Chapter 15
The drive to the North Woods safe house took exactly one hour. The Marconi SUVs tore down the desolate, snow-covered highway, moving like black phantoms through the freezing Midwestern night.
Raffaele sat in the back of the lead vehicle, reloading his sidearm. He was completely silent, his handsome, rugged features bathed in the faint glow of the dashboard lights. He thought of Noah, sobbing on the stone terrace, and the protective rage that had fueled him since that afternoon flared brightly in his chest.
The SUVs pulled off the main highway onto a dark, unpaved logging road, killing their headlights. They drove the last two miles using night-vision optics, approaching the isolated cabin completely undetected.
"Thermal imaging shows a single heat signature inside, Boss," the tactical driver whispered. "No perimeter guards. She is completely alone."
Raffaele stepped out of the vehicle, his heavy overcoat wrapping around his tall, imposing frame. He didn't need the strike team for this.
"Secure the perimeter," Raffaele ordered Vincent. "Do not let her escape. But I go in alone."
Vincent nodded, motioning for the men to fan out and encircle the cabin in the woods.
Raffaele walked slowly up the wooden steps of the porch. The cabin was dark, the windows covered by heavy blinds. He didn't bother picking the lock. He raised his heavy leather boot and kicked the door open with a resounding crash that splintered the doorframe.
The cinematic, bright flashlight beam attached to his weapon cut through the darkness of the cabin.
Victoria Hale shrieked, scrambling backward from the couch where she had been sleeping. She was no longer the elegant, poised woman from the engagement party. Her hair was a tangled mess, her designer clothes wrinkled and dirty. She huddled against the far wall, her hands shielding her face from the blinding light.
"Raffaele!" she screamed, her voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated terror. "Please! Don't kill me!"
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Raffaele lowered his weapon, the tactical light illuminating the floor at her feet. He stood in the doorway, a monolithic figure of vengeance, his dark, dead-eyed stare locking onto the woman who had betrayed him.
"I told you," Raffaele whispered softly into the freezing cabin. "There is no 'after we marry'."
