5 Santiago
Marco hands over the yellow envelope with a strained expression on his face and watches me open it. Inside, there is a handwritten note.
Want your wife back? Come and get her.
Beneath that is the address. Whoever dropped this at the front gate either wants me to know where Ivy is, or they want to lure me out. I’m erring on the second option. An obvious power play. Marco seems to confirm those thoughts when he trails me as I head for the car.
"Boss, I have men on the way there now. They can get her out if she's really there—"
"I'm going, Marco."
"That might be exactly what they want," he mutters. "We still don't know who tried to kill you the first time. And then the poisoning. I just think—"
"Are you driving, or am I?"
I yank open the driver's side door, and he sighs.
"Get in. I'll drive."
I walk around the car and slip into the passenger seat as he fires up the engine. While Marco drives, I study the paper, looking for any clues. I don't recognize the handwriting, not that I would. That is perhaps the one thing about Abel I haven't examined closely.
“Abel could be trying to lure you straight into his trap,” Marco says, eyes focused on the road.
“Possibly,” I admit. But it doesn’t feel like that. “Or it’s someone else.”
He glances at me briefly. “You’re thinking one of his men?”
“I don’t see Abel coming anywhere near The Manor. He knows he’d be caught. So either they delivered the message for him, or they have their own motives.”
“He must be getting desperate to go to these lengths,” Marco says. “These men wouldn’t be working for him if there wasn’t something in it for them.”
“Power,” I mutter. “It’s always about power. The little dogs always want to destroy the big dogs. Clearly, Abel has failed to do this one simple thing. Perhaps his men are growing tired of waiting. Knowing him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s made them all sorts of outlandish promises. But you can only borrow so much loyalty with unfulfilled assurances.”
“Could be.” Marco nods, but he doesn’t look any less concerned.
I google the address on the note and find that it's just an average house in a suburb about two hours away. The journey passes far too slowly for my liking. I'm on edge, my foot tapping against the floorboard as scenery flashes outside.
Every text that comes through on Marco's phone has me checking it like a fiend. He handed it over after the first three times I demanded to know exactly what the updates were.
His men aren't there yet. We are all traveling from different locations, and I don't know who will arrive first. But when we finally turn down the street, another text comes through. There is one team waiting outside for us.
I type a response and tell them to hang back, and within a minute, Marco is pulling up behind them. I'm out of the car and barking out orders before he can even shift it into park.
"You two go in the front," I tell them. "I'm going in the back."
"Here, boss." Marco hands me a pistol and a knife. Following me around the side of the house, he pushes a path through the overgrown shrubbery.
The backyard is small, and the old door is wood, which works in my favor. Marco uses his giant frame as a battering ram, blowing it wide open with one grunt.
Chaos ensues within seconds. A shot rings out, and then a series of curses as Marco's men push their way through the front and take on two men I don't recognize. One of Marco's guys takes a bullet in the shoulder, and he repays the favor by shooting the asshole between the eyes.
Another man in the living room fires off several more shots as he dives behind a coffee table, pulling it up against him for cover. The sound of glass shattering and gun blasts ringing out pierce my ears, but I can't focus on any of it.
I move toward the hall, Marco at my side as we begin to check the rooms. The first bedroom we stop at has a guy scrambling to try to crawl out the window. Marco raises his weapon and shoots him in the head. His body slumps to the floor, blood pooling beneath him as we clear the space. When we don't find anyone else, we move along to the next room.
A strange sound is coming from the other side of the closed door. It’s a rustling and grunting as though someone is trying to move a piece of furniture, presumably to barricade themselves in.
I look at Marco, and he nods, slamming his body into the door. It breaks open, sending splintered wood everywhere as we spill into the room.
There's a moment when I stop to take everything in. From the corner of my eye, I can see a figure charging at Marco. But it's the mess of dark hair on the bed that has my attention. It's the first sign of life, and relief fills my chest, only to be drowned out by the man lurking above her. A doctor?
He discards the instrument in his hand and turns to face me at the same time Ivy stirs from a hazy state, trying to open her heavy eyes. My wife. My beautiful fucking wife.
She blinks, murmuring something unintelligible as her hand twitches. For a split second, our gazes lock, and then her eyes are shuddering closed again. She fights it but falls into stillness, her chest rising and
