Page 70 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

Goddamn it.

Then Marco messaged. "Valentina spilled everything. Their main base is in an abandoned industrial zone. Twenty miles north of Puerto Vallarta."

Finally.

I cross-checked the map, locked the exact spot. I sent it to Samuel—his people immediately changed course.

Halfway there, Hector called. He laughed coldly. "Looks like you figured it out."

"Hector!" I warned him sharply. "If you hurt her, you won't just lose the route—I'll erase the Cruz family from this world."

He laughed wildly on the other end. "Your reaction proves one thing—I grabbed the right person."

I gripped the wheel tight.

"Dante, I don't intend to hurt your wife." Hector's tone turned coaxing. "I've prepared a contract. Sign it, transfer that route to me free of charge, and I'll send your wife home. How about it?"

The nerve of this bastard.

Before, he only wanted usage rights. Now he wanted me to hand it over for nothing. That route was the most crucial onefrom Mexico to New York. If he controlled it, New York would descend into complete chaos.

I couldn't gamble on that.

"I need to hear Elena's voice. Confirm she's safe." I laid out my condition.

"She's alive. That's all you need to know." Hector sent me an electronic contract, his amused tone infuriating. "Transfer agreement sent. Sign it, and I'll release her immediately."

Then he hung up.

"Fuck!"

Moonlight spilled across the highway ahead. I drove toward Elena at maximum speed.

I prayed she'd be okay.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elena

I woke to a dull throb at the back of my skull.

My vision blurred. Slowly, things came into focus—a rundown warehouse. The smell of damp concrete mixed with rust crawled into my nose.

I was tied to a chair. Wrists bound behind me, ankles strapped together. Rough rope cut into my skin, burning.

The warehouse was massive. Holes gaped in the roof overhead. Gray-white light slanted down from above, hitting broken glass and debris scattered across the floor. Rusted shelves and machine carcasses littered the far end.

Dust hung in the air. My nose itched. I couldn't help coughing.

A man walked in.

When he saw me, a sneer twisted his face. He dropped onto a busted couch across from me, one leg propped on a metal frame beside him. A long scar ran from his left brow down to his jaw, like a wound stitched with a crude needle.

"Bitch. Finally got you." His voice was rough. He spun a knife between his fingers, the blade catching the light and flashing into my eyes.

I struggled against the ropes. "Who the hell are you? You have no right to kidnap me!"

"Who am I?"