Seven hours…of what?
And then it hit me.
Air.
He had seven hours of air.
My tears immediately stopped, and a flush of adrenaline hit me, granting me the strength that had been stolen from me. I could sit there and cry my heart out…or I could get off my ass and save my husband.
I had seven hours to do it, and I’d already wasted fifteen minutes sobbing at this asshole’s feet.
I forced myself up and headed for Wolfe’s Range Rover. The keys were in the center console, so I was able to start the vehicle andget the hell out of there. I drove fast off the property and made it onto the road, not even sure where I was going but now knowing I had to get the hell out of there.
I typed Palermo into the GPS and floored it. I didn’t have Don Russo’s number—or anyone’s from Cosa Nostra, for that matter—so I had to go in person. Thankfully, it was just a forty-five-minute drive from here. I called Leo and put the phone on speaker since my phone wasn’t synced to Wolfe’s car.
He answered right away. “Frankie?”
“I’m okay,” I sputtered, tears still in my throat. “He buried Wolfe alive on his property and let me go. Prepare the guys. Call in all our favors. I’m headed to Cosa Nostra to get their help too.”
Instead of asking a bunch of questions or suggesting we abandon Wolfe to his fate, he said, “The guys are already ready. We were just about to leave to come get you.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“I called up a friend, and he helped me track your phone,” he said quickly. “We know the address, so we’ll wait a few miles away for your call.”
I was so relieved that he’d already stepped up. That he hadn’t wasted precious time. “I need you to pack two shovels and a drill. I’m going to pick you up, and you’re coming with me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just do it, okay?”
“Okay.”
The gates to Cosa Nostra opened at the sight of Wolfe’s Range Rover, and I ran straight to the double doors and asked to speak to Don Russo immediately. Thankfully, they didn’t give me the runaround and let me do whatever the hell I wanted.
I ran to Don Russo’s office, and he was speaking to one of the guys I often saw him with.
I was out of breath, but I forced the words out. “Icarus buried Wolfe alive… I need help.” I heaved as I caught my breath. “Now. He has less than seven hours of air left.”
Don Russo was on the couch, and he rose to his feet. “Francesca, what happened?—”
“I just fucking told you.Icarus buried Wolfe alive because he continued to help you even when Icarus threatened him not to. So you’re going to get all your men together and come with me, and we’re going to hit Icarus so fucking hard and bury his ass alive when we’re done.” I pulled my gun out from my shoulder holster, having found a pistol in Wolfe’s glove box, and pointed it right at Don Russo’s face. “Refuse to help, and I’ll blow all your fucking heads off right now.”
Don Russo didn’t flinch when the loaded gun was pointed at his face. He just raised his hands slightly. “Of course we’ll help you, Francesca. I just wanted to understand the situation.”
I put my gun back in the holster. “Then let’s pack up and go. My men are stationed down the road from the house. You guys wanted him dead, and I know exactly where the hell he is, so we’re going to finish this.”
“This is probably a trap,” Don Russo said.
“And?”
“We just have to be smart about this?—”
“Wolfe is running out of air. I looked it up, and he only has seven hours if he’s absolutely fucking calm. So that’s the best-case scenario. If he has even a little bit of anxiety, his air is cut inhalf.”
“Don’t worry about his air,” Don Russo dismissed. “Knowing Wolfe, he’s probably asleep.”
“He was buried alive.”