his vulnerability, his need to keep his family safe.
Charles wanted me to keep Charlotte safe, to protect her.
An icy chill slides down my spine.
Charles knew about Blaine and Carl. He had to have! That’s why he tagged me in. He knew they were closing in on him and that they posed a risk to his daughter.
I swallow a gasp. Fuck, where is she now? What the hell did Rossi do with her?
What if they’re using her as leverage to get to Charles?
The realization hits me like a brick to the chest.
“They have Charlotte,” I say. “They’re going to use her to get to Charles,” I mutter. He’s the one missing piece in this whole shit pie, the only one who could be standing in the way of Moretti taking over the real estate in the surrounding area.
This all has to do with the announcement he’s going to make tonight.
Those bastards wanted to stop it!
Jesus, do they even know what happened tonight? That their daughter has been taken? Or worse?
“Lorenzo,” I hiss. “Where are the Hawthornes? They’re supposed to be hosting some gala tonight. I need to find them! Their daughter’s life depends on it!”
“I’d think you’d be more concerned about your own life, Iazetti,” Rossi’s low, raspy voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up in anticipation of a complete shit storm.
“Where is Charlotte Hawthorne?” I growl, still struggling in vain against the chair holding me captive.
“You still haven’t figured out your purpose in this whole thing, have you?” Rossi’s lips curl into a sinister grin. “I’m excited for you to put the pieces together, but I’ve got to tell you, it’s getting a little exhausting, watching the wheels turn and you get nowhere.”
“Fuck you!” I shout. “Tell me where she is!”
He inches closer, his dark eyes like black marbles in his skull.
The man is soulless. Empty. Evil.
That’s what his menacing gaze tells me, and it’s everything I need to know.
Oh yeah, there’s one other thing that makes my skin crawl and my gut twist.
I am absolutely powerless to do a damn thing to stop whatever these bastards have planned against my family and the Hawthornes.
“I’d tell you to think about it, but brain power is clearly not one of your strengths.” He circles my chair before turning to look at Lorenzo.
“You did what we asked,” Rossi says to him. “You made the call. You started the party.”
“S-so I can go, right?” Lorenzo sputters, still weeping.
Pussy.
“Yes,” Rossi says with a bright smile. He pulls out a knife and slices through the zip ties holding Lorenzo’s wrists together and Lorenzo jumps out of the chair, a flicker of guilt in his gaze as it lands on me. He flexes his wrists, looking in all directions like a rat trying to find the right exit from his death trap maze. He backs away toward a set of sliding glass doors with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Xander,” he whispers, fiddling with the doorknob.
Rossi nods at him. “Thank you for your help, Lorenzo. You can be with your family now.” He holds out a hand, clutching a Beretta, and pulls the trigger before looking back at me with a wink. “In death.”
The silencer on the tip of the gun prevents the loud crack from reverberating between the walls, but Lorenzo’s body makes a loud thump as it crumbles to the carpet in a heap. A large, dark red stain spreads beneath him and Rossi frowns. “Dammit. The cleaners won’t be happy about that.”
My jaw drops as I stare at Lorenzo’s stricken face the second he realized he wasn’t going anywhere, that when he agreed to work with Moretti, he sold his soul and the souls of everyone he loves to the Devil.
Stupid ass didn’t realize the Devil always comes back to collect.
And he doesn’t negotiate on price.
Chapter 25
Charlotte
I could barely breathe the entire way to the library. It took us only minutes with Marco Iazetti driving, but it felt like years.
In unison, we shoot out of the car as guests dressed to the nines flutter around arriving fashionably late for the event of the year.
“I need to find my mom,” I call over my shoulder, all three of the Iazetti men hot on my heels.
Whipping my head back around, I crash right into a guy standing against an ivory pillar talking to a girl who looks to be a few years younger than me, “S-sorry—,” as our eyes lock together, my blood runs cold. “Blaine,”