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A pause. "Isabella was arrested?" Disbelief and anger color his words.
"No, not arrested," I say quickly. "Detained for questioning."
"No way. Why should I believe you?" he demands. "How do I know you're not trying to mislead me?"
"I have no reason to lie," I tell him. "Does your family know anyone in New York who can help her?"
Silence. Then, "Where are they taking her?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But I can try to find out."
"Do that," he says. "Call me back as soon as you know. I will send someone. And if this is a trick..." He doesn't finish the threat, but the menace in his tone is clear.
"It's not a trick," I assure him. "Please, send help as soon as possible. I don't know Isabella, but no one should be left to fight the system alone."
The line goes dead. I lower the phone, staring at it for a long moment. What have I done? I don't know these people, don't know the world they live in.
This might cost me, but Isabella's terror-stricken face remains seared in my mind. Abandoning her is not an option.
I then call the police chief, calling in the favor he owes me for when I helped him take down some arms smugglers back in the day when the Conti Unit of the New York Mafia did favors for cops. "I need to know where the FBI has taken a woman named Isabella Torres. Now."
"I can't give out that kind of information," he protests.
"You owe me," I remind him. "And you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
A heavy sigh. "Fine. I'll find out what I can and call you back."
I wait impatiently. Minutes pass by. He calls back and I pick up on the first ring. "They've taken her to the airport for questioning. But listen, Stefano, you need to stay out of this. It's an FBI matter now."
"Where at the airport?"
"The basement interrogation rooms." He pauses. "Don't make me regret this."
I don't bother responding, just hang up and head for the airport. My heart pounds as I make my way through the basement, dark and dingy. At last I find the interrogation room where Isabella is held, two FBI agents grilling her.
"That's enough, gentlemen. May I suggest we talk outside for a moment? Trust me, you'll want to hear what I have to say."
One follows me out. "And you are?"
I give him a stern look. "My name is not important. But if you don't let her go, you'll answer to Luca Conti."
I hate dragging my boss's name into this, for if he finds out I did so, there could be repercussions for Isabella. But I'm hoping he won't find out. As far as I know, the cops and agents mostly try to stay out of our way.
The man's face turns white as he recognizes the name. He goes in and exchanges a glance with his partners, and gives them a slight gesture to follow his lead.
"We're done here for now," he says, and they silently file out of the room.
I sink into the chair beside Isabella's. "It's alright," I tell her softly. "Help is coming."
She stares at me with eyes full of unasked questions. I take her hand, hoping to offer some small comfort. We have only just met, yet I feel bound to her, responsible for her in some strange way.
Together, we wait. The silence thick between us. I lean back and study Isabella's profile...taking in her high cheekbones and full lips, the way her hair falls in waves over her shoulders. She is a striking woman, but beyond her beauty there is a strength and dignity about her that moves me.
At last she speaks, her voice soft. "Why are you doing this?"
I consider how best to explain when I hardly understand it myself. "You seemed afraid," I say. "Vulnerable. And no one deserves to face something like this alone."
She squeezes my hand. "Thank you." A pause. "My father always said there were still good men in the world."
