by Elina’s house one night, along with Matteo’s twin brother Brando and his wife, Sasha. All of them were very kind and welcoming, as though I were already part of their family.
That was difficult for me. I didn’t know how to tell them that if they’re harboring hopes for me and Matteo, they shouldn’t be. All I could do was be as polite in return as possible.
As they were leaving, Alma drew me aside. “Be patient with my son,” she said, laying a hand on my cheek. “He needs you.”
My throat thickened with unshed tears. “Alma …”
She deserved the truth, but I was too cowardly to give it to her. I let her draw me into an embrace, one so warm and maternal that I wanted to bawl like a baby. It was all too easy to imagine her becoming the mother I’ve never had.
After a long moment, she let me go, kissed my cheek, and left. I went to bed and cried, irrationally angry at Matteo for having a wonderful family. If they were awful to me, it would have made things easier.
But that doesn’t seem to be the Adamo way.
“Quinn,” Jade says now. “You know the man for you is out there somewhere.”
I give her a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, he is. I already met him.”
Bree mutters, “I’m gonna kill him.” At first, she kept trying to reassure me that Matteo wasn’t deliberately ignoring me, and surely he’d be back soon. As day after day passed with no sign of him, she got more and more angry.
“I’d just as soon you didn’t kill him,” I say softly.
She waves a hand. “I’ll bring him back after I kill him so he can go on suffering. But I get to kill him at least once.”
I can’t help smiling. “I love you, Bree.”
Before she can answer, the back door beeps to signal that someone’s entered the code on the security panel there. “Finally,” Bree says. “Not like Lando to be late.”
“I’m afraid he has been unavoidably delayed,” a voice says. A tall, dark-haired man appears in the kitchen. He’s holding a gun in his hand.
None of us has ever actually seen him before, but there’s no doubt as to his identity. How do you talk to a sociopath? “Good evening, Mr. Santiago,” I say.
His eyes come to me. “Good evening, Miss Callahan. I must say that you and your sisters have caused me a great deal of … inconvenience.”
“Well. We could say the same for you.”
Something that might almost be humor glimmers in his dark eyes. “So here we are. After so many delays, it seemed best to deal with you myself. Tell me, Miss Callahan: where is Mr. Mathiesen?”
I try, but I can’t keep the puzzlement off my face. His eyes narrow. “Don’t feign ignorance with me; I know he took you that day.”
Holy crap. Matteo never told me his undercover alter ego’s name. “I haven’t seen him since that day,” I say with total honesty. “You haven’t either?”
Santiago stares at me. “I’ve had you under surveillance, and there has indeed been no sign of him. But then his actions make no sense. What reason did he give for abducting you?”
Wow. Abducting me? There’s a good reminder of how twisted Santiago’s brain is. “He didn’t, really. He was … reticent about his thinking, whatever it might have been.”
“He often is,” Santiago murmurs to himself. Then to me, “And you haven’t heard from him since.”
“Not a word.” Again, absolute truth.
“That’s unfortunate.”
Fear wraps its clammy fingers around the back of my neck. “Why?”
“I need to deal with him. You might have served as adequate bait. But if he has no interest in you …” Santiago shrugs. “I might as well just shoot you now.”
Three weeks.
Three weeks to the day since I’ve seen Quinn.
Three weeks when I could have been courting her, fucking her, holding her while she slept.
Goddamn Santiago.
I’m in the town where I meet with Garcia, poised to ride in either direction as needed. I text him: Anything?
No movement, comes the answer.
The FBI, my fellow cops, and I have been waging a war of attrition. One by one, Santiago’s associates have been picked up on various charges, state or federal or both. Human trafficking, drug trafficking and distribution, money laundering, and more.
We’ve whittled away at his organization until there’s no one left. Interpol has gotten into the act too, rounding up criminals in various countries with close ties to Santiago.
I called Kelleher, president of the Devil’s Kin MC, and explained that Santiago was going down, and they could go down with him … or not. They made the smart choice and abandoned him.
In response to his increasing isolation, he’s stayed holed up in his compound with his family. The kids haven’t even been allowed out to go to school. He’s been sending his driver out to buy groceries.
Yesterday, he got desperate. The driver called a known hitman and tried to hire him – over the phone, no less. A phone that we’d long since tapped. When he went out on his grocery run, we picked the driver up for conspiracy to commit murder.
So now Bruno Santiago is completely alone.
While all this has been going on, I’ve been giving sworn depositions about key crimes for which my first-hand witness testimony is the primary evidence. When I’m not doing that, I’m doing drive-bys of the compound. Close enough to show up on the security cameras, but no closer, not at first. Santiago didn’t used to have any snipers on staff, but no point taking chances.
As more and more of his men have been picked up, I’ve gotten bolder. Driven right by the main gate, stopping long enough to stare at the house. Taunting him.
The itching between my shoulder blades is getting worse. I text Garcia again: Are we sure they haven’t missed something? “They” being the various cops and agents surveilling the compound.
I’ll check with them, Garcia responds. But it looks like he’s given up any plans to do anything tonight.
I don’t buy it. I know Santiago, dammit. The man’s obsessive and never gives up once he’s locked on an idea.
Leaving Santiago physically and psychologically cut off from all his usual avenues of help is not the only goal of all this. It should also prevent him, not only from carrying out his planned massacre against the Adamos, but from mounting an armed assault on law enforcement should we find it necessary to apprehend him at the compound.
Finally, I hope it’ll lure him out of his hidey hole to come after me.
So far as we can tell, Santiago’s wife has nothing to do with his various criminal activities and may not even be aware of them. I never saw any signs of her knowledge or involvement, though admittedly we didn’t interact very often. And of course, his kids didn’t ask to have him for a dad.
But given the precarious state of
the man’s mental health, we can’t be sure he wouldn’t use his family as human shields if we tried to take him there, or worse, go for a murder-suicide conclusion to the whole mess.
Back in his early days, Santiago didn’t hesitate to get his hands dirty. With no one left to do his bidding, and me constantly reminding him that I’m alive and free and metaphorically thumbing my nose at him, I’m hoping he’ll snap – and aim his aggression at me, not his family.
My phone rings. It’s Garcia. “I just got word that only three heat signatures have been detected inside the compound for at least the last hour. Based on their size, they’re confident that it’s Santiago who’s missing.”
“An hour? For fuck’s sake. Who’s watching the tunnel?” There’s a wine cellar under the main house that leads to a tunnel, which in turn exits outside the compound.
“Couple of Feebs. Either he’s still in the tunnel, or they missed him.”
“Fuck.” Santiago understands the value of a lure; he’d much rather force me into meeting on his terms than come after me directly. “I gotta go.”
Garcia’s still talking as I end the call. I dial Lando, but he doesn’t answer. “Fuck!” I try Carlo next. “Status,” I demand as soon as he answers.
“Bastard’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve. Buncha assholes rode into town about an hour ago, bikes and cars, dozens of ‘em working in pairs. We been chasing ‘em all over, keeping them away from target-rich environments.”
“Where are the Callahans? Lando’s not answering his phone.”
“Hang on.” He’s back in seconds, his voice grim. “Unaccounted for.”
“Fuck. Listen, Carlo. If you find Santiago with them, be careful. He’ll kill them just for fun. It’s me he wants.”
“Hurry,” he says, and ends the call.
I roar onto the freeway like a jet plane on steroids.
13
Fire
“He’ll come for her,” Bree says.
I stare at her. Bree, what the fuck? Santiago says, “You sound confident.”
“I know his type. Not sure what he’s been busy with, but he’s not finished with her.”
Brianna’s my twin; I know when she’s lying. She believes every word she just said.
Santiago finds her convincing too. “In that case, I don’t need you.”
I leap in front of Bree when he swings the gun her way, while she, in turn, shoves Jade behind her. “Let them go,” I say with more calm than I feel. “You’re right, you only need me.”
“But why should I let them go?”
Thinking on my feet is more Brianna’s strong suit than mine. I’m an introvert; I need to plan my words. “You know the Adamos are protecting us,” I say slowly. “I don’t know what you’re doing right now to distract them, but it’s only temporary.”
“Your point?”
“Sooner or later, you’ll answer for this. It’ll go easier on you if you showed some hint of compassion or mercy or human kindness.”
His face darkens. “You overestimate your precious Adamos.” He aims the gun right at my heart. “This calibre is strong enough to go through all three of you. It would be … amusing to kill you with a single shot.”
I’m out of ideas. Reaching back, I grab my sister’s hands, trying to tell them without words how much I love them. Santiago’s finger tightens on the trigger.
His phone rings.
For a long moment, I think he’s not going to answer it, but finally he does. “Yes?” His face changes, and I see – actually see – the madness come into his eyes. “Mr. Mathiesen. How good of you to call. I’m with a … friend of yours.”
He listens, and his hand tightens on the phone until his knuckles turn white. “Threatening me is a bad idea, Mr. Mathiesen.” A pause. “Very well.”
Ending the call, he glares at us, then slowly lowers the gun. “We wait.”
I don’t move from my place in front of my sisters.
I’m halfway to town, my gut curdling, when it strikes me to try Santiago’s phone. Sure enough, he answers the damn thing. So I tell him what I need to.
“If there’s so much as a scratch on her when I get there, I’ll make you cry like a little girl and scream like a baby before I gut you with my bare hands – and burn you alive.”
Santiago’s deathly afraid of fire. And he knows I mean every word. As I end the call, my phone pings with a text from Carlo: They’re in the bakery. We’ve got it surrounded.
I text back: He knows I’m coming. Wait for me. Seconds later, I’m back on the road.
As I power down the freeway, I remember I’ve got a ton of vacation built up from this undercover gig. Right now, I’d like nothing more than to take it all at once and spend the whole damn time in bed with Quinn.
Hang on, babe. I’m almost there.
Santiago’s twitchy.
Whatever Matteo said to him, it’s got him coming apart at the seams. He keeps glancing at us, mumbling under his breath, gesturing with the gun. I keep hearing something that sounds a lot like “Fucking cunts.”
I’m still guarding my sisters. They haven’t tried to dissuade me; we all know Santiago’s barely holding it together. If he thinks I’m essential to his plan to get Matteo, then hopefully he won’t shoot me.
We’re not holding hands anymore, but we’re pressed close together. Jade’s got her back to one of the counters. The warmth of Bree’s body is somehow comforting, even through my fear.
A noise comes from the front of the bakery and Santiago’s head swings that way. While he’s distracted, something slides under my top and into the back of my jeans. Cool metal meets my skin.
The gun.
Since all three of us know how to handle one, my sisters and I agreed to keep a gun under the counter, where only we knew about it. Jade must have slipped it out and passed it to Bree, who’s given it to me.
Unlike my twin, I was never fond of shooting, but I was a diligent student because Dad demanded it. At the moment, I’ll take any backup I can get.
Suddenly, Santiago leaps over to me and jams his gun against my head. The next instant, Matteo materializes from the shadows at the back of the kitchen.
I guess a man in Santiago’s line of work can’t last long without good survival instincts, but fuck. Couldn’t he have been half a second slower on the uptake?
Even with my life in imminent danger, my heart beats faster at the sight of Matteo. He’s cut his hair. It makes him look less like a biker and more like a cop ... which is probably the point.
His eyes come to me and they’re flat, expressionless, assessing cop eyes. But they linger on me a moment too long, and a muscle moves in his jaw before he looks away.
“Drop the gun,” Santiago demands.
“Not sure that’s a good idea,” Matteo says casually, as if he’s discussing which beer would go best with his pizza.
“I’ll blow her brains out!”
“But then I’ll blow your brains out, and all your fun will be over. Is that really what you want?” Santiago doesn’t answer. “Let the girls go. Your quarrel’s with me.”
“It’s with all of you,” he snaps.
“The girls have done nothing to you, not intentionally. I have.”
“Why?” Santiago says, and if he weren’t such a monster I could almost feel pity at the plaintive note in his voice. “Why have you betrayed me?”
I’ve never seen anyone communicate a shrug without actually moving his body before, but somehow Matteo pulls it off. “It was my job.”
Santiago’s rage is a physical force against my skin. “I’ll flay her to pieces while you watch.”
“Careful,” Matteo says, still in his languid, good-ol’-boy voice. “You scare those girls too much, and all three of them are gonna make like a bad soufflé.”
“What?” Santiago says.
“Right about now,” Matteo says, and I fall, dropping straight down but twisting to the side at the last moment to keep clear of my sisters, so I can get to the gun. Befo
re I land, the crack of multiple gunshots rends the air, deafening me.
Matteo’s body crumples to the floor.
I aim my gun as Santiago points his at me.
We fire at the same time.
14
Get A Priest In Here
Christmas Day
“More turkey, dear?” one of the nonnas asks me. I can’t remember her name; I haven’t met her before today.
“Not right now, she doesn’t,” the nurse announces as she hurries in. “I need to check her vitals.”
The Adamos have invaded the hospital.
Thanks to Tonio, who’s one of the medical center’s major benefactors, we have a whole wing to ourselves. In typical Adamo fashion, the clan has brought enough food for an army, along with trees, gifts, tinsel, and every other imaginable trapping of Christmas.
“I’m stuffed,” I tell the nonna while the nurse wraps a pressure cuff around my arm. “But thank you.”
Next to me – right next to me, because our beds are pushed together – Matteo’s monitors are beeping. Officially, I’m here for observation. In reality, they were ready to release me, but I refused to leave.
When the charge nurse told me I couldn’t stay, I told her I’d break my own leg if I had to. She didn’t take that well, but then Tonio showed up and smoothed the way.
I’ve heard about the invasions, and of course I witnessed both my sisters’. Even so, being the invadee is a bit overwhelming. There’s no such thing as a quiet moment.
My sisters and their men are both here. So is Matteo’s family. When Alma came in and saw her son for the first time in two and a half years … well, things got pretty emotional. Even Matteo had some dust in his eyes.
The nurse sticks a thermometer in my ear, then checks my pulse. “All good,” she says. “You can leave–” her eyes go to Matteo–”as soon as things are stable.”
Thank goodness he was wearing a bulletproof vest last night. My sudden drop threw Santiago off. Since Matteo had a gun and Santiago was now a clear target, he switched focus.