Across the table, Lorenzo makes a sound. Low. Rough. A warning that doesn’t need words.
Nico grins. “See? That grunt means he agrees.”
“Nicolas.” Steel from the head of the table.
“What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being a pest.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I take a bite of gumbo to hide my smile. Rich and spicy. Comfort food I haven’t tasted since before Sofia disappeared.
“Good, cher?” Rosa hovers with obvious hope.
“It’s amazing.” Honest. Unguarded. “I haven’t had anything like this since?—”
Since my mother used to cook. Before the pills. Before everything fell apart. I don’t finish the sentence.
Rosa pats my shoulder anyway, like she heard what I didn’t say. “You eat here now. Every Sunday. No excuses.”
“I’m not sure I’ll still be here next Sunday.”
“Every Sunday.” No room for argument. “You’re family, dawlin’. Whether you know it yet or not.”
The word catches. Family. Trusting is a luxury I lost years ago. But I want to.
“Speaking of family business.” Dante sets down his fork, and the table goes quiet. The shift is immediate. “Isabella’s work paid off. We have a confirmed location.”
My spine straightens. “The staging warehouse?”
“The analysis you ran narrowed it down. Nico confirmed with his contacts this morning.” Dante nods at his brother. “It’s a staging point. Girls come through the port compound, get processed, then move to the warehouse before transport. The rotation happens every ten days.”
“Sofia.” Her name escapes me. “If the timing is right, she could be there right now.”
“It’s possible.” Dante is careful. Measured. “We’re moving tomorrow night. Lorenzo leads the team. Nico runs intelligence. Marco handles perimeter.”
Tomorrow night. After three years of searching, tomorrow night.
“I’m coming.”
The words roll out before I think them through. Silence crashes over the table.
“No.” Lorenzo. One word. Flat. Final. The first thing he’s said directly to me in two days.
“This is my intel. My sister.”
“Isabella.” Dante cuts through. “He’s right. This is a combat operation. You’re an asset, not a soldier.”
“You’re a hacker.” Lorenzo, strained. “Not a soldier. You stay here.”
“I found her.”
“Yes.” One word. It lands like a slap.
I stare at him across the table. But he’s still saying no.
“Renzo.” Gia, soft. “Maybe she could help.”
