Page 47 of His Savage Bride
“No,” my voice hardens. “I have to do this myself. She won’t agree to meet anyone else, and I want to be the one to put an end to her.”
“Just asking.” Trenton holds up his hands in surrender. “You look like you’re struggling…”
I hit the green send button and put the phone to my ear. It rings and rings until I’m sure that it’s going to go to a voicemail. I’m almost caught off guard when a gruff male voice answers, “Who is this?”
“Put Irina on the phone,” I demand.
“Who is this?” I can hear the sneer in the man’s voice.
“This is the person who dealt with Kirill. This is the person who’s getting ready to deal with Jacob. Put that fucking bitch on the phone right now.”
I can hear the phone being handed off, and the gruff-voiced man saying in the background, “Some woman wants to talk to you. She says she’s the one who did Kirill and that she has Jacob.”
“Give it to me,” I hear faintly, before the whoosh of the phone being passed around. “I take it this is Constance Monroe?” a roughly accented but definitely feminine voice asks.
“It’s me. And you had better be Irina Volkov.”
“I am,” she replies. “So, you’ve figured out who Jacob is and taken another of my sons from me. Did you call just to gloat? I hurt your man today, and I’ll hurt you too.”
“Listen to me carefully,” I say keeping my voice steady. “I’m going to give you one chance to get your son back alive. You and I are going to meet, just the two of us. You will be at the closed down Wal-Mart in White Plains tomorrow morning at ten a.m. You will drive that van you used today to attack us. You will bring Gregory Bianchi with you to trade for Jacob. If I see you there with anyone else, anyone at all, your son dies. If you try to fuck me in any way, your son dies. Be at the Wal-Mart in White Plains, parked on the street at ten. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” she says, then tries to add, “But I will need…”
“You don’t get to demand a fucking thing from me,” I interrupt her. “You bring the Bianchi boy, you get your son back, and we’re done.” With that, I disconnect the call and take a long, shaky breath.
“I had better get some guys out there early tomorrow to canvass the area and make sure she doesn’t try to set up any shooters,” Trenton says as he pulls out his vape and takes a long drag. “Otherwise, everything sounds good. You did well.”
“It won’t be a problem.” I shrug as I drop the Nokia into my purse. “Once I see that she’s there I’ll call her and move the meet down the road. If we see anyone trying to follow, we can call it off. I don’t think she would take the chance on getting her son killed, but she might.”
“That’s a good idea. You’re catching on quick,” Trenton remarks. “Once you spot her, move the meet over to Delfino Park. I’ll have some boys out there to keep an eye on things too. Lead her out there, do the hand-off, and then…” He lets the sentiment hang in the air.
“Then we finish this once and for all.”
15
Constance
I can’t sleepat all that night.
I try taking a hot shower, then getting a glass of milk, but nothing helps my frayed nerves. I’d love to try Maximo’s way of getting to sleep with a few stiff drinks, but my pregnancy has put the brakes on any drinking or pharmaceutical solutions.
I end up sitting up in bed watching television and calling the intensive care unit every few hours to check in on Maximo.
I’m not the only one calling. The nurses joke with me that between Adeline and I, the phone rarely stops ringing. I think about calling Maximo’s mother myself to commiserate and worry with her, but I decide that’s a bad idea. We’re not that close yet, and after the reaction I got from Leonard’s daughter at his son’s funeral, I’m not sure if Adeline or the rest of the family wants to hear from me.
My mind keeps turning back to my plan to deal with Irina. I keep thinking up new wrinkles or problems that might occur and worrying over them. Around midnight I realize that Irina mightbe able to pull a fast one on me by giving me someone besides Gregory Bianchi. She might even be able to get an assassin close to me since I have no idea what the boy looks like. Fortunately, I have Maximo’s phone, and I send a text message to Salvatore Bianchi.
I need a picture of Gregory so I know who I’m looking for,I text him.
He replies with a photo of his son, a lean androgynous blonde boy, almost instantly. A message soon follows.I had heard you were injured today. I’m glad to hear from you.
I don’t bother replying and clarifying who is texting him. I study the picture until I’m sure I will be able to recognize the boy when I see him tomorrow, then I put the phone to the side and try to think of any other possible angles that might blindside me.
I finally manage to doze off for a while in the early hours of the morning, but I’m up with the sun getting ready. I pull on the lightweight ballistic vest Maximo has insisted I wear all the time recently, then put on one of his T-shirts and a baggy hooded sweatshirt over it all. I also borrow a pair of black slacks from him. They’re tight on my ass but baggy in the legs, which makes it even harder to tell my shape and size. Once I add an oversized baseball cap with my hair tucked under, a pair of sunglasses, and a surgical mask, I’m unrecognizable.
I stick the mask and glasses into the hat and go down to the kitchen to make some breakfast. It’s still early after I scramble some eggs and make toast, so I wash the few dishes I’ve amassed and then sit at the dining room table, sipping orange juice. When Leonard appears in the kitchen, he waves to me in greeting.
“Constance, you’re up early. Have you already eaten? I can make you something if you like,” he offers.
