“Where the hell have you been, Isa? I’ve been running damage control for two days.”
“I can’t tell you much yet, but I’ve got eyes on something big. The Moretti connection might not be what we thought.”
“Isa…” he warns, voice low. “You’re treading on dangerous ground. Just stay alive long enough to bring me something I can print.”
Then I call Casey—my best friend, my voice of reason, the one person who’s always seen through me.
She picks up on the first ring. “Holy hell, you’re alive!”
“Barely.”
“Where are you? And don’t say ‘can’t tell you.’”
I laugh under my breath. “Fine. Somewhere… high up. With a man who makes terrible coffee.”
Her voice sharpens instantly. “Oh my God. Isa, are you being held hostage by a mobster right now?”
I pause. “…Technically.”
“Technically?”
“He’s not what I thought he’d be, Leah. He’s—” I hesitate, searching for the right words. “He’s dangerous, yeah. But he’s also… complicated. Kind. He takes care of his daughter. And he—”
“Oh no.”
“Oh no, what?”
“You’re catching feelings for your mafia captor.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I groan. “You’re insane.”
“No,” she says, laughing. “You are. I know that voice, Isa. That’s your I’m falling for the story voice.”
“It’s not the story.”
“Then who is it?”
I don’t answer.
Evening creeps in, and he still isn’t back.
Nicole puts Sofia to bed, leaving me with a quiet I don’t know what to do with.
I pace my room, unable to stop the worry gnawing at me. Every creak in the hallway makes my heart stutter.
Then—soft crying.
Sofia.
Before I even think, I’m out of my room and down the hall.
Her door’s cracked open. She’s curled in her bed, clutching her rabbit, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Hey,” I whisper, kneeling beside her. “Bad dream?”
