enter my office, but I will struggle to get any work done while Alexis and Harry are unaccounted for. I try to tell myself it’s only Harry I’m worried about—Alexis can hang for all I care—but I think about when she was kidnapped by Andrew Walsh, and the terrified look in her eyes and my stomach flips.
“I’ve prepared a file on each of the detectives working on your case,” Silvano continues. “I emailed them over to you. I’ve suggested which weaknesses I think we could exploit, and compiled a detailed list of the family members and loved ones.”
From his place on the wall, my father’s portrait glares down at me as I cross the room. Fabrizio Bellucci wouldn’t hesitate to threaten a cop’s family in order to undermine an investigation. He would use whatever manipulations he thought were necessary, plus a few more for good measure, and he would sleep as soundly as a monk.
I glare back at my father and take a seat behind my desk. The thought of what I might need to do in the coming months leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but the other choice is going to prison, watching my empire crumble, leaving my son and heir vulnerable in my absence. I can’t do that. I won’t.
“I’ll look over it,” I say. “Call me the second you have an update on Alexis and Harry’s location. I expect to hear from you within the next thirty minutes.”
I end the call and rest my elbows on the desk, cradling my face in my hands. Flashes of red paint the backs of my eyelids. I can’t stop thinking about the gory scene in the bookshop, the utter brutality of this new enemy. What will they do if they get their hands on my son?
Or on Alexis?
I can’t let my mind go there. I will get them back into custody, and once I do, I will tighten their security. Perhaps I should bring Harry back to the mansion, where I can monitor his safety more closely.
No, I can’t. It’s that same conundrum again—both of them or neither of them. I can’t separate them. I can’t do that to Alexis. She would worry too much, and probably call a dozen times a day. She’d be insufferable.
6
Alexis
I call again, but Clara’s phone doesn’t even ring anymore. It just goes straight to voice mail.
Where is she?
I know deep down that something has happened to her, but I am trying not to acknowledge that thought. If I do, my heart will crack in two. For now, I’m telling myself she just got drunk again, had a little slip down the rabbit hole. Maybe she trashed her apartment and has turned off her phone to cool down for a while. But where would she go?
After the park, I take Harry to the rehab center to check if Clara is there. Joey is smoking out front and says he hasn’t seen her since she made chili for them a few days ago. He offers to help me look for her, but the kid is already caught up in hard drugs—the last thing he needs is for me to introduce him to the world of organized crime.
Clara’s mom’s house is a short walk away from the center, so I decide to try there next. If nothing else, Patricia always likes it when I visit with Harry. And maybe she’ll be able to calm me down a little, as I’m approaching something like hysterics.
My mind whirs. My only slight consolation is that if the Cartel or the Irish took her, she will still be alive. They wouldn’t kill her just yet. No, they will use her suffering to torture me first. Or to lure me to them. My stomach turns, and I cling to the desperate hope that I will find Clara at her mother’s house, drying out after a particularly nasty bender.
Or maybe Gabriel took her. Maybe he knew that his enemies were planning some sort of attack on her, and he took her for her own safety. That would be fine, too, because I know at least that he will take good care of her.
But then why won’t he answer his goddamn phone? He must know how worried I am.
I hug Harry against my hip as I walk down the street. He’s getting heavy. It makes me sad to think there’s going to come a day when I will pick him up for the last time, but we’re still a long way from