I say, digging my fingers into James’ hair and yanking his face up. “Tell me where your orders are coming from.”
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text. I consider ignoring it again, but remember that I haven’t gotten word from David that Alexis has returned safely yet. I nod to Mirko Bernadino, one of my capos, who takes over the interrogation as I step to the side. Mirko has been conducting some of the meetings with Patrick Walsh’s men, though the alliance has sat uncomfortably with him from the start. I hope that giving him an outlet to dish out violence on a legitimate enemy will ease some of his frustrations.
I pull my phone out as Mirko continues the questioning. The missed call was from Alexis, and so is the accompanying text.
Help. At Clara’s place.
Fuck.
“I have to go,” I tell Mirko, already storming up the stairs with my phone to my ear. “Finish dealing with him and ship him off to Patrick.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alexis’ phone rings and rings, but she doesn’t answer. My throat tightens and I call David next, who picks up right away.
“Something is going on inside the apartment,” I tell him. “Get in there now. I’m sending backup.”
“Yes—”
I hang up, cutting him off, and call Dom Rozzi, another of my capos. He answers immediately and I order him to send whichever of his men are closest to the area over to Clara’s house. Then I try Alexis again. Still no answer.
I pull my gun from my shoulder holster as I storm across the foyer and out the front door, checking that it is loaded. At the front door, I tell one of the guards there to double the security on Harry’s room, just in case.
My thoughts spin in a wicked tornado as I get into the Porsche I normally reserve for leisure and rev the engine, peeling out of the parking spot and down the driveway, sending up a cloud of dust in my wake.
Clara wouldn’t attack her best friend, would she? And if she did, based on what I’ve heard I doubt she would provide much of a challenge for Alexis. According to my men, she’s small and weak, her addiction eating away at her.
So it’s not Clara. Then what? Who?
I curse myself for not assigning more security to Alexis. I should know better than to think she can go anywhere without attracting trouble.
I wonder if this has anything to do with the Irish rebels. If it does, I am going to kill that man in the basement myself, Patrick Walsh and our alliance be damned. He has not dealt with this as expediently as he should have, and I will need to see results from him soon or he’ll be the next person I acquaint with my cellar.
I stomp on the gas, flying through the city at lightning speed, which earns me several angry honks from other cars. I don’t care. I need to get to Alexis, make sure she’s okay. What if I lose her again? This time permanently?
I can’t bear the thought.
I screech to a stop behind the town car parked outside Clara’s apartment. The sidewalk is a swarm of activity. Dom’s men have already converged on the building, and it appears the commotion has attracted a crowd of onlookers. Dom’s men have acted quickly. I just hope it is quick enough.
Glancing at the front entrance, I see two men kicking through the door and my heart sinks. They aren’t inside yet. Alexis could still be in danger.
I get out of the car and pull the nearest man over to me to report. “What happened?” I bark. “And where’s Alexis?”
My eyes scan the crowd, but I can’t see her anywhere.
“We haven’t made it inside yet,” the soldier explains. “Someone jumped. Or fell. We don’t know. Everything is utter chaos and we—”
Bile rises in my throat. “Who?” I demand, cutting him off. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I shake him and ask again. “Who jumped?”
Please, not Alexis. Please, not Alexis.
A thousand scenarios flash through my mind, each one with the same grisly end. Alexis being pushed through the window by a faceless stranger. Or by Clara. Alexis jumping as a last resort to escape whatever pursued her in that apartment. Alexis’ cold dead eyes, staring up at the sky as a pool of blood halos her head.
I can’t breathe. My fingers tighten on the soldier’s arm and he lets out a squeak of pain.
“Some guy,” the soldier says, blinking in fear. “Dom thinks