On The Ropes: Tapped Out Book 3

by Quinn, Cari

  “Mia.” Fox laid a hand on her arm, but she brushed him off and charged toward me.

  I welcomed her aggression. I wanted her to hit me, to blame me for every bit of this. Maybe then self-preservation would kick in, and I would stop blaming myself.

  “I questioned your involvement with us all along. Bringing those men into our lives, dragging Fox into that goddamned club. And you know what I found in with her things? A goddamn pay stub from that place.” Mia’s eyes were red-rimmed. Ravaged. “I don’t know what she was doing there, or why, but I know I can trace our being there right back to your fucking doorstep.”

  “Mia, this isn’t helping anything.” Fox set his hands on her shoulders. From the way she was vibrating where she stood, I knew he expected her to go for my throat any minute now.

  I wouldn’t stop her. Wouldn’t say anything at all to make it harder for her to get out her feelings. It was the least I could do, and it was so fucking inadequate.

  “She’s my life. Do you understand that? I did everything for her. Everything. I stayed with a monster, because he threatened her safety. So I didn’t try harder to break free, in case he followed through on his threat to hurt her.” Mia shook her head, her eyes so lined with red that I expected the dam to break at any moment. But it didn’t. She was that freaking strong. “I started fighting to make more money for us, for our new life. Getting her here, making up for the years we lost…it was all I was trying to do. And now she’s gone, and I don’t understand. I don’t understand how she could just walk away.”

  “Let me see the letter.” I was surprised my voice didn’t shake. But there was no stopping the tremor that went through my hand as I held it out. “Please.”

  It wasn’t Mia who gave it to me, but Fox. He took it out of his jeans pocket. “When I went in her room this morning, the only thing we could tell she’d taken with her was her purse.” Fox passed the paper to me.

  It was written on ordinary white paper with a pen with purple ink. I recognized the handwriting immediately. The note she’d left on my door that day flashed through my mind, and if I opened my wallet to where I’d sentimentally tucked it away, I knew the two notes would match.

  She’d written this note, no doubt about it.

  The message was short, just a few lines, and addressed to Mia.

  If you’re reading this, that means I had to leave. I never expected to have to make this decision, because living with you and Fox and Fox’s mom has been like having a real family again. I don’t want it to end, but I have to think about my own family now. This isn’t the best place for my baby, so I have to do what’s right and think of him or her. I’ll be in contact, I promise. I love you with all my heart. You’re the best sister I could’ve ever asked for. Xoxo

  I read it three times through, and it still didn’t make any sense. The letters when put together formed words, but I didn’t understand them. I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t live through that nightmare again.

  Fox was talking, though he sounded as if he were underwater. I gave him back the note and turned around, staring blindly out the floor-to-ceiling windows into a relentlessly sunny day. It had been cool and rainy for a while now. Not today. Today the sun had returned, in spite of the fact that my mind, my world, had turned dark.

  “Gio.” Fox shook me and I barely felt his hands. I’d been in shock before from physical pain, and this even exceeded that. Every part of me had gone numb. “Let’s go outside.”

  He pushed me from behind, nudging me down another hall to the back door. He unlocked it and opened it up, and we stepped onto a flagstone patio with a chipped porcelain birdbath. Wrapped around the base of it was a snoozing porcelain puppy.

  The dog. The fucking dog.

  “Nothing was gone but her purse that you could tell. No clothes?”

  Fox shook his head. “Look, why don’t we—”

  “What about the dog? That was still there too?”

  He frowned. “Vey? Yeah, she wouldn’t take him.”

  “Not him, dammit. The stuffed dog.”

  “I didn’t see a dog. Where was it?”

  Heart racing, I paced a circle around the crumbling patio. I needed to move, not just stand here and talk. I needed to find her and figure out what the hell that letter had meant. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. “A couple weeks ago, we went to the carnival. I won her a stuffed Dalmatian. She left it at my place, and I brought it to her Thursday night.”

  “Thursday night when? She was home all Thursday night.”

  “I sneaked in.” I held up a hand. “Save it. It’s not important now.”

  “I’ll decide what’s important. You sneaked into my damn apartment for what, a booty call? Real freaking classy, man. I thought we were friends.”

  “We were.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We are. I’m sorry about all of this. If you had any idea how sorry I was…” I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time. All that mattered was finding Carly. “I need to find out if the dog is still there.”

  “I don’t get the significance of the damn stuffed dog.”

  “She wouldn’t leave without it,” I insisted. “If it’s still there, then she didn’t leave on her own. Is your mom home? Can you call and ask her to check around for it? It’s hard to miss.”

  He pressed his lips into a line and pulled out his phone. “For the record, I’m fucking furious at you right now, and I’m only calling about this dumb dog because my girl’s losing her mind and I don’t know what else to do.” He rubbed his jaw. For the first time I could recall, he hadn’t shaved that morning. “Mom, no sign of Carly? No. No, I didn’t think so. Yeah, the note was pretty clear, it just doesn’t make any sense. Look, I need you to look for something for me. Can you try to find a black and white spotted stuffed dog? Check the room you share with Carly first.”

  “She can’t miss it, it’s huge. I left it on the fire escape.”

  Fox glared at me. “Check the fire escape.” A moment later, he frowned. “It’s there? On the fire escape?” He looked at me and my hands went to fists. “It’s still there.”

  I shut my eyes. Dread coiled inside me, making my gut clench. “She didn’t leave on her own.”

  “But the note—”

  “I don’t care what the goddamn note said, if she left that dog, she didn’t leave on her own.” I slammed a fist on the birdbath.

  The little bluebird snapped off and landed in pieces on the ground.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything, Mom. Thanks. Bye.”

  He stepped right up to me. “I’m going to ask you once to tell me what happened from the beginning. I don’t want the storybook version, where you tell me this all was because of love. Because if it wasn’t for love, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands, here and now.” His normally placid blue eyes burned with rage. “She’s my family. If you’re right that she didn’t leave on her own, you’re going to help me to figure out how to get her back.”

  I flexed the jaw he’d hammered last night and welcomed the blast of pain. I deserved it and so much more. “If we don’t get her back, I won’t stop you.”

  Twenty-Six

  I didn’t know how long I’d been in the darkness. Too long. I was in a room with narrow rectangular windows near the ceiling, making me think I was underground. The light from those windows was almost nonexistent, especially yesterday when November’s gloom had been especially thick.

  But today, there was sun.

  I stared up at the windows, wiggling my fingers to get some circulation back into them. My wrists were bound behind my chair so tightly that my arms kept going to sleep. My ankles were tied together too, and my feet were bare. The frigid concrete beneath them had seeped into my bones, and I’d been shivering all night. It was cold and dank wherever they’d taken me, and I wore only jeans and a thin shirt and sweater.

  And I was hungry. So hungry. I hadn’t eaten much the night before this happened, and now I regretted it. I should’ve chowed down. I didn’t think t
he kid in my belly could be taking too much of my resources yet, but I’d never been this desperate for food.

  I shuddered. Maybe the plan was just to leave me here alone. To starve me to death.

  One of the men had given me water last night. A big glass of it that I’d sucked down. Since then, all had been quiet.

  The fear and recriminations that had ridden me hard yesterday had subsided into only the occasional tremor last night. Somehow I’d fallen into an exhausted sleep sitting up and had awakened from horrible dreams of Marco and men in trucks to the milky light of morning. My head still dully ached from where they’d slammed me into the truck yesterday, but the pain was manageable.

  What wasn’t was the not knowing. Had I been left here to die? Or would they be back to finish me off? And who were they, exactly?

  The logical guess was Marco and Lorenzo and his men. But logical didn’t hold much sway with these people, I’d found. And the bigger question was why. Was I being used as leverage with Gio? Or did this circle back around to the situation my sister had gotten involved in with Marco and Lorenzo? The craziness with the fight, and the threats…

  God, my head hurt even more when I tried to line up the pieces.

  I must’ve fallen asleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes, the sunshine through the narrow windows was even more intense, and a scraping noise indicated a door was being opened. I sat up straighter in my chair and rotated my wrists as best as I could, trying not to panic though my heart was chugging in my ears like a kickdrum.

  And now I was getting nauseated too. I hoped like hell that was because I was hungry, because now was not the time for the kid to make itself known.

  Sharp, staccato footsteps sounded on the concrete, reminding me of all the abandoned warehouses I’d been in for Mia and Fox’s fights. Guess I’d ended up in another one. I sent up a quick prayer to the higher power and tried to make my face into an emotionless mask. I’d be damned if I gave them one moment’s satisfaction from my fear.

  “Baciame. Finally.” I stiffened as an Italian man crouched in front of me. Dark wavy hair, dark eyes, golden skin. “You’re Carly. You gotta be Carly.”

  I blinked at him, unsure what to say. Should I admit who I was?

  God, he was pretty. And he wasn’t just pretty, he looked like—

  “I’m Dante Costas.”

  Yep. I should’ve known the beautiful stick had hit both brothers in equal measure. Some part of me rejoiced, but the rest wasn’t quite willing to throw a ticker tape parade. Slater had said this dude was in the mob too and wanted for murder. Not attempted either like Giovanni.

  There are some semantics for you. Rationalize much?

  “Okay, don’t talk to me. That’s fine. I’m going to get you out of here and bring you back to my brother.” He reached behind me to fumble with the ropes on my wrists and I stiffened. “Don’t worry.” He shot me a devastating grin. Giovanni’s grin. “I prefer Italian women. You’re not my type.”

  “How do you know I’m not Italian?”

  “Ahh, she speaks.” He brushed a finger over my cheek. “With this fair Irish skin? Doubtful. This bruise must hurt,” he added, touching my temple. I grimaced and he nodded. “We’ll get some ice for it. First—” He broke off and cursed under his breath as he pivoted on his expensive shoes to scan the warehouse. “That’ll teach me to make small talk. They’re coming back.”

  “Who?” My heartbeat kicked up again. “Who’s coming back?”

  “Sit tight.” He returned to working on my wrists, loosening the ropes. “You can get out of this if you need to, but don’t do it unless you have to. Pretend you’re still tied up.”

  “I am still tied up.” I inclined my chin toward my bound ankles.

  “Sorry. I got distracted by the big blue eyes.” He shot me a grin and moved away quickly, melting into the rows of boxes stacked behind me.

  There was a ton of shit back there, but no matter how I craned my neck, I couldn’t get a good look at what kind of stuff it was so I’d be able to identify where they’d stashed me away. But at least he’d freed my wrists. I wiggled my fingers a little as that scraping noise echoed across the space again, like a garage door being opened.

  Maybe this used to be a car warehouse? Then the sound of a pair of deep male voices.

  “Donny, go. I have this covered.” A bunch of Italian followed that I didn’t understand.

  Donny wasn’t a name I recognized. There was a quick assent, then more footsteps, slow and measured, the exact opposite of Dante’s impatient step. I rotated my right wrist slowly, carefully, trying to barely move my arm. I wanted to be ready, just in case. Dante was hidden in the shadows somewhere, but he could be a foe disguised as a friend.

  Right now, I trusted no one other than myself.

  The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and I turned my head, trying to see. The chair was bolted to the damn floor, so I couldn’t move it.

  A man started to laugh at my struggle, and the sound made me curl my frozen toes into the ground. I couldn’t get away from it, and it seemed to echo off the walls. It wasn’t Marco’s laugh. This was lower, raspier, a smoker who was running out of breath.

  I could only hope.

  “Marone e mia, that was fun to watch. You’re like a frog being boiled in a pan. You know how that happens, don’t you? They put the frog in the water, then raise the temperature slowly, degree by degree, so that the frog doesn’t know it’s being boiled. By the time it figures it out, it’s just about dead.”

  I pressed my lips together and stared straight ahead. I would give these bastards nothing.

  “I have to say, I was rather impressed by the arsenal in your purse. Pepper spray, throwing stars, a Swiss Army contraption with several interesting items on it. For a dumb blond—or is it redhead—you were well-armed.”

  I didn’t even blink.

  “My men said you didn’t put up much of a fight. They surprised you well and good. I figured my boy’s truck would make you let down your guard, and I was right.”

  My boy. Jesus. It took every bit of control I had not to move an eyelash.

  I sucked in a shuddery breath. God, I just wanted this to be over. Surely someone was looking for me by now? I hadn’t gone to work at the Salad Hut, so they’d be calling—

  Your cell phone, in your purse. The purse they took away from you.

  Jenna was supposed to dance for me last night, so the club wouldn’t even look for me. Gio might’ve, if he’d come to pick me up after. Hopefully, Jenna had done okay and gotten home without incident. I needed something to have gone right, just once.

  “With that letter you so considerately had in your things, you even bought us some time. Thanks to that, no one will even be looking for you, since we popped that little beauty right in the mail. So I guess I should take it back.” He chuckled. “You are a dumb blond. Or redhead. Hard to tell with that mop of yours. Girls today, they like to dye their hair. In my day, women stuck to the color God gave them. But today, it’s all about whoring around. My son, he’s always had a weakness for those kind of women.”

  My mind spun. What letter?

  Reality descended, sickeningly. Damn it all. That letter I’d written for insurance in case I felt like Marco and his men were getting too close. My escape valve.

  I can get away anytime.

  Instead, I’d helped the enemy. One of them, anyway. They were coming from all sides these days.

  “My son is such a disappointment to me. To be honest, both of my sons are.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. Dante could hear his father’s declaration with no trouble, and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t enjoy story hour if the way it had started was any indication.

  “Giovanni’s also an embarrassment. First, he decided to show everyone he wasn’t a man by choosing to play pansy at that damn floral shop. Got that from his mother, God rest her soul. Then he took up with that whore Andretti and flaunted that he didn’t care about loyalty. He could do what he wanted. He
brought shame to my family’s name, and for that, I will never stand.” He walked in front of me toward the windows, and I wiggled my fingers again. The rope holding my wrists was barely looped. One sharp jerk and I’d be free. My hands, at least.

  “He was supposed to be dead that day, not Emilia.”

  My hands went slack. I stared at Giovanni’s father’s back, my eyes smarting not for me, but for Gio. For what I’d just learned.

  How could a father want to kill his own son?

  “Killing Emilia was more trouble than she was worth. The Andrettis have wanted my head ever since. And Giovanni, that damn fool, walked away that day and right into their lair. Does he think they are so stupid not to know what he’s up to? He’s the stupid one, trying to outmaneuver those with decades of experience.” He paced along the length of the windows, hands linked behind his back. “And Dante… Dante thinks one day I’ll leave him in command, when we both know he’s not fit to lead. He’s not as soft as Giovanni, but he’s not much better. The first time he killed a man, he cried. Merda, such pussies. How did I end up with them?”

  I tried to make sense of what I was hearing. His father had wanted Gio dead, but Emilia had gotten in the way somehow.

  And Gio had gone to the Andrettis for what? He’d tried to outmaneuver them, maybe thinking it was the Andrettis who’d had Emilia killed?

  Anything had to be better than imagining your own father wanted you dead, right? So maybe he’d wanted revenge. Perhaps his supposed allegiance to them had all been part of an elaborate plot.

  Maybe he’d never truly been in league with them after all.

  I sucked in another breath. If that was true, he wasn’t like them. Thank God. I wasn’t crazy to think he was a good person—no saint, definitely not, but better than them. Better than this evil piece of shit standing before me.