Devil's Vow

43. Diavoletto's Hidden Past

Andreas

My wife is missing. 

I clench my fists, feeling the soft petals of the chrysanthemums I just laid on the casket. The delicate blooms contrast sharply with the grim reality of this day. I scan the crowd, searching for her black dress and familiar silhouette, but all I see are faces veiled in grief. Panic gnaws at me, twisting my gut tighter with each moment that passes.

“Where the hell is she?” I mutter under my breath, my frustration rising to the brim.

I catch the gaze of my father, his eyes dark and unreadable as always. Uncle Catalino wears the same look and my mother’s cold façade has broken. She appears lost, far away, in another place. And so, I’m damn sure that they had nothing to do with the pressing situation at hand. I turn my attention back to the crowd, eyes darting like a hawk searching for its prey.

“Surround the place!” I bark, my voice cutting through the hushed murmurs of the attendees. My men spring into action, forming a tight perimeter around the funeral. “No one leave until we find my wife!”

“Boss, we’ve searched—” Enrico starts, but I cut him off with a fierce glare.

“Don’t you dare spit that nonsense. I want every inch of this place searched, I don’t care if I have to tear it apart, and the people in it!” My voice rises, the threat palpable. “If anyone knows where she is and isn’t telling me, I will make them wish they were dead.” The crowd stirs nervously, whispers of fear and defiance dancing among them. And then I look at Giuseppe’s seat, and the old fool is nowhere to be found. I glare at Axel Lombardi and he shakes his head slowly. He has no reason to protect his uncle, so I believe him for now. 

“Where’s Giuseppe?” I snap, my tone sharp enough to cut glass. The unease in the air is thickens as the guests exchange glances, a ripple of confusion spreading through the gathering.

“Boss, we will find him—” one of my men tries to assure me reassure me, but I’m way beyond any form of reassurance. 

“Get the hell out of my way,” I growl, dismissing them with a wave of my hand. I stride throw the sea of mourners, my heart pounding with a mix of rage and worry. The sound of muted sobs and whispered condolences fade away as I hone into one goal: finding my wife. They all part into two with every step I take, it’s almost silent now, like they’re trying to process my words and how serious I am. They all know one thing, that I never make empty threats.

I leave the funeral and I head to the streets. “Laura!” I shout, desperation seeping into my tone. My heart races, my brain generates images of her body found in a dumpster with bullets in her body, or worse, completely mutilated. “Where are you?” 

I refuse to let fear take hold. I will find her. I must find her. I start walking, taking long strides as far as my legs can carry. She couldn’t have gone far, right? She can’t be far, and she’s still alive. She must be. For some reason, I can’t seem to get ugly visuals of her out of my head. My chest hurts, physically. In the past few minutes, I’ve already had a long train of thoughts, and none of them are good. I’m walking aimlessly now, searching for my fallen angel in a dark coat. The fact that Giuseppe has left the funeral is pretty fucking convenient. My phone buzzes in my pocket. When the screen lights up, it’s a text from my spy at Giuseppe’s estate. 

Negative.

Fuck. Where in the world could she be? I run my hand over my hair, as I collect and organize my thoughts. If Giuseppe doesn’t have her, then who does? I can’t think of anyone else who would even dare, but then again that funeral was filled with motherfuckers that don’t even like me, not in the slightest. They see me as a rabid animal that needs to be controlled, a ticking time bomb, so they should know better than to cross me. Than to kidnap my wife.