I’m not that good a liar.
10
LORENZO
The warehouse smells like rust and old blood. Not mine. Not yet.
Three men ambushed us at the south entrance. They’re down. I’m still standing.
Nico presses his hand to a gash on his shoulder, cursing under his breath. Marco checks the bodies, making sure they stay down.
The intel was wrong. The Benedettis knew we were coming. Someone talked.
The mission debrief can wait.
I move through the building on autopilot, gun raised, checking corners I already know are safe. The Benedettis left in a hurry. Coffee cups on a desk. Monitors still running, showing empty feeds. They knew. They ran.
But maybe they didn’t have time to move everyone. Maybe she’s still here.
The holding area is in the back. Heavy doors. Electronic locks that Marco’s bypassing, fingers flying over a tablet connected to the security system.
“Got it.” The lock clicks.
I push through the door.
The room is bare. Cots stripped. No clothes, no personal items. Just the faint smell of cheap soap and sweat soaked into the concrete.
Next room. The same. The next. The next. Bare mattresses and silence, one after another, until I stop counting.
“Renzo.” Nico, quiet now. “They’re gone.”
I stand in the last room. Stare at the cot where someone slept. Where maybe Sofia slept. Where she might have been lying hours ago, waiting for a rescue that came too late.
The Benedettis moved them. Got word and loaded the girls into trucks and drove them somewhere we can’t reach. The window closed. The transport schedule resets. Another ten days, minimum, before we have another chance. If we get another chance.
We were too late. I was too late.
Bring her back. Bring yourself back.
I promised. And I’m about to walk through that door with nothing but blood on my knuckles and the wrong answer on my tongue.
The drive back takes forty minutes. Silence. Nothing in my head worth saying. The city slides past the window and I try to figure out how to tell her.
Since Sofia vanished, she’s been starving herself on a diet of guilt and code and cold coffee. She found Sofia. Gave us the location. Trusted us. And I couldn’t deliver.
The gates open. The car pulls up the drive.
And I see her.
She’s at the window. Second floor. The study. Tracking the car’s approach. Even from here, her shoulders drop when shespots me in the back seat. Her hand presses flat against the glass for a moment before she steps back.
By the time I get inside, she’s standing in the middle of the study. Fixed on the doorway. Waiting. Her expression is open. Arms loose. Leaning forward. Already building for the moment when I tell her Sofia is safe.
I stop in the doorway.
A shower first would have been smarter. Washed the blood off, changed my clothes, turned myself into a man who doesn’t reek of violence and failure. But she deserves to know now.
“Lorenzo.” Her voice catches on my name. “Did you. Is she?—”
