Dinner on Friday

23. Dante

DEFEATED

The door to the kitchen whooshed open and Carla flew in like a bird in distress, Jenna hot on her heels. Steam rising from the pans on the stove scattered with the sudden burst of air instead of rising to the ceiling.

"My mother... She's in danger," Carla said, rushing to my side where I was busy preparing a clam, chorizo, and white bean stew.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice tight.

Carla's eyes were wide, her breathing shallow. She clutched her phone in her hand. A sheen of sweat coated her forehead and I hated that I'd seen this expression on her face one too many times lately.

"I just got a call from her. I heard noises in the background, like cars and shouting. I think she's in trouble."

"Did you talk to her?" I looked away momentarily, not wanting the stew to burn, all while thinking about what Carla was saying.

"Yes," she stressed, impatience tinting her tone. "She said that someone was trying to kill her. We need to do something."

I dropped the spoon to the side before tugging off my apron while letting the soup simmer. "Did she say anything else? Anything that might let us know where she is?"

"No, nothing. I'm worried, Dante. Do you think it's the people calling her about the money she supposedly owes?"

"I don't know, baby. Maybe." My mind started racing, trying to connect the dots. I thought about the notes that had been threatening Carla. The poison. And now Carla's mother. What if the people her mother allegedly owned money to were the ones targeting Carla?

But it couldn't be. I found the first note almost two years ago. Her mom only recently showed up on our doorstep.

I looked at Jenna and she stared back at me with worried eyes as she anxiously bit on her bottom lip. Carla was going into panic mode and I needed Jenna to distract her while keeping her company.

"Jenna, you're coming home with us," I said.

She glanced at Carla, questioning my decision. "Umm. Okayy?"

"Good. Then it's settled." I spoke before Carla could react. Without waiting for a response, I stalked out of the kitchen, firing orders at my staff as I did. My youngest employee, and a damn good cook, Mariella, immediately took over the stew.

I needed to find Carla's mother. Once we made it home, I locked myself in the security room. I tried tracing Carla's mom's phone using an exclusive program my uncle had gotten off the black market, but the signal seemed to be bouncing off multiple towers, obscuring the location.

After several attempts, I reached out to Schipper to assist with the trace. But even with Schipper's expertise, the trace was unsuccessful. It was as if someone was deliberately obscuring her mother's location, complicating our efforts to reach her.

Schipper glared at the screen and sighed. He looked formidable dressed in black from head to toe, his go-to outfit when on the job. "This is not normal," he said.

"The hell it isn't. What the fuck do I tell my wife? That her mom disappeared without a trace?"

"Keep it together, man. Let's not jump to conclusions. How about we try again?"

"Sure," I said dryly. That's why Schipper was my head of security. The man was as cool as a cucumber.

Although I had my body turned away from him, my eyes tracked Schipper's work on the screen keenly. Once again, the trace was unsuccessful.