Chapter 32 #2
I whip around to face Samuel. "How the fuck did they leave the house with only you on guard?" My voice comes out dangerously quiet.
Samuel starts to stammer an explanation, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"We had most of our closest men out searching for that bastard Byron," Alessio interjects, rubbing his temple. "The security rotation is thin right now."
"You had one fucking job, Samuel," I snarl, advancing toward him. "One. Fucking. Job."
The man visibly shrinks under my gaze, taking a step back.
"This doesn't end here." I jab a finger at his chest. "Get the fuck out of my sight."
Samuel practically runs from the room. I turn to Alessio.
"Contact Daniel. I want this entire mansion locked down now. Nobody in, nobody out except for us. And I want eyes on every street camera between here and the city."
Alessio nods, already pulling out his phone as he strides from the room.
"Damiano." Enzo's voice pulls my attention. He stands at the kitchen counter, holding a piece of paper in one hand and Lucrezia's cell phone in the other. "Found this."
He passes me the note. Lucrezia's looping handwriting stares back at me:
Don't come after us. She deserves to know the truth about her father. About Byron. About everything. I'm keeping her safe until you remember who you really are.
"Cazzo!" I swear, crumpling the note in my fist. "That foolish, reckless—" I can't even finish the sentence, fury choking my words.
"She thinks she's protecting her," Enzo says quietly.
"She's putting both their lives at risk," I growl, slamming my palm against the counter. "If Byron finds them before we do—"
"Then we need to move. Now." Enzo checks his gun, tucking it into his holster. "I'll take the north side, you take south?"
I'm already heading toward the door. "Let's go. We take separate cars, cover more ground."
As we race to the garage, I pull out my phone, opening the tracking app connected to Lucrezia's Audi. A small blue dot pulses on the screen.
"Got her," I tell Enzo as we reach our vehicles. "She's close."
I slam my fist against the steering wheel when I pull up beside Lucrezia's abandoned Audi. The car sits empty outside some nameless coffee shop, no sign of my sister or Zoe anywhere.
"Fuck!" I hit the wheel again, anger and fear coursing through me in equal measure.
I leap out, scanning the area before approaching the vehicle. The doors are locked.
My phone buzzes. Alessio.
"Talk to me," I answer.
"We've got teams checking cameras in a six-block radius. Nothing yet." I end the call.
Enzo's black Range Rover screeches to a halt behind me. He jumps out, eyes sharp as he approaches.
"They're not here," I say, the obvious statement heavy with everything I'm not saying.
Enzo circles the Audi, peering inside. "Keys?"
I shake my head.
"Byron has them," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "He found out Zoe was compromised and took them both."
Enzo shakes his head. "We don't know that."
"We need to split up," I tell Enzo. "Cover more ground. She wouldn't go far without transportation."
"Unless they took a cab," Enzo says quietly.
Fuck. He's right. They could be anywhere in the city by now.
"Check with dispatch services," I order. "Every taxi company in a ten-mile radius."
Enzo nods, already dialing.
I stare at the empty car, my fingers closing around the gun at my waist. The image of Byron touching either of them makes my blood boil.
I blink awake with a jolt, heart hammering against my ribs. Bianca's screams still echo in my ears, but this time they weren't alone. Lucrezia's terrified face flashed through the nightmare, Byron standing over her with that fucking smirk on his face. And Zoe—
Shit.
The office comes into focus around me. Papers scattered across the desk, my laptop still open, screen gone dark. I check my watch: 3:17 a.m. Somehow I managed to fall asleep at my desk while the world burns down around me.
I grab my phone. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.
Four hours since Lucrezia's car was found abandoned. Four fucking hours with no sign of either of them.
Enzo pokes his head through the door, looking as exhausted as I feel. "Anything?"
"Nothing," I say, voice rough with sleep. "Updates?"
"We're combing through camera footage from the entire neighborhood where we found the car. Noah's got men on every block within a two-mile radius. Daniel's checking hospitals."
I nod, tension coiling tight in my gut. "And Easton?"
"Still no trace. It's like the bastard vanished."
The phone on my desk rings—not my cell, but the secure landline. We both freeze.
"Trace it," I say, and Enzo's already moving, signaling to Alessio in the hallway.
I wait until Enzo gives me the nod, then answer on speaker. "Feretti."
"Damiano, it's me."
Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave. "Lucrezia! Where the fuck are you? Are you hurt? "
"We're safe," she cuts in. "Both of us."
"Tell me where you are. I'll send cars immediately."
"That's not happening, fratello." Her voice is firm. "Not until you agree to listen."
"Listen?" The relief morphs instantly back to rage. "You stole my prisoner and disappeared with her! Do you have any fucking idea—"
"She's not a prisoner, she's your wife," Lucrezia snaps. "And she has something to tell you about what really happened that night."
I slam my fist against the desk. "She's a fucking liar! She's Michael Travis's daughter. Her father—"
Lucrezia's voice cuts through my fury. "You need to hear her out, Damiano."
"Bring her back now, Lucrezia," I growl. "This isn't a fucking game."
"No, it's not. It's the truth. And until you're ready to hear it, we're staying where we are."
"Lucrezia—"
The line goes dead.
"FUCK!" I roar, slamming the phone down.
"Did we get a trace?" I demand, turning to Enzo who's just returned.
He shakes his head. "Burner phone. Signal bounced all over the city."
I pace the office like a caged animal, rage and fear warring inside me. My hand throbs where I punched the bookcase earlier, but the pain barely registers.
"She could be anywhere," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair. "Anywhere in this fucking city."
Enzo watches me from the doorway, his face grim. "We'll find them, Damiano."
"Will we?" I turn on him, voice sharp. "We don't even know who to look for. I don't know a fucking thing about her life before she came here."
All this time, I've been so focused on what Zoe might learn about me, about my business, about my family—I never considered what I didn't know about her.
"I don't know her friends. I don't know where she went to school. I don't know her favorite places in the city." Each admission feels like swallowing broken glass. "I let her into my bed, into my life, and I don't know a goddamn thing about her."
Alessio appears in the doorway beside Enzo. "We're going through her call logs now. Most were to Byron, but there were regular calls to someone named Scarlett."
"Scarlett?" I stop pacing. "Who the fuck is Scarlett?"
"Working on it," Alessio says. "No last name in the contacts."
"Jesus Christ." I drop into my chair, disgust rising in my throat. All those nights holding her, all those moments I thought we were connecting—while she was reporting back to Easton, plotting my destruction.
"I was so fucking blind," I say, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears. "I let her get close because I wanted to believe she was different."
Enzo steps into the room. "You couldn't have known—"
"I should have known!" I slam my hand on the desk. "You were right to investigate her. You were right about everything, and I was too busy thinking with my dick to see what was right in front of me."
The painful irony doesn't escape me. I've spent twelve years hunting for the truth about Bianca's murder, and now the daughter of the man responsible was sleeping in my bed. Was she laughing at me the whole time? Did she get some sick pleasure from watching me fall for her?
"Find this Scarlett," I order, my voice turning cold. "Check hospital visitor logs for Michael Travis twelve years ago. Check funeral attendance records. Find anyone connected to both Travis and Zoe."