Chapter 26 Renato
She's gone.
I stand in the wreckage of my salon, staring at the blood pooling around Kozlov's body, and the only thought my mind can process is that one, simple, devastating fact.
I fucked up.
Torretti took her. Used her as a human shield to get past Matteo and out the door. A smart play from a professional who found himself in a firefight he hadn't planned on. Two men are dead at my feet, but the one who mattered got away.
Matteo appears in the doorway, his own weapon still drawn. "Their drivers are secured in the wine cellar. No phones, no communications."
I nod. Hostages we can use if needed, without the complications of more bodies.
"Torretti?"
"Gone. His driver was waiting in a black sedan, already moving when he came out with her." Matteo's face is taut with frustration. "I had a shot, but not with her in front of him."
I would have made the same call. Better to let him escape than risk hitting her.
"He'll contact us," I say, trying to convince myself. "This was survival, not planning. He grabbed her to get out alive, but now he's got valuable merchandise. He'll want to negotiate."
"You think he'll try to ransom her back to us?"
"Why wouldn't he? From his perspective, this auction went sideways and now he's got product he needs to move." I bend down and pick up my gun. "He's a businessman."
Matteo nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. "What if he decides she's too hot to handle? Witnesses to murder, blood on her dress."
"Then he cleans her up and moves her quickly. But he won't waste an asset this valuable. A woman like Camilla is worth a lot to his European clients. He'd be insane to throw that away."
"How long before he contacts us?"
"Not long. He'll want to get distance first, secure her somewhere safe, then make contact." I check my watch. "Few hours at most. He knows I have resources, knows I'll pay well to get her back quietly."
"And if he doesn't call?"
"Then we track him the hard way. But he will. This is about money now, not violence."
Matteo starts making calls—cleanup crew, security sweep, traffic monitoring. Professional damage control while I try to convince myself this is manageable.
Torretti is smart, opportunistic. He grabbed her in a moment of chaos and now he has to figure out what to do with her.
The smart play is negotiation. Quick sale back to me, everyone walks away richer. Life goes on.
My phone rings. Alessandro Rossi.
Jesus Christ!
So now the bastard finally calls. After everything has gone to hell.
I answer. "Alessandro."
"Renato." His voice is calm, almost pleasant. "I understand our mutual problem has been handled."
Every instinct I have goes on high alert. "What problem?"
"The situation we've both been dealing with.
I'm told it resolved itself quite dramatically this evening.
" He sounds almost cheerful. "Don't worry.
This will make things easier on everyone.
I'll transfer the original two million I owe you, plus an extra half million for interest and inconvenience.
After tonight, consider our business arrangement concluded. "
The dinner party ended less than thirty minutes ago. Torretti is still on the road. How the fuck does Alessandro know?
"How did you hear about tonight?" I keep my voice calm.
"Torretti has been keeping me informed. He works a lot of angles. The important thing is that the problem has been resolved in a way that works for everyone."
"And what problem was that, exactly?" I need him to say it. Need to confirm what I'm thinking.
"Camilla. No longer a complication to the families." He pauses. "Tragic, really. But these things happen in your line of work."
I force myself to stay cold. Can't let him know how much this matters. Can't show weakness.
"And you're satisfied with this outcome?"
"Very satisfied. It's better not to leave loose ends hanging. My family's reputation is protected, the original debt gets paid, everyone moves forward." His tone sharpens slightly. "I trust you'll accept this resolution as well?"
He's testing me. Wants to know if I'm going to be a problem.
"The merchandise was worth more than two and a half million." I keep my tone purely transactional. "This arrangement leaves me with a significant loss."
"Consider it the cost of doing business with my family." There's steel underneath the pleasant tone now. "The alternative would be considerably more expensive for both of us."
A threat.
He wants me to walk away, take the money, forget about her.
"I'll have the transfer completed within the hour,” he says. “A pleasure doing business with you, Renato."
"Alessandro." I stop him before he can hang up. "One question."
"Yes?"
"If the situation hadn't resolved itself tonight, would you have paid the full six million?"
A long pause. "That's hypothetical now, isn't it?"
"Humor me."
"No. The girl was never worth six million to my family. If tonight hadn't happened, we would have found another more permanent solution."
Meaning getting rid of her, one way or another.
"Good to know where we stand." I keep my voice empty of emotion. "Transfer the money. We're done here."
"Excellent. And Renato? I trust this truly is the end of our business regarding this matter. No complications, no loose ends, no one coming back to cause problems."
He's warning me again. Telling me that if I go after her, if I bring her back, there will be consequences.
"No complications," I lie smoothly.
"Perfect. I'll be in touch once the transfer is complete."
He hangs up.
I stand there for a moment, phone still in my hand, fury building like a pressure cooker behind my eyes.
Matteo looks up from his phone. "Traffic cam got a hit. Black sedan heading south on the A1. Toward Rome."
South. Not toward the mountains where he'd take her to kill her. Toward airports, ports, international connections.
"He's selling her," I say.
"That's good though, right? Means she's alive."
"For now." I grab my jacket. "How far behind are we?"
"Forty minutes, maybe an hour depending on traffic."
"Get the cars ready. Full tactical team." I'm already planning—intercept points, extraction protocols, contingencies. "And Matteo? Complete communication blackout. No calls, no texts, nothing that can be traced or intercepted."
"You think someone's monitoring us?"
"Might be." I check my weapons. "Either way, we go dark. No one knows we're coming."
"What about Alessandro's transfer?"
"Let him send his blood money. We'll deal with the Rossi family later. Right now, we focus on Torretti."
Matteo nods, understanding the unspoken message. Later, when Camilla is safe, Alessandro will learn what happens to men who celebrate her disappearance.
But first, we get her back.
As we head for the cars, I review what I know. Torretti is a broker, not a buyer. He has contacts across Europe—auction houses, private collectors, specialized dealers. A woman like Camilla could be moved through any of those channels.
But moving premium merchandise takes time. Documentation, buyer verification, secure transport. He can't just hand her off in a parking lot. Even if he has interested buyers already lined up.
Which means we have a window of time. Small, but real.
"Boss?" Matteo catches up to me. "What's the actual plan here? We can't just shoot up wherever he's taken her."
"We track him to his destination. We assess the situation. We extract her with minimal exposure." I slide into the passenger seat. "Clean, professional, no witnesses. He’s probably scrambling right now. This wasn’t planned."
"And Torretti?"
"Disappears. Completely. No body, no evidence, no connection back to us."
Matteo starts the engine. "Alessandro's not going to like that we ignored his warning."
"Alessandro can join Torretti in whatever hole we bury him in. But he doesn't find out until it's too late to matter."
We pull out of the villa, following the route the traffic cameras mapped. Matteo drives while I work my phone—calling in favors, activating assets, building a network of eyes along the A1 highway.
Every minute that passes, she's farther away. Every kilometer, the search radius expands.
But Torretti made one critical mistake: he grabbed her in panic, not planning. That means he's improvising, which means he'll follow patterns. Use familiar resources. Make predictable choices.
And I'm very good at predicting desperate men.
Soon, we're on the A1, closing the distance.
My phone buzzes. One of my highway contacts.
"Spotted the sedan. Took the exit toward Via del Porto Fluviale. Industrial area, lots of warehouses."
"Which building?"
"Lost visual in the warehouse district. But there's only about a dozen structures suitable for what he needs—private, secure, away from main roads."
I know that area. Used it myself for operations that needed discretion. Torretti's choosing smart locations, but that also limits his options.
"We're twenty minutes out," I tell Matteo. "Call ahead. I want eyes on every warehouse in that district. No one moves, no one engages. Just watch and report."
"And when we locate her?"
"Then we go in fast and quiet. Torretti never sees us coming."
Alessandro thinks I've accepted his solution. Thinks I'm taking the money and moving on.
He has no idea what's coming for him.