Page 123 of Marry Me Not
It didn’t.
There was only one word for what she was to me. One word for why the thought of something happening to her made my chest feel like it was being ripped open from the inside.
Love.
I loved her.
I stopped pacing. God fucking damn it.
The phone rang. It was Rosa.
“We got her. I’m sending you the coordinates now.”
I waited for the address to come through and then pulled it up on a map.
My stomach dropped. Ice flooded my veins.
She wasn’t in town. The GPS said she was about thirty minutes away from here.
Until that moment, some optimistic part of me had still been hoping she’d just wandered off somewhere and was ignoring my calls because she was furious with me. But that wasn’t what this was. She didn’t have a car. She had no way to get all the way out there on her own.
Someone had taken her.
“Fuck.”
I sprinted back to the car, threw myself inside, and tore out of the parking space fast enough to make the tires squeal. The world narrowed to the road ahead and the thirty minutes standing between me and Fabiana.
If anyone had frightened her, touched her, or so much as harmed a hair on her head, I was going to carve them up and paint this entire fucking town red.
I was going to find her.
And when I did, I was done being a coward. I was going to tell her the truth.
She was mine.
And I wasn’t going to let her go.
CHAPTER 43
COSIMO
The countrysidearound Grottaglie blurred past the windows as I raced toward the address Rosa had sent me. I tried to stay calm and failed. All of my calls to Fabiana had gone unanswered, and yet her phone was still on.
It didn’t make sense.
If someone had kidnapped her, the first thing they would’ve done was turn off the device. Unless they wanted me to find them. In which case, I might be driving straight into a trap, but I’d just have to deal with it once I got there.
My mind spun with possibilities as to what could’ve happened. Someone had most likely tipped off the Santoros about us being here. If I had to bet on who, it would be that asshole Salvatore. I’d handle him after. But what did the Santoros want with Fabiana? Maybe they just wanted leverage, and they assumed kidnapping my goddamn wife would get it for them.
They were right. I’d do anything to get Nettle back.
The GPS told me to take a turn onto a long gravel driveway. The heavy iron gates sat open, and no one came out to stop me as I drove through them. Ahead was a grand Italian villa—sun-washed stucco walls, shuttered windows, a terracotta roof, and a shallow balcony above the front entrance. It was quiet and still. No guards were visible on the perimeter, but there was one car—an old Fiat—and a motorbike.
I pulled up and killed the engine. My eyes stayed on the bike.
I got out slowly, drew my gun, and moved toward the front door with my back angled to the wall. My eyes scanned my surroundings for threats, but there was no movement anywhere beyond the branches of the olive trees swaying in the wind.
I pressed my ear against the front door. There were sounds coming from inside the house. I could’ve sworn I heard dishes clattering, but no voices. To either side of the front door were narrow windows. I moved to look through one, trying to see inside?—
