My Surrogate, My Love... (Mafia Romance, 18+)

Chapter twenty six

Leandro's p.o.v

"So Matteo, where are the documents that require my signature?" I inquire, extremely bored by the meeting.
"Oh, they're right..."
He abruptly halts in his movements, after taking sweet time searching his briefcase.
"Uh, sorry, sir. I think I left them in the car. Give me just a few minutes to grab them."

Right about now, I have this overwhelming urge to retrieve my pistol from my pockets, and shoot the man dead, right between those fear-laden eyes. Sometimes, even my attempts to remain cool and serene, prove futile.

"Hurry," it is a simple order, with my fingers drumming against the mahogany-wood table in attempts to keep my anger at bay.
"Come down, càpó," Giovanni comforts, causing my lips to purse, and my eyes swipe over in his direction.

After sitting there, in the audible silence, for the next fifteen minutes, thirty two seconds, Matteo finally graces us with his presence, papers in hand. He hands them over, and after carefully reading, analyzing and evaluating the details, I sign the white sheets. I am a very cautious man, it's how I've managed to survive this world. A slight slip up, and one is done for, trust me.

I hand the papers back, and keenly observe as he neatly files then tucks them inside his briefcase.
"Well, càpó, I will surely contact you, immediately I have word from Mr Brandy. I must take my leave now."
Concluding his speech, he bows his head, and stride past the lilac curtains.
And where on earth is Eva? She's been gone for a solid twenty minutes.

"Càpó, where are you going?" Costello is quick to question.
"To find Eva."
I strut down the halls, and glide into the restroom, only to find that it's empty. No one is in here, except for some brunette that's busy throwing up. She stands on her feet, and staggers her way out of the room. Pathetic. Doesn't even take time to rinse her mouth, the drunken mess of a woman.

But where is Eva? I search every stall, not once, but twice, and each time, my efforts only prove futile.
Or has she finally decided to escape. Would be the wiser thing to do. I haven't granted her good enough reason to stay behind, because of my volatile nature. But she promised, said she'd never leave me, and she's anything but deceptive...

That's when something catches my eye, a writing on one of the mirrors, in a blood-red shade, the name...Savage? No, no, this can't be happening again. This cannot be happening a second time! Each alphabet of the damned name tumbles down my tongue, and I run my hands over my face in exasperation, panic, frustration. Punching the mirror, I effectively shatter the blasted thing, feeling a new kind of pain pierce through my knuckles.

That son of a bitch has Eva, and I'll be glad to give him the agonizing death he so wishes for.
I yell out as if crazed, punching the mirrors right next to the one I just broke, pulling on the roots of my strands, and trying my hardest to keep a firm grip on sanity. I have sought that imbecile for a good five years, five fucking years of my life!
Costello and Giovanni walk in, halting right in their tracks as soon as they take in my disoriented state.

"Càpó, what's the matter?" Costello's voice echos.
"He took her. That fucker, Savage, has taken Eva. He fucking has her," I explain in a monotone, clutching the sinks for support, with my chest heaving.
Even I manage to surprise myself with the amount of tranquility laced in my tone, despite the situation.
"Boss, was she wearing the bracelet you gave her?" It's Giovanni's turn to inquire.
"Yes, yes she was."

At this point, my thoughts are so overly clouded with rage, to the point of being incapable of thinking straight, or thinking at all, for that matter.
"Didn't you install a tracking chip in one of the charms? We can use that to try and track her down," Costello concludes, making me stand up more straight at the revelation.

"We are not going to try. We will track her down, find her, bring her home. Let's go now."
Exiting the restroom, I briskly search my pockets for my phone. Then, realization slaps me right across the face; I left it behind. I wasn't going to need my laptop for the meeting, so I left it deliberately. But my phone? How could I be so careless, and in a situation like this!

In the car, my fingers repetitively drum against my thigh, anxiety as well as anger, sipping into my venations, boiling my blood. I will my body to remain sober, will my mind to
remain sane, and will my lungs to keep breathing.

It takes us a whole hour to arrive back at the hotel, and as soon as we do, I alight the vehicle, and make my way into the building, and up to the receptionist's desk.
"Keys to room one hundred and two."
"Sure big bo..."
"You better hurry if you wish to keep yourself breathing, love."

I have every intent to act on my words, if need be.
She rises from her seat without any further words, hands me the key, and I'm on my way. I can feel the pounding of the veins in my temple, I can hear my prominent breathing, and I can feel myself I loose grip on reality.
Breath, Leandro. Just breath.

Unlocking doors, I find my phone rested atop the sofa. I grab it, impatiently tap on the various icons, until I spot the red, blinking dot stationary on a particular street. Zooming in, I am able to clearly make out the location they have her held hostage; some old, abandoned church.

Walking further into the suite, I retrieve a small briefcase, unclasp the locks, and check for the contents within. Explosives, two silencers, aqua regia solution, and three silver daggers. They ought to do the trick.
I exit the room, lock the doors behind, leave the key at the receptionist's desk, and stride out of the building. When it comes to shattering an individual, it's best to employ psychological torture, and that is exactly what I shall be offering wholeheartedly tonight.

Seconds convert into long minutes of being stuck in traffic, and never has fear felt so prominent, so pungent, so vivid. I feel compelled to ditch the car, and make a run for it, but with the full knowledge that I won't make it on time, I end up strapping myself to the seat, impatienly waiting, clenching and unclenching fists at the multiple scenarios playing and replaying in the back of my head.

Even as I try to keep my optimistic side blooming, I can't help but envision the amount of pain they've already subjected her to. If this Savage son of a bitch has been working for the mafia, or for a cartel or gang, then the methods he must have already used...
The blinking dot is still on the abandoned church, but as we drive closer and closer to our destination, it suddenly stops gleaming.

"Càzzó!" I yell, slamming fists against the front seat, combing fingers harshly through my hair, and effectively drawing both men's attention.
"What is it, boss?"
"I've lost track of Eva. He's discovered the tracking chip, destroyed it most certainly!"
Reaching for my pockets, I retrieve a liquor flask, pop the cap, and chug the drink. I am going crazy, fucking insane!

I resent myself even more, for all the times I caused Eva any form of hurt, all the times I punished her, ridiculed her, even harmed our kids indirectly. I'd die for them without question, in a fucking heartbeat. Nothing will happen to them, nothing will happen to her, because I will permanently lose hold on sanity!

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