Chapter Eight
Lorenzo
Three months later
It has been three months since she vanished like the earth opened and swallowed her whole. One month I stayed in Ibiza, tearing the island apart piece by piece, looking for anything. A camera, a witness, a footprint, a shadow. Every trace was wiped clean. Deleted. Gone.
After a month of chasing ghosts, Andres found suspicious activity near a warehouse.
Multiple men carrying a woman into a van, then onto a private jet.
We tracked the jet all the way here, to New York.
I left Ibiza the same hour and I have been searching for her every day since.
Andres is searching. Lev is searching. Kirill is searching.
Every man I have ever worked with is searching.
And still, she cannot be found.
But she is here. I know she is here. I can feel it like a sickness in my bones.
After the second month of her disappearance, something inside me snapped.
I stopped eating. Stopped drinking anything but alcohol.
I stopped functioning. My head does not work anymore.
My heart feels like it is rotting inside my chest. All I can think is that I failed her.
I failed her in every possible way a man can fail the woman he loves.
It is my fault she left. My fault she was alone.
My fault she stepped into danger. My fault she is now God knows where, with God knows who.
And I miss her. I miss her so much that breathing feels like punishment.
I wake up choking on her name and I go to sleep with the same fucking ache burning through me.
Three months of falling apart.
Three months of Ashley running my meetings.
Three months of Andres taking eighty percent of my Bratva responsibilities because I cannot focus.
Three months of Lev holding everything together before I break and destroy half the city.
Three months of being useless.
Why am I useless? Because I cannot find her. Because I cannot protect her. Because the images of her being taken haunt me every night. She needed me, and I was not there. I am still not there.
I do not know who took her. I do not know why. But once I find them, they will pray for death. And I will not give it to them. Not until every scream is torn out of their bodies for what they did to her.
I stand in Lev’s club. This place has become my house, because I cannot go home.
Her clothes are still in my bed. Her perfume in my sheets.
The dogs walk around the mansion with her things in their mouths, crying like children, and I feel like a knife is lodged permanently in my chest. They miss her.
Clara misses her. Clara drinks until she collapses because she blames herself. Sienna sends me death threats every morning, and knowing her, those threats are not empty. She will kill me if I do not find Serena. And honestly, I would rather die than live another day knowing how badly I failed her.
But I will not die. Not yet. Not until I find her.
And once I bring her home, even if she never wants to look at me again, I will dedicate the rest of my life to her happiness.
Even if it means staying continents away.
Even if it means loving her from far away.
It does not matter. She will have a life she deserves, whether I am in it or not.
It is seven in the morning. I pour my second glass of vodka, because Lev refuses to stock anything else.
After that, I start planning for the day.
Andres is working with Lucy, digging through every FBI system she still has access to.
He is checking satellites, CCTV, private networks, underground cameras, and anything that can pick up a moving shadow.
We will find her.
Even if I burn New York to the ground.
There are screams at the entrance. Not panicked screams. Sienna screams. The kind that make security stiffen and take a step back even though they are twice her size.
Lev told security weeks ago not to let her in after the last time she stormed inside, pulled out a gun, and threatened to kill all three of us.
Then she shot every bottle from his limited vodka collection, one by one, from five meters away, without blinking.
After the third bottle exploded, she said she imagined they were our heads. Mine, Andres, and Lev’s.
Lev only got truly angry because she knew exactly which bottles were his favorites. She did it on purpose. Since that day she has been banned.
Apparently her survival instinct is still on vacation, because she is back at the door now, screaming and shoving at security as if she weighs more than a feather.
Clara rushes to her, panic all over her face.
“Sienna, what are you doing here?” Clara asks, voice trembling.
“I am here to speak to that bastard,” Sienna shouts, pointing straight at me. The security guards flinch. Clara flinches. I raise my glass. Yes, I am the bastard.
“Please calm down,” Clara tries, lowering her voice. “Lev said you’re not allowed here. If he finds out you were here, you’ll get in trouble.”
“Do I give a fuck about what Lev thinks?” Sienna snaps, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Tell them to let me inside.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Clara whispers. “It’s not me running this place.”
“She has been missing for three months, Clara.” Sienna’s voice cracks like a whip. Clara trembles instantly. “Three months.”
“I know,” Clara whispers, her voice already shaking like she is seconds from falling apart. “They are looking for her. Trust me, they are looking for her.”
“Trust you?” Sienna glares at her. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you? You are always here. With them.” She points at me again.
“You were missing the entire funeral. You did not show up. Serena depended on you, trusted you, loved you, and you disappeared.” Her voice rises.
“And now you stand here defending them as if they are your friends.”
Clara breaks instantly. Tears stream down her face and she covers her mouth with her shaking hand.
“I am . . . I am so sorry,” she chokes out. “I am trying to make things better. I am sorry I missed the funeral. I was not well.” She sobs harder. “I am sorry.”
Sienna stares at her with disgust and something that looks frighteningly like heartbreak.
“Clearly,” she says. “When was the last time you were sober, Clara? Look at you. What the hell is happening to you?”
Clara folds into herself, crying harder, and she is about to answer when Andres appears behind her like a shadow, cold and controlled as always.
“Are you lost, darling?” he asks Sienna. A fake softness. A dangerous edge. Her nostrils flare instantly. He smirks, amused by her rage. He knows exactly how to push her buttons and he enjoys it.
“I am starting to think you are desperate for our attention,” he adds. “You show up here almost every day.”
“I am not here every day, idiot,” Sienna hisses. “I am here to speak with the coward hiding behind the bar.” She points at me again, voice shaking with fury.
Everyone turns to look at me.
Good.
I put the glass down and stand.
I walk toward the entrance slowly, silently, like the calm before a storm.
“Let her in,” I tell security.
They hesitate.
I do not repeat myself.
They step aside.
Sienna storms past them straight toward me, fire in her eyes, murder in her steps.
And I am ready for all of it.
“To what do I owe this unpleasant visit?” I ask, bored. She has been bullying me for months, ever since Serena disappeared.
“Well,” she snaps, anger twisting her face, “do you have any updates? Did you find anything? Or are you completely useless?”
The worst part is that she is right. I am useless.
A useless, miserable failure who has not been able to find the one person he should have protected with his life.
But I cannot tell her that. She needs hope.
Serena loved her like a sister. Sienna is using every contact and every ounce of rage she has to look for her too.
“I do not have updates at the moment.” I force the words out calmly, even though every syllable tastes like blood in my mouth. Saying it out loud reminds me again how badly I failed. My chest feels hollow. My head aches. I cannot even remember the last time I slept more than an hour.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She steps closer, voice sharp and accusing. I am tired of her attitude, tired of the constant tension, tired of holding myself back. If she were anyone else, she would have been thrown out already. But she is Serena’s best friend, so I tolerate her. Barely.
Before I can respond, Andres does.
“It means he doesn’t know anything else,” he mutters, exasperation obvious now. He exhales sharply. “Should I call someone to check your ears?”
Sienna turns to him like a storm. “You will have not-being-able-to-walk problems if I decide to deal with you.”
He smirks, amused, leaning slightly forward. “If I decide to handle you, darling, you will be the one who will not be able to walk straight.”
For fuck’s sake. Sienna turns bright red, whether from anger or embarrassment, who knows. She looks like she is about to explode.
“Fine.” Her voice trembles, not with weakness, but with fury barely contained. “I don’t need your help. Or your updates.” The words are aimed at me, sharp and deliberate, but she never looks at me. Her eyes stay fixed on Andres, like I’m not even worth the effort. “I don’t need you at all.”
“Reverse psychology does not work on me, darling,” Andres says lazily. “Try reverse cowgirl.”
Her face goes even redder. She looks like she might actually murder him.
“Ugh. You are disgusting,” she spits, and storms out of the club.
“That went well,” I mutter as she disappears through the door. Andres looks pleased with himself, the arrogant bastard. Clara watches the door with glassy, worried eyes, hugging herself like she is freezing.
I do not understand why Sienna is so cruel to her. Clara might have her vices, but she loves Serena. She is barely functioning. She is drowning herself in alcohol and pills because she blames herself for everything. Sienna does not see that, or maybe she does and she feels betrayed anyway.
Then again, this is the same girl who threatens to kill us every day. And sometimes, I swear those are not empty threats. Not from her.
I see Lev approaching. He went to Clara first, but she waved him off with shaky hands, still crying.
He catches her arm gently at first, then a little firmer when she tries to pull away.
And for fuck’s sake, she looks tiny next to him.
She is barely five foot three, and he is six foot eight, a wall of muscle and violence.
He leans close and says something quietly into her ear.
She slaps him across the face so hard the sound echoes in the room.
Ouch. Even I wince.
Lev just stands there, jaw tight, blinking at her like she personally offended his molecules. He lets her go and she storms off, still crying. Then he walks to us, face unreadable.
“Something funny?” he asks, annoyed, and Andres bursts into laughter beside me.
“Of course not,” I say, trying not to smirk. “Just wondering, on a scale of one to ten, how much did that hurt?”
“Three,” he replies. “But it went straight to my dick.”
“Thanks. I did not want to know that,” I say flatly.
“Just thought you might want to be informed,” Lev replies, winking.
He turns his head, eyes narrowing in the direction Clara disappeared toward the stage.
“Why was that bratling here?” he asks, clearly irritated. “She knows she is banned since she shot my favorite vodka collection.”
“She wanted updates,” Andres answers.
“Do we have updates?” Lev asks me, suddenly serious.
“I do not have anything.” I look down, almost resigned. Almost. Because I will find her.
“We will find her,” Lev says, his voice low and certain, a rare moment of comfort coming from a psychopath.
Ding.
My phone lights up. A message from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: she’s closer than it looks like. Look around you.
“What the fuck?” I say, stunned.
“What?” Andres asks.
“Can you check who is sending me this?” I hand him the phone.
“Give me two minutes,” he says, already moving aside to start hacking into whatever he can.
Another ding.
UNKNOWN: she needs help, ASAP. She won’t resist any much longer.
My chest twists. My hand tightens around the phone so hard I almost snap it. Lev sees my expression, eyebrows pulling together.
“I cannot find anything,” Andres says, returning quickly. He sounds rattled. “It is like the text appeared out of thin air. Nothing to track. No device. No IP. No source. It might come from a satellite phone. I cannot trace it.”
“What the fuck does that mean? She is closer than we think?” Lev asks.
I wish I knew. I wish I could make sense of any of this.
Andres speaks again. “What if the person who took her is someone we never considered a threat? Someone who has been close. Someone we overlooked.”
And then it hits me.
Someone who has been contacting me for months.
Someone demanding meetings.
Demanding apologies.
Demanding time.
Someone I dismissed as an annoyance rather than a danger.
Luciano.
“I am going to kill him,” I say quietly, almost to myself.
I grab my phone and dial him.
He answers on the first ring. “It took you some time,” he says, smug as always.
“You are a brave man, Luciano. I will give you that,” I say calmly. Too calmly. Because I am going to make him bleed. “Do you want to know what happened to the last man who tried to harm her? Or take her away from me? He is comfortable in his coffin. Spoiler alert: it was her father.”
Silence on the line. He knows I am not bluffing.
“Where do you keep her?” I ask, voice deadly low. “I recommend you answer before I wreak havoc.”
“Meet me tomorrow,” he says. “I will text you the address.”
“How about now?” I ask. “I am not waiting another second.”
“I cannot now,” he says.
“Luciano, for fuck’s sake,” I snap. “I have your address.” Andres found it two minutes after I asked. “I apologize if that sounded like a question. I was informing you that I am coming now.”
His breathing changes. He tries to hide it, but I hear the quickening.
“Fine. Come alone,” he says.
“There is no chance in hell you are going alone,” Lev whispers near my ear.
“Deal,” I say, and I hang up.
I snatch my keys and head for the exit. My body feels wired, wild and electric. After months of darkness, I can finally see something. A direction. A lead. A promise.
I am going to Luciano’s mansion.
I am going to find her.
And whoever texted me, whoever that guardian angel is, they are the only reason I am still breathing.
Because I was blind.
I never saw Luciano as a threat.
But now?
Now I will show him what a real threat looks like.