Chapter 227 Bait taken
Chapter 227 Bait taken
The smoke from Matteo’s custom Tuscan cigar drifted up toward the steel-gray autumn sky as he leaned against the fender of his sedan, parked three blocks away from the spa. He had ignored Ridge’s command to stay out of sight, relying instead on his own instincts and a secondary tracking sub-frequency he had secretly synced to Elisa's diamond-encrusted pendant when the boss wasn't looking.
Blink. Blink. Red.
The tiny LED display on the dashboard receiver flashed a frantic, bloody crimson.
Matteo dropped the half-smoked cigar to the pavement, crushing it beneath the heel of his Italian leather shoe with casual, lethal precision. He didn't curse. Men like Matteo didn't waste breath on panic; they moved like executioners.
"Stupido," Matteo muttered in a low, gravelly rumble to himself, shifting the sedan into reverse with a sharp squeal of rubber. "The boss thinks he is playing chess with children. Now the queen is off the board."
He slammed his foot on the accelerator, tracking the real-time GPS ping as the kidnappers’ black transport van accelerated away from Fifth Avenue, weaving erratically through the downtown traffic.
Inside the cabin of Ridge’s armored town car parked down the block from the spa, the high-frequency audio stream from the bug in Elisa's hoodie crackled with the sharp, chaotic sound of shattered glass and muffled screams.
Ridge froze, his phone already pressed to his ear before the echoes of the breach had even faded down the avenue.
"Rafaele," Ridge barked, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp, lethal register that vibrated through the dashboard. "He took the bait. The van is moving. Get your men in position now."
On the other end of the line, the sound of a high-performance engine roaring to life echoed through the speaker, accompanied by the calm, chilling drawl of the Sicilian boss.
"Stai calmo, amico mio," Rafaele replied smoothly, shifting gears with practiced ease. "I told you the wolf cannot resist the scent of blood in the open. My cleaners are already sealing the perimeter roads. Keep your eyes on the telemetry. We will trap him in his own web."
"If they lay a single finger on her,if so much as a strand of her red hair is out of place,I won't just kill him," Ridge swore, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned. "I will dismantle every single operation you have left standing on this continent."
"Calmati, Ridge. Trust the blood," Rafaele’s voice cut through the line like cold steel before the call clicked dead.
Ridge slammed his foot onto the gas, throwing the town car into a violent U-turn, his eyes locked onto his secondary monitor. The digital blue dot representing Elisa's hoodie bug flickered across the screen, moving north toward the abandoned shipyards.
Elisa sat pressed hard against the reinforced steel wall of the cargo hold, her chest heaving in rapid, shallow gasps. Her hands were trembling, but her mind was racing with desperate, survival-mode clarity. While Vicenzo and his masked cronies were busy shouting commands at the front, her fingers had slipped into the deep pocket of her oversized hoodie, wrapping around the smooth glass screen of her phone.
Tap. Delete. Type.
She was three letters away from sending an emergency GPS coordinate to Kristy when a heavy, calloused hand slammed down over her wrist, pinning the device against her knee with bone-crushing force.
"Nice try, little bird," a rough-voiced enforcer sneered, wrenching the phone out of her grip with a sharp twist.
Before Elisa could scream, the man pressed the power button, held it down until the screen went pitch black, and tossed the dead phone onto the floor of the van, grinding his combat boot over it until the glass shattered completely.
"Leave her," a smooth, chillingly familiar voice commanded from the front passenger seat.
Vicenzo turned around, his shoulders resting against the headrest, a dark, mocking grin spread across his scarred face. He pulled off the partial ski mask he had used during the breach, letting his modified, surgically altered features catch the dim light filtering through the tinted windows.
Elisa stared at him, her eyes narrowing through the panic. "Who the hell are you? Why am I here?"
Vicenzo let out a low, amused chuckle, leaning back with an infuriating air of casual familiarity. "Oh, come now, Elisa. Does the face really change the memory that much? You seriously don't recognize an old friend of your dear husband's?"
Elisa shook her head fiercely, her red hair whipping across her shoulders. "I've never seen you in my life! Ridge never mentioned you!"
"Of course he didn't," Vicenzo scoffed, rolling his eyes as if disappointed by her ignorance. "Men like Lockhart don't like to advertise their old business partners,especially the ones they tried to leave for federal fodder."
"You're out of your mind," Elisa snapped, her voice trembling despite her brave front. "My husband is going to hunt you down and tear you apart piece by piece."
"Let him try," Vicenzo laughed, his tone dropping into a dark, venomous purr. "That’s the beauty of this whole little game, my dear. He’s going to hunt us down. But first... let's see what kind of little tracking presents he tucked into your pretty little clothes."
Elisa blinked in pure confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Vicenzo reached forward, his long fingers hooking into the inner lining of her black hoodie near the collar. With a swift, practiced jerk, he ripped the small, high-frequency micro-bug out of the fabric, pulling it free with a tiny thread-snapping sound.
"Tracking audio," Vicenzo whispered, holding the tiny device up between his thumb and forefinger like a disgusting insect. "Our boy Ridge is clever. He really thought he could lead us on a leash."
He let out a loud, devilish laugh, throwing his head back against the seat.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, Vicenzo crushed the bug between his fingers, tossing the ruined pieces onto the floor and crushing them beneath his heel.
Miles away, sitting in the driver’s seat of the speeding town car, Ridge was watching the real-time telemetry screen with hawk-like intensity.
Suddenly, the flashing blue dot on the map didn't just move,it vanished.
The screen flickered once, twice, and then went dead gray. A bold, crimson system warning flashed across the dashboard: SIGNAL LOST. TRANSMITTER DESTROYED.
For three agonizing seconds, the world inside the car stopped spinning.
Ridge’s breath caught in his throat. His chest locked up as a cold, terrifying wave of absolute panic washed over him. Vicenzo had found the bug. He had stripped it off her.
"No," Ridge whispered, his voice cracking with raw, unadulterated terror. "No, no, no!"
He snatched his satellite phone off the console, his thumb flying over the speed dial to reconnect with Rafaele. The phone rang once, twice and the moment it connected, Ridge didn't even wait for a greeting.
"Rafaele!" Ridge screamed, his voice echoing off the bulletproof glass of the car with the force of a detonating charge. "The signal just went dead! They found the bug! If they touch a single hair on her head,if they so much as leave a scratch on Elisa,I swear to Almighty God, I will hunt down every single man bearing your name and burn your entire syndicate to ash! Do you hear me?!"
On the other end of the line, Rafaele didn't yell back. His voice remained chillingly calm, dripping with absolute, unshakable lethal authority.
"Calmati, Lockhart," Rafaele ordered, his tone cutting through Ridge's panic like a razor. "The signal dying was part of the equation the moment they entered a dead zone or discovered the device. It means the game has moved from hide-and-seek to hand-to-hand combat. Keep driving north. My men have the sector locked down. We are closing the trap right now."
Ridge gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles pierced the leather, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, demonic fire.
"If she dies," Ridge whispered into the phone, his voice dropping into a horrific, quiet vow, "I don't care what will happen, I'll kill everyone involved."