“When did you move to the U.S.? Is all your family here?” Suddenly, I have an abundance of questions for Raze as I realize I know very little about this man who has vowed to keep me safe, even if it means risking his life. That fact still freaks me out a bit, so I choose not to dwell on it.
For a second, a glimpse of sadness eclipses his expression, but he hastily pushes it aside with a forced smile. “I’ve been here a little over fifteen years, since I was seventeen. My parents are in L.A., but my brother is in Houston, running the family business with one of our cousins out of the port there.”
“My mom and brother are dead.” I don’t know why I blurt that out, but for some reason, I feel infinitely better when I do.
“Yes, I know.” Stretching his arm across the small dinette table we’re using for the first time, he rests his hand on top of mine and lightly rubs his thumb back and forth. “You feel guilty. Think they’re gone because of you.”
I know he’s read up on me. Shit, he probably knows more about me than I do. And I like how he doesn’t ask me if I feel guilty, but acknowledges it for what it is. A fact that can’t ever be changed. Only someone who feels the same way could understand.
“Vincent didn’t try to hide his handiwork from me.” I grimace, trying my best not to think about the gory scene found at my mother’s house the day after I shot Ish.
He purposely chews slowly, giving me time to settle my thoughts. “That alone doesn’t make you want to kill him? ‘Cause I know if you hadn’t taken care of Ish when you did, I was going to have my way with him pretty soon thereafter. You did the bastard a fucking favor. Gave him a painless death.”
“Does that make you resent me? That I took that away from you?”
With his hand still on mine, he turns it over and brings my palm to his mouth, kissing it softly. “Not at all, kotyonok. I’m glad he’s dead, but now I want the man truly responsible to pay. I don’t care if it’s you or if it’s me who does it; either way, he owes us both more than his life can ever pay for.”
The strangest feeling washes over me as Raze and I sit together after eating dinner, discussing which of us is going to murder someone, his mouth pressed against my hand. It isn’t sexual, though I can’t deny there’s something innately attractive about his rough and tough exterior. But it’s something. Some kind of connection I’ve never experienced before with another person. I know it sounds crazy, but I almost feel like he’s my guardian angel.
I knew from the moment I was released into the Witness Protection Program that eventually someone would figure out who I was, and my fake world would come tumbling down around me. I wasn’t wrong, but somehow, despite the insanity in all of this, I ended up with Raze, a gentle giant who probably hates the people I hate just as much as I do. Our common enemy brought us together, but now something else is making us . . . friends?
Unfortunately, I don’t have long to contemplate that scary word, because the high-pitched shrill of Raze’s cell phone shatters the silence. He jumps up and answers it, disappearing into the bedroom to hold the conversation. Since we’re both finished eating, I take the time to wash our plates and clean the crumbs off the table.
A few minutes pass before he reappears in the kitchen, and immediately, based on the concern in his gaze, I know something is wrong. “What? What is it?”
Releasing a loud sigh, he scrubs his hands up and down over his face before dropping them to his hips. “Madden. He went to Chicago to find Vincent and ended up getting roughed up by some of his boys before the FBI intervened. The shit’s hit the fan. Vincent’s left the country, hiding out somewhere in Italy, because the feds have shut down all of his businesses, looking for you, and your boyfriend’s unconscious, laid up in a hospital.”
“Oh, my God.”
“WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE IT to the professionals’ didn’t you understand?” Marshal Doherty roars so loud I’m sure everyone in the hall can hear him. “You nearly got yourself killed! Not to mention, you completely screwed up the sting operation the FBI was planning on Capo’s, when they had to jump early and go save your ass. Come on, Decker! You’re an intelligent man. What were you thinking?”
As I lean back in the uncomfortable hospital bed, I watch him pace across the linoleum floor, wishing he’d finish the lecture and leave so I can go about checking myself out of this hellhole. I agreed to stay forty-eight hours for observation, as they were concerned about the results of my MRI, and now the doctors are trying to make me stay another night, because the brain swelling isn’t subsiding as fast as they’d like. Ain’t fucking happening.
It’s been six days since Blake was taken, and these “professionals” aren’t any closer to finding her now than they were then. A concussion, broken nose, and shattered ribs aren’t going to keep me from searching for her. I won’t stop until I find her or take my last breath.
“You told me you were doing everything in your power to find her. It’s been almost a week, and you still have no fucking idea where she is,” I snap, my tone clear I don’t appreciate being reprimanded like a child. “Did you even know she’s not in Chicago? Those goons mentioned ‘when they bring her back home,’ indicating we’re all looking in the wrong place!”
The other man in the room, who’s been uninvolved in the conversation up until now, stands up from the chair in the corner and pads over to the bed. He’s a short, round man with dark hair and darker eyes, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-down business shirt. “Mr. Decker, I know you think you’re helping us out, but—”
“First off,” I cut him off, holding my hand in the air, “I have no fucking idea who you are or what us you’re referring to, but my intentions aren’t to help anyone. The woman I love has been abducted, most likely by some very dangerous people, and my only priority is getting her back, safe and sound. Secondly, I understand that Marshal Doherty shares a similar goal, and I can only assume you do too, since you’ve spent the better part of the morning sitting in my hospital room. So if sharing information with each other leads to bringing her home quicker, then I’m all about playing for the team. But you’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m gonna sit around and do nothing while I wait to hear from one of you assholes.”
Clenching his jaw, he glares at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be an intimidating look. “I apologize for not properly introducing myself,” he replies in the most insincere tone imaginable. “I’m Agent Craig Diomassi, FBI. I’m the man who saved you Tuesday from getting yourself killed. And it was also my six-month undercover investigation you managed to unravel the minute you stepped foot into that shop. One of those three goons was one of my men, and we were so close to getting the last piece of evidence we needed to formally indict Vincent Ricci . . . but now he’s fled the country, gone into hiding somewhere in Italy, and the whole operation has been exposed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it a thank you or an apology you’re wanting from me?” I sneer, heavy on the sarcasm. “Either way, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you’ve been running surveillance for the last six months and have had a man on the inside, then you should’ve known the fucking Dagos don’t have her here.”
“We did know that!” he bellows angrily.
Shifting my attention over to Doherty, I raise my eyebrows. “If you knew she wasn’t in Chicago, then why are you here and not out there looking for her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it your job to make sure your witnesses in the Witness Protection Program stay fucking protected?!”