George’s POV
Twenty-four hours ago
I grabbed a handkerchief to wipe the drizzling rain off my face when my phone vibrated from my back pocket. I reluctantly pulled it out to see an unknown number calling me.
“Now listen carefully, Mr. George Whyte, because I won't repeat myself.” A cold, unfamiliar voice spoke.
“Who the hell are you?!” I growled angrily, ready to hang up.
“I have your pregnant wife here with me and their fate are in your hands.”
I swallowed, my breath hitched. “You are bluffing, Julia is at home, resting,” I yelled. Panic surged through me, but I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Oh, is that so?!” I heard a low peak of laughter, the sound of a gun c*****g, and finally someone screaming in the background.
“Dolcezza?!” I jumped up from my seat, the umbrella fell
