Chapter 69
Dominic POV
The second half of the meeting went exactly as Dominic expected: badly.
Worse, even, if that is possible.
At one point, Francesco nearly knocked over a glass pitcher in his rant about needing “proof” that the Russians weren’t actually in the city and in the middle of planning a coordinated strike against the Carusos.
By the time the meeting was finally called to an end, Dominic had a pounding headache and a raw desire to put a bullet through the nearest solid surface just to release some of this pent up energy.
He rubbed his temple as the chairs scraped back and everyone dispersed from the room, leaving only him behind. The longer this dragged on, the more unmanageable it all became.
Dominic walked out to meet Romero outside, spotting him standing near the car, a rare cigarette burning between his fingers as he stared down at his phone, unmoving.
Odd.
He couldn’t remember the last time Romero smoked. It wasn’t a vice his second usually partook in, let alone without a drink in his hand to chase away the ashy taste left behind in his mouth.
The second Dominic stepped closer, he felt something was off immediately. Romero didn’t look up when he reached him, just kept frowning at the screen while his thumb tapped on it a few times.
“What is it?” Dominic asked.
Romero finally lifted his head, eyes tight. “Neither of the twins are answering.”
Dominic stilled. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve called Luca twice. Then Marco. Texted. Nothing. Both phones are ringing but there’s no answer.”
He didn’t hesitate before pulling out his own phone and calling the cell he’d given Aurora.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Voicemail.
Dominic didn’t feel panic often—not the kind that made your fingers go cold and your breath stutter in your chest. His was usually a fixated tunnel vision that allowed him to focus on the single, most important task laid out in front of him.
Which right now was Aurora.
“Get in the car,” he said tightly. “Now.”
They tore out onto the street like hellhounds were on their tail. Dominic gripped the wheel with white-knuckled hands, running every possible scenario through his mind. Had Alek come back? Had he actually dared to make a second move so soon after their last conversation?
He’d warned the Russian head what would happen if he went behind Dominic’s back again. There wouldn’t be just hell to pay, Alek would soon find out why Dominic’ reputation preceded itself.
He cursed under his breath at every red light like it was a personal insult. He ran two of them anyway, not at all caring if a pair of red-and-blue headlights would soon pop up behind him.
The second they arrived at the safehouse, he leapt out of the car, barely putting it into park first before marching to the back doors of Aurora’s motel room and ripping the key to it out of his pocket.
Romero followed close behind him, gun already being drawn.
“Aurora,” he called out upon opening the door.
They found the twins in the living room—slumped over, sweaty, and groaning like they were recovering from a bad case of food poisoning. Luca was half-rolled off the couch, Marco flat on his back with pieces of a board game strewn around him like offerings. Both looked disoriented and completely out of it.
What the hell happened?
Romero dropped beside Marco and gently shook his shoulder.
“Marco, wake up. What happened?” he demanded.
Bleary eyes blinked slowly at him. “Mmmmmmnah… they… gave us… drinks…”
Luca let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a hiss. “Fuckin’ made them… so strong…”
“Who?” Romero demanded again.
“Girls,” Luca grunted.
Neither of them were making sense but Dominic didn’t need them to.
He knew.
It wasn’t Alek that had done this. Aurora and Gianna had drugged the twins. They’d planned it, waited for his back to turn as soon as he walked out that door to the meeting, and then made their move.
Dominic’s lungs locked up, only one question continuing to vibrate around inside of his skull.
Why?
Why after everything they’d been through? Everything he’d done for her? Everything he’d given?
She was gone. She’d taken Gianna with her. And now… now he had no idea where the hell they’d gone.
Romero turned to him, wide-eyed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Dominic didn’t answer, he was too busy raking a hand through his hair, pacing in a tight circle. His vision blurred at the edges, rage and fear twisting through him like knives.
Fuck. Had they actually gone with Alek?
No. That didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t have needed to sedate the twins if they’d willingly handed themselves over to the Bratva. The twins would’ve been shot and let to rot. There would be no living witnesses left behind if Alek had come here and taken them both.
He dropped to his knees next to Marco—Luca was still mumbling something incoherent—and gripped the man’s shoulders.
“Where did they go?” he barked, shaking him. “Did they say anything?”
Marco tried to sit up, groaning. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but something in them lit up faintly at the sound of Dominic’s voice.
“M… Mexi…co…”
Dominic stilled. “What?”
Marco collapsed again, mumbling something else as he dropped back against the couch, out cold.
But it didn’t matter.
One word, that was all he needed.
Mexico.
Dominic shot to his feet.
“Keys,” he said to Romero.
Romero didn’t argue, just tossed him the set to the car.
Dominic didn’t even look back as he flew out the door.
The airport was twenty-five minutes away. He made it in fourteen.
His mind ran faster than the car ever could, spiraling through every possibility. He should’ve seen it… should’ve known. Aurora had been different all week, he felt she was off just had never put two-and-two together. He’d been a fool to think she was simply still reeling from Alek’s sudden appearance and not looked deeper into it like he should have.
He’d bought into the fake illusion. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.
She’d let him hold her, kiss her, slide a ring onto her finger, all the while planning her escape.
The betrayal punched deeper than he could process.
He didn’t even stop to think about security at the airport or the ticket he’d get after parking illegally near the arrivals gate. He flashed a forged federal clearance ID to the front desk at the international wing, demanding records matching Aurora’s description.
It took ten minutes and three calls to pull up the flight logs.
His stomach turned to lead when he saw it: two tickets, two female passengers, destination: Mexico City with a population of over nine million.
Departed over four hours ago.
Dominic’s hand clenched so hard around the printout that it tore.
She was gone. He’d never find her again in a city that large.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Dominic Guerrero didn’t have a plan.
