I turn my head so I can look at him, my heart skipping a beat. “Ally’s missing?”
“Yes.”
A single word. Only he would think that’s enough information for me.
“Elaborate, please.” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed. Everything sounds wrong to my ears right now.
“We think the Russians took her.”
It’s dead silent for a heartbeat while I stare up at him. I must have heard him wrong. He couldn’t have possibly said the Russians took my cousin, right? “Excuse me . . . who took her?”
“The Russians.”
He regards me like I’m a little slow, which in my defense, I am at the moment, but that still doesn’t mean he needs to be rude.
“The Russians took Ally?”
He rubs his brow as if he’s trying to fight off a headache. “Yes, Gemma. The Russians took Ally. Do you need it in writing?”
The glare I give him is supposed to kick him hard in the balls, but of course, nothing happens. “Why?”
He takes off his suit jacket and places it on a chair by the window. “That’s what everyone’s trying to figure out.”
I’m temporarily distracted by him rolling up his shirtsleeves, exposing two strong forearms that are thickly veined and lined with several tattoos. He crosses his arms over his chest as if he knows exactly what I was doing.
Focus, Gemma.
The local anesthesia must have started working since the pain in my side has subsided, and with that, my brain function is slowly coming back as well.
The other man clears his throat. “I’m going to clean the wound now, okay? It might take a while, considering how much fabric is lodged in there. I’m going to give you some antibiotics later too, just in case. We don’t want you to get an infection.”
I turn his way. “Thank you.”
He gets to work, and I focus back on Matteo, who’s watching us like a hawk.
I ignore his scrutiny. “So that was the Russians at the bar?”
His fists open and close several times before he answers, “Yes. They blew up one of the walls on the side to gain access.”
I scrunch up my nose. I can’t believe they blew up part of the bar. “Did they take anyone other than Ally?”
“From what I know, she’s the only one.”
None of this makes sense, and this conversation hurts my head, a dull throbbing near my temples getting more intense by the second.
Matteo’s phone rings, giving me a small reprieve.
After checking the screen, he swipes it and brings it up to his ear. “Lorenzo.”
The reprieve is short-lived when I hear the name. Is he talking to my dad?
His gaze finds mine, holding me hostage under his scrutiny. “Yes, she’s with me.”
Sounds like it’s my dad. But why would he call Matteo?
“She’s being taken care of.”
He pauses and listens to the reply.