Bound By A Promise (Brutal Vows #3)

Chapter 31

Chapter

Thirty-One

Camila

I reached for Dante’s hand, holding it between both of mine. “When I woke, I heard the men talking to someone. They called him boss.”

“Did they use a name?”

I shook my head. “They spoke in Spanish, telling the boss that they had me.” I began to sit up and Dante eased me back to a lying position. “Fine. I know how they found me.” He lifted his eyebrows. “This morning, I received an odd text.”

“In Spanish. I saw it. Catalina translated it for me.”

“The men said that when I opened the text message, a tracker was downloaded on my phone. They followed us to the museum and even knew when I went in the bathroom.”

Dante shook his head. “How did they get you out of the museum?”

“I don’t know.” I brought my hand to my neck. “I felt a sting. It might have been a needle, but I didn’t see anything. When I woke, I was tied up behind the seat of a truck.”

“Behind the seat?” Aléjandro asked.

“I pretended to be unconscious, but before they put me in the plane, they added the gag.”

I noticed Dante’s expression as he looked up, as if he was communicating with Jano in some wordless conversation.

“Did they say where they were taking you in the plane?”

“I listened for a location, but I never heard one.”

Dante lifted his face. “They had to file a flight plan.” He took his phone from his pocket and spoke to the phone. “Check the airport. There had to be a flight plan filed for the Cessna.” He hung up.

“Do people always do what you tell them to do?” I asked with a grin.

“Most people.”

“Good to know.”

I sensed the difference in lighting as Aléjandro pulled the car into the parking garage. Dante gave him instructions on how to access the private garage. Once Jano parked the car, I sat up. “I can walk, Dante.”

“I’m going to be right beside you.”

We rode the elevator all the way to the penthouse and were greeted by everyone. Even Contessa and Armando were present. I received hugs all around as we made our way into Cat’s living room.

“Mrs. Luciano,” Contessa said, “what can I get you?”

“My name is Camila. Water would be wonderful.”

She grinned. “Right away, Camila.”

I drained the first bottle and had drunk most of the second by the time the doctor arrived. This was a different one than I’d seen for my birth control. Dante assured me that Dr. Barone was the famiglia’s physician and wouldn’t ask as many questions as other doctors might.

Dante and I went with the doctor to Dario and Catalina’s bedroom suite. Instead of completely undressing, I removed my capris and shirt and covered myself with my sister’s robe I found in the bathroom.

Dr. Barone was nothing but respectful as he inspected my skin. There were more bruises than I realized littering my arms and legs. The only open wounds were on my wrists from the abrasive rope. Questions were asked about a possible sexual assault. I literally felt Dante’s intense gaze on me as I answered.

No. I’d recently had my first and many consecutive sexual encounters. I was certain beyond a doubt that I hadn’t been raped. Even saying the word sent shivers over my flesh.

Dr. Barone drew blood to test for whatever drug was used to render me unconscious. He prescribed antibiotics and muscle relaxers, warning me that once the adrenaline in my system wore away, my body would become sore. He also recommended an antibiotic cream for my wrists and ankles.

After thanking the doctor, we joined the others in the living room. Dante asked if I wanted to go down to our place, but there was comfort in having my family all about. Dante remained omnipresent, until he received a text message.

“What does it say?”

He looked across the room at Aléjandro.

“You two are starting to freak me out. You have some kind of bromance going on?”

Dante shook his head and chuckled. “No, but we do have a common enemy, and later, we plan to bond over some carving.”

“Carving?” I asked.

“Wood?” Mia asked.

“Something like that,” my husband said. He looked at Jano. “Come with me to Dario’s office. We just received confirmation on the flight plan.”

“México?” Jano asked.

“Catalina Island.”

Dante~

Dario’s suit coat was missing, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. None of that diminished his aura of power and control, punctuated by his visible holster. He looked up as we entered. “How is Camila? What did Dr. Barone say?”

“She’s going to be sore. There’s more bruising than we realized when she took off her shirt and pants.” My brother’s eyes widened. “She wasn’t sexually assaulted.”

“Good.”

“Luca,” I said, “has the kidnapper at Emerald Club. We received confirmation on the flight plan. The plane was taking Camila to Catalina Island.”

“And you believe there’s a yacht out there flying the Mexican flag.”

Aléjandro stepped forward. “I want to hear what we can get out of the fucker at the club, but if we’re right, Padre needs to be involved in this conversation.”

Dario nodded. “That said, Herrera is causing problems here too. This isn’t just the cartel’s fight.”

“It’s our fight,” Aléjandro said. “All of ours .”

I spoke. “I’m going to talk to Camila. I don’t know if she wants to be downstairs all alone.”

“She can stay up here as long as she wants,” Dario offered.

“I planned,” Aléjandro began, “to take Mia and Valentina back today.” He looked at me. “But there’s no way to know how long we’ll be at the club.”

“You and Mia can stay at our place,” I offered. “We’re safer here than in a hotel.”

“Mia has been staying here,” Dario said. “No sense in making her leave. Aléjandro, you’re welcome in my home.”

There were seismic changes happening in this alliance, as if the ground was shifting under our feet. “Either place. Choice is yours,” I said.

“Call me with any news,” Dario said as we turned to leave.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Aléjandro’s smile grew. “Let’s tell our wives we’ll be gone, then I’m ready.”

The room where the man was being held wasn’t on the tour we gave ATF. It was only accessible through the wine cellar, behind a wall of top-shelf bottles. As soon as the door opened, the stench of piss filled my nostrils.

“Fuck,” Aléjandro murmured. “Next, he’ll shit himself.”

The man’s head was down, his chin near his chest. His pants, that had been cut away from his leg wound, were wet as was the concrete near the chair. The drain in the floor came in handy when this room was bleached and sprayed down.

I walked closer, taking in the zip ties binding him to a metal chair with a makeshift bandage on his leg wound. I’d instructed the soldiers not to let him bleed out. This man had a full night ahead of him before death would offer a reprieve.

Aléjandro inspected the tools laid out on a table to the side of the small room.

“Good enough?” I asked.

He nodded. “I can make do.”

The man stirred at the sound of our voices. His eyes widened as he cursed in Spanish. Hell, I don’t know what he was saying; he might have been praying. If he was, he was angry at God. Aléjandro spoke to him, occasionally holding up tools: pliers, pruning shears and Fiskars, perfect for cutting fingers and toes, surgical scalpels, and dental extraction forceps.

As Aléjandro showed the man each implement, the color drained from our guest’s face.

Finally, my brother-in-law said, “We’re going to cut the bullshit and speak in Inglés . You see, I don’t want my brother here to miss out on any of the information. And if you tell me you don’t speak Inglés , we’ll start with cutting out your tongue.”

“ Hablo Inglés .”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said, removing my shirt. I looked over to Aléjandro. “I don’t want to get blood on it.”

He followed suit.