Page 70 of The Voicemail

We reach Elena’s block, and I’m out of the SUV before it fully stops. DeSantis meets me near the curb with two men behind him.

“She’s not here,” he says.

“Inside?”

“Apartment is still empty and still trashed. No sign anyone came through today. Hall, roof, basement, back exit, and stairwell are clean.”

“Check again.”

He nods and turns without argument. I go inside anyway.

The building smells the same as it did the night I first came here. Old radiator heat, lemon cleaner, damp brick. Her door is repaired now, but the memory of the broken frame is still there. I see it so clearly that for half a second, I hear her scream through the wood again.

The apartment is exactly as we left it. I step inside. It’s still a wreck, with drawers hanging open and books littering the floor. A broken lamp lies against the wall. Someone has already photographed, tagged, and searched everything.

“Anything?” I ask.

DeSantis appears in the bedroom doorway. “No.”

I walk through the small space anyway, looking for something I can’t name. Elena is practical. If she remembered where the file was, she’d think of bags, drawers, work papers, places where ordinary things collect because she hasn’t had time to sort them.

Luca calls.

I answer immediately. “Tell me you found the SUV.”

“Not yet.”

“Then why are you calling?”

His pause lasts less than a second, but I hear everything in it. “I found the leak.”

The apartment tilts around me.

“Who is it?”

“Nico.”

For a moment, I hear nothing but my own breathing.

My cousin. My blood. The careless little prick who drank my scotch, flirted with women he had no intention of calling, and spent half his life complaining that I didn’t trust him with enough responsibility.

I gave him a family. He gave Bianchi Elena.

“How sure are you?” I ask.

“Completely. The burner that received the Bellamy storage lead pinged off Nico’s route ten seconds after my message went through. It moved with him for six minutes, then went dark.”

I open my eyes.

The apartment swims back into focus. Elena’s broken lamp. Elena’s scattered books. Elena’s life, torn apart by men who wanted something she didn’t even know she had.

“Where is he now?”

“His phone says Bellamy storage.”

“But he’s not there.”

“No,” Luca says. “Raul put eyes on it from the outside. Nico’s car is there. Nico isn’t.”