𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 |𝟏𝟖+ (#𝟏)

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚁𝚃𝚈-𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴 |

35
ALESSANDRO VITALE
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"Holy fuck." Franco says as he struggles to gain his breath. His hands are on his knees, his back rising a falling in a mimic of an asthma attack. "Shit, I need a break. Switch," he calls out to Gianni, throwing the sparring punching mitts at him while sluggishly walking out of the ring.

It was the only way I could keep myself sane for the last three days of constant disappointing news regarding finding Amber. There was no information on her whereabouts, and I'd just about searched the whole city high and low looking for her. I've even entrusted law enforcement that owed a debt to my family and the FBI agents I had on my payroll. Nothing. Fucking nothing, and I was losing my shit.

I had people 24/7 tracking her through the device in her ring and necklace, but at most, they could only tell me that she was in New York but couldn't triangulate her location due to some blocking device. It's how I know the FBI agent definitively has something to do with it. That pissed me off just as much as the idea of her being gone. It was eating me alive to know she was still here but not within my reach.

Underneath the tape that binds my hands, my knuckles were blue with bruises, and my face was also a little fucked from my session with one of my sponsored underground MMA fighters yesterday. I wanted it to hurt physically because every night I went home and laid in the bed we shared, I wanted to rip into my skin. There was something so fucked about comfortably falling into a routine with the one you love the most and then having to readjust when they disappeared.

My routine with Amber was taken from me. It was taken from me when someone took her. But I should share the blame. I kicked her out of the wedding. Generally speaking if none of this bullshit happened, with where we had been in our relationship I'd have her in my arms, probably naked, since it was still the crack of dawn. "Hurry up," I grunt out, watching Gianni slowly pull his gloves on, a sense of apprehensiveness on his features. "You need to cool it. None of this helps her or you."

"It's better than sitting on my ass in a place she should be. Now shut the fuck up."

My family thought I was unbearable the weeks before my last sighting of her at the wedding when I knew her every waking moment when we weren't technically speaking with each other. I knew when she left her house, was on the train to classes and at the library. I knew when she would stop for coffee and when she was home. Now I'm never home for breakfast and more than often not dinner because I was analyzing the same video feed that hasn't changed since I first viewed it. My obsessing over work was going to kill me per a conversation with my mother.

Losing Amber would kill me.

"Your mother is worried about you. She hasn't seen you in days," he grunts, holding his hands out for us to begin. I roll my eyes, swallowing down the spit in my mouth from thirst. I take a bit of pause, "She's always fucking worried. It's nothing new." I tell him truthfully.

My mother though married to one of the most ruthless mafia men in our family's history, was still the goody two shoes she was since she was young. She went to the priest every Sunday and prayed every morning she woke up for the health and safety of us all. Hopefully, her prayers could save us when our final days came.

"Well, you're her firstborn; she needs to be worried. Especially now. You're slowly losing your shit." he says, dodging my punch as per the combination. I don't answer him because what the fuck am I supposed to say to that. I am losing my shit.

"Luka has offered to help however he can. You would know that if you picked up the phone once in a while." He grunts out as I dodge the following combination of his attack.