Chapter 30
They weren't able to trace the phone.
The tech guy stood in front of us shaking his head, his brows pulled in a deep frown.
"The number is untraceable. The phones and numbers seems to be destroyed after sending texts." he said, his voice edged with frustration. "Actually, all of them are."
I barely heard him. My gaze was locked on the screen in front of me, on the texts. Each one was from a different number, each impossible to trace.
They looked like they came from a fucking psychopath. Obsession bled through every word.
You are mine, Alessa.
He doesn't deserve you.
I will take you away from him.
Soon.
Was this the same bastard Alessa had been talking to that night at the event? The one she refused to tell me about?
Why didn't she say anything?
The question kept repeating in my head. My hands were curled into fists at my sides, the veins in my arms bulging with the force of my anger.
Had she run away?
No.
No fucking way.
Alessa wasn't stupid. She wasn't reckless. And she sure as hell wouldn't leave me for some delusional prick sending her cryptic texts.
Something was wrong.
The air in the room felt suffocating. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it, my teeth grinding together as I tried to keep myself from losing it completely.
Cancio sighed beside me. "Luca, you need to calm down."
I turned to him slowly, my gaze dark.
"Would you be fucking relaxing if it was your wife?" I bit out.
His jaw tightened but he didn't answer. He couldn't. Because he knew.
If it was Sara, if she had disappeared leaving nothing behind but a string of messages from some asshole with a sick obsession, he had be tearing the city apart with his bare hands.
I stormed out of the room before Cancio could say another word. My head was a mess, thoughts colliding too fast.
Alessa was gone.
And I had no fucking clue where she was.
The texts felt like they were mocking me. A faceless bastard, taunting me with words that I should have seen sooner. I should have known something was off. Should have noticed. But I didn't because I was too busy being a stubborn, arrogant fuck.
And now she was missing.
My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to hit something or someone.
I needed a target. A lead. Something.
I stalked down the hall, past the rows of men standing at attention. They knew better than to look me in the eye when I was like this.
Gavino's stopped me, his hand on my shoulder, fingers tightening just enough to get my attention.
"I looked into the photo" he muttered, voice low. "Checked the club's staff, their phones and found something which might help us."
I had asked him to look into the club's activity that night, for any suspicious activity. Anyone who could have taken the picture.
My muscles coiled tight. "Who?"
Gavino jerked his head toward the basement. "Come."
I followed without a word, my rage growing. He led me downstairs past the main rooms, through the heavy steel door leading to the basement. The air down here was stale, thick with the scent of sweat and blood.
A man was tied to a chair in the center of the room. His head was slumped forward, hair damp with sweat. His wrists were bound behind him, arms straining against the zip ties cutting into his skin.
I stopped in front of him, my shadow swallowing his slumped form.
Gavino nudged his shoulder with his boot. "Wake him up."
A sharp crack echoed through the room as one of the men slapped the side of his face, jerking his head back. A low groan left his lips. His eyelids fluttered before finally opening.
"Who paid you?" I asked.
The guy blinked sluggishly like he was still piecing together where the fuck he was.
Another slap. Harder.
He coughed, sucking in a sharp breath. "I-I don't"
I grabbed his jaw, forcing his head up. "Don't waste my time."
His throat bobbed. His eyes darted to Gavino, then to the other men standing around us. He knew what this was. Knew what would happen if he didn't talk.
His lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping. "Some guy," he choked out. "Didn't give his name. Just said he wanted a picture of you with a woman."
My fingers tightened. "What else?"
He swallowed hard. "Paid in cash. Told me to take the picture, send it to him and delete it from my phone" His breath hitched. "I swear, I don't know anything else."
I released my grip on the bastard's jaw, letting his head drop forward with a weak gasp. My patience was running thin.
I turned to Gavino, my voice sharp. "The number he sent it to, did you trace it?"
Gavino ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. "Tried. It was a burner. No registered name, no trail."
Fucking figured.
I turned back to the man in the chair.
"Where did you meet him?" My voice was sharp, leaving no room for bullshit.
The guy swallowed hard, "A bar. Some place near the docks."
My eyes narrowed. "Name."
He hesitated. Bad fucking move.
Gavino's boot connected with his shin, making him yelp. "Name," he repeated, voice cold.
"V-Vetro," he stammered. "The bar is called Vetro."
I exchanged a glance with Gavino. I knew the place. Small, quiet. A hole-in-the-wall spot near the port where dock workers and low level criminals drank in peace.
I leaned in, my fingers digging into the guy's shoulder. "Describe him."
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I-uh-early thirties, maybe? Dark hair, no beard. Kinda tall but not huge." His eyes darted nervously between me and Gavino.
My jaw ticked. That didn't narrow shit down.
I straightened, barely restraining the urge to put my fist through his face. "If you are lying to me"
"I'm not!" he rushed out, shaking his head so fast I thought it might snap off. "That's all I know, I swear."
I glanced at Gavino. "We are going to Vetro."
His nod was sharp. "I will get the car."
If this bastard at Vetro had anything to do with Alessa disappearing, I had make damn sure he regretted ever stepping foot in that bar.
???????
Vetro wasn't far, just a ten-minute drive from the warehouse. But the closer we got, the more the rage burned, twisting in my gut like a blade.
We pulled up outside the bar, the neon sign flickering like it was on its last breath.
The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey. A few men sat hunched over their drinks, murmuring in hushed voices, their eyes flicking toward me and Gavino before looking away just as fast.
They knew who we were.
I stalked toward the bartender, a wiry man with graying hair and a face that had seen too many bad nights. He tensed when he saw me.
I braced my hands on the counter, leaning in. "A guy came here a few nights ago. Dark hair, no beard, mid thirties. Paid someone a hefty money."
The bartender's expression barely flickered. "Don't know him."
I smiled. A slow, humorless thing. Then, I grabbed an empty glass from the counter and threw it against the back wall. The sharp crack echoed through the bar.
The bartender flinched.
"Try again" I said.
Gavino leaned in, setting a few crisp bills on the counter. "For your memory."
The bartender's throat bobbed as he glanced at the crumpled bills on the counter, then back at me.
He then exhaled. "Yeah, he was here. Asked about anyone working at the Club Reverie. Said he needed a photo and would pay good money for it."
I clenched my jaw, barely keeping myself from snapping.
"Do you have cameras here?" My voice came out low but the edge was unmistakable.
The bartender hesitated. Too long.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward over the counter, his face inches from mine. "Answer the fucking question."
His lips parted but no sound came out.
Gavino sighed beside me. "It's either you start talking or we take you downstairs and have a different kind of conversation."
That got him moving. He jerked his head toward the end of the bar. "Storage room. The feed's in there."
I let go of his shirt, shoving him back. "Lead the way."
The bartender scrambled around the counter, his shoulders stiff as he walked ahead of us toward a narrow door in the back. He fumbled with the key, his fingers shaking so bad I thought he had drop it. The second the door unlocked, I pushed past him into the cramped room.
A small desk, a dozen of crates and a screen displaying grainy black and white footage from different angles of the bar.
Gavino's eyes narrowed as he worked on the monitor looking for the footage. I stood behind him, arms crossed.
"There" he said, pausing the video.
Dark hair, clean shaved, in a suit. He didn't fidget, didn't glance around nervously like some idiot who had no idea what he was doing. He was calm.
I stepped closer, my gaze locking onto the grainy image.
"That's him?" I asked.
Gavino nodded once, his jaw tight. "Seems so"
The footage played on. A minute later, the man we had tied up in the basement walked up to the man, sliding into the chair in front of him. They exchanged a few words, nothing about their body language suggesting familiarity. This wasn't a friend or an associate. This was a transaction.
The man took out his phone, typed something then slipped it back into his pocket.
And then the payment.
A slim envelope slid across the counter. The man in the suit barely reacted, lifting his glass with his other hand as the bastard pocketed the cash and left.
Gavino leaned closer, his finger tapping against the keyboard rewinding the footage.
The footage jumped back a few seconds, stopping right as the man turned his head. The angle wasn't perfect but it was enough.
The second my eyes landed on the ink curling around his throat, something in my mind clicked.
A snake. Its body slithering up from the back of his neck, coiling like it was ready to strike. The head rested at his throat, mouth open and fangs bared in a silent hiss.
I narrowed my eyes, stepping closer to the screen. "Zoom in" I ordered, my voice sharper than before.
Gavino did as I asked, enhancing the image as much as the grainy footage would allow. The more I stared at it, the more familiar it felt. Like a half forgotten memory clawing its way to the surface.
"I have seen that before," I muttered, my fingers tightening into fists at my sides.
His brows furrowed as he leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, it looks familiar."
That tattoo.
I knew it.
I had seen it before. Recently. At the event that night.
We both stared at the screen for another second, then his head snapped toward me just as mine turned toward him.
The name left our mouths at the same time.
"Nico."