“I know you have the location coordinates, but I will take a tracker.”
As I prepare to leave. I feel the weight of everything in my chest, the ache of the last twenty-four hours pressing down, but it is sharpened into determination. Despair is a tool, not a shackle. My grief fuels me, but it does not control me. I will not allow it.
Camilla comes to the doorway just as I make to step out. She doesn’t cross the threshold, just watches me pull on my jacket.
“You really love her,” she says quietly.
I glance up. Her voice holds no hint of the jealousy she once had when Liliana’s name came up.
“More than anything or any other human being,” I answer. “Fuck, more than life itself.”
She nods once. “Then make sure you come back with her.”
It’s the closest thing to approval she will give my marriage, and I take it for what it is.
Outside, the night air hits me, sharp and cold, a reminder that the universe waits for no one. Tomasso stands by the car, the tracker in hand, every line of his body tense with readiness. I meet his eyes. “You know when to move in.”
I climb into the car, and the engine roars to life, the city lights sliding past like a ribbon of inevitability. Every mile brings me closer to him. Closer to her. Closer to the reckoning I have been building in my mind since the second she was taken.
I can see it all: the building, dark, guarded, the shadows where he thinks he has power. He has underestimated me, as all men do. He believes that twenty-four hours of fear, of chasing shadows, of testing my control, has weakened me. He is wrong. He has only made me sharper, faster, and more precise.
I carefully review the plan in my mind. Entry, position, extraction. Every threat considered, every angle scrutinized. I am ready for any contingency because she is worth every risk. Because she is everything, and this approach is the only way to ensure she makes it out alive.
I imagine her face when she sees me. The relief, trust, and recognition that, despite all the danger, I won't fail her or give up on her. I feel the pulse of the city beneath the tires, the streets' rhythm matching my heartbeat. The air is tense with anticipation, every breath measured, every thought focused. Greco wants to control, to dominate, to prove he can break me. But I am not broken. I am not bending. I am not afraid.
Twenty-four hours of silence have honed me into a weapon. Every sleepless minute, every moment of despair, every shred of worry has been forged into resolve. I am precise, calculated, unstoppable. The only outcome I accept is her safety.
As I approach the location, I see the shadows of men moving, they are strategically placed, but I am ready with a foolproof plan in place.
The building is nondescript, but I know better. Inside, she waits, and every second she remains in his hands is a second too long.I will not allow hesitation. I will not allow fear. Every ounce of pain, every hour of uncertainty, every minute of waiting has sharpened me for this.
The car stops, and I jump out without hesitation. Despair does not rule me. Rage does not rule me. Love, calculated and fierce, rules me.
I step forward, prepared to bring my wife home.
32
LILIANA
Pain has settled upon me like a second skin.
It no longer spikes sharply with each slight move, but instead, it pulses low and steady. It's a dull, persistent ache that settles in my bones and makes every breath feel like a small betrayal. My wrists burn where the ropes bite into them, my shoulders throb, and my ribs protest with each shallow inhale. My lips are split, and the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
I am no longer sure how long I’ve been here. Time has dissolved into the drip of water, the scrape of a boot against stone, the occasional creak of the door that means more hurt is coming. I keep my hands curled protectively over my stomach wheneveranyone comes close to me. I cannot tell if I do it to shield the babies or to remind myself they are still there.
But today, the fear that has been whispering at the edges of my thoughts grows louder. Something feels wrong. It is not pain exactly, but a heaviness that coils low in me, deep and insistent. As if my inner self is desperately trying but failing to communicate something crucial to me.
I tell myself it’s nothing, that the exhaustion and bruises are messing with my mind, but still the dread sits heavily in my chest. Despite all this pain, I refuse to give them what they want. I won’t trade Giovanni’s safety for my own, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep my strength.
The words my father spat at me yesterday still hang in the air of this place. Worthless. Burden. Jinx. They have burrowed deep, poisoning the space where hope should live.
Sleep comes in uneasy fragments. I drift in and out, my dreams twisted and sharp, a parade of half-formed images I cannot escape. I am running through darkness, along endless corridors, my bare feet slipping on wet stone. I hear Vittorio’s voice behind me, and Giovanni’s ahead, calling my name. But every time I try to follow it, the sound grows fainter, pulled away by some unseen hand.
When I open my eyes again, there is movement in the dungeon. I blink against the dim light, thinking for a moment that my mind is playing tricks. For a heartbeat, I think it’s a trick. That my mind, desperate for him, has conjured his shape from the dark.But no, he is here, in the flesh, and my chest seizes at the sight of him.
Dio. I missed him. I love him.
He is not standing tall as I have always seen him. Instead, he is chained to a heavy chair in the middle of the room, his wrists shackled to the armrests, his ankles bound to the legs. His shirt clings damply to him, the fabric stretched across tense shoulders, and there is a cut at his temple, a thin line of dried blood that disappears into his hair.
