He's talking fast, words tripping over each other, but the data is simple, undeniable. A location. A concrete answer.
That's all I need. All the patience I have exerted for forty-eight hours evaporates instantly.
I grab my jacket from the back of the chair, the motion sharp enough to knock an empty glass of water off the counter. It shatters against the tile floor, the sound a brief, violent punctuation mark on two days of silence. I ignore it.
Alessandro is already moving, his reaction instantaneous and protective. He moves between me and the main door. "Dante."
"Move."
He doesn't. He stands his ground, a wall of cool reason against my internal fire. "You can't go in there blind."
"I've killed half the men between here and Staten Island looking for answers," I growl. "I'm done waiting."
He studies me, jaw tight. "Then take a team, but don't do anything you can't come back from."
I meet his eyes. "There's nothing to come back to if she's gone."
The words hang there for a beat—a raw, complete confession of my devotion and dependence. He doesn't argue. He only nods once, a silent understanding passing between us, and steps aside.
I am halfway down the hall when a small, fragile voice stops me dead.
"Papà?"
Sofia stands in the hallway, framed in the dark rectangle of her bedroom door. Her hair is a tangled halo of gold, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She's clutching her velvet rabbit like it's armor.
“Principessa.” My voice is a low, choked gasp.
She runs to me, her small feet silent on the thick carpet, and throws her arms around my waist, holding on so tight it hurts. It grounds me, a solid, beautiful weight against my destructive impulse. "You're going to find her?"
I kneel, my hands shaking violently as I cup her face, gently smoothing the hair from her brow. "I'm going to bring her home."
Her lip trembles, the small, innocent vulnerability of it tearing through my hardened core. "Promise?"
"I swear on my life, Sofia," I say softly, the oath absolute. It's a promise I will keep, or I will cease to exist. "I will bring our Bella home."
She nods, a huge, shuddering breath escaping her, and presses her forehead to mine, a silent, desperate blessing. "Bring her back, Papà. Please."
I hold her for a heartbeat longer, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and sunlight, committing the feeling of her small body to memory. Then I stand, my mission sharpened, refined, and justified.
I look at Alessandro. He is already grabbing two vests and two heavy weapons from the secure cabinet.
"Let's move," I command.
The elevator doors slide open with a silent, metallic sigh. The city waits below, dark and hungry.
And this time, I'm not searching. I'm hunting.
Chapter 25
The long night with no sleep has bled into the morning, though I couldn't swear on the time. The light filtering through the grimy boards over the window is harsh, flat gray—the color of exhaustion and concrete. I only know I have been in this room for two endless days.
Even the air feels wrong—too heavy, too slow, the kind that presses against your chest until every breath burns. I sit where Danny left me, my spine pressed against the damp, cold wall, wrists aching where the cheap plastic zip tie digs mercilessly into my skin. He'd bound me again when he left last night, and the sharp edges have chafed the skin raw. I can feel the warmth of my own blood staining the plastic. My eyes are locked on the scarred, peeling wood of the door, waiting for the end.
The light bulb overhead flickers in lazy circles, buzzing like a dying bee—the only sound besides Danny.
He's pacing again, faster now, his footsteps echoing on the warped floorboards. He's past jittery; he's rigid, a length of steel drawn too tight. He mutters to himself, words I can barely catch, but the meaning is sickeningly clear.
"... they'll come for me... Russians want it done... he dies, we're free... all of it goes back to zero..."
