Chapter Fifty-One
Luis
The conference room had become a war room.
Maps of New York stretched across the oak table, their corners held down by laptops, folders and mugs of coffee that had long since gone cold.
Satellite images were layered over warehouse blueprints, handwritten notes filled every available space, and phone calls came and went in quick succession as fresh information filtered in from the teams scattered across the city.
The plan we'd prepared was useless now.
Sergei Volkov hadn't followed the rules we'd expected him to. He'd waited until Sabrina was separated from the rest of us, until we'd been distracted for the briefest moment, and then he'd struck with military precision.
Now we adapted.
Mario barely looked away from the bank of screens in front of him, his fingers moving relentlessly across the keyboard as he worked through traffic cameras, security systems and anything else that might reveal Sergei's movements.
Beside him, Carlo coordinated the men already stationed throughout New York, quietly issuing instructions as fresh reports arrived.
Every confirmed sighting, warehouse searched and abandoned lead was marked across the map until the city became a maze of coloured pins.
My attention drifted to Matteo.
He blamed himself; it wasn't difficult to see in the rigidity of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw.
He hadn't sat down since we'd returned to the estate, instead standing with both hands braced against the table as he studied the warehouse plans, memorising every doorway, corridor and possible exit before we even set foot inside.
Every now and then his fingers curled into fists before he forced them to relax, as though he were physically restraining himself from getting back into his car and driving to New York alone.
I understood the feeling.
When Sabrina's bracelet had sent its emergency alert, instinct had told all of us to move. Logic had forced us to stop. Sergei had planned for panic. If we'd chased after him without knowing where he was taking her or how many men he had waiting, we'd have handed him exactly what he wanted.
Another hostage.
Another advantage.
Rafael stood at the opposite end of the table, studying each report before quietly adjusting the plan whenever new information arrived.
There was no panic in his expression, only the steady focus of a man carrying the weight of his entire family on his shoulders.
Bianca remained beside him, reading every update that crossed the table without saying a word.
Reports continued to come in until, piece by piece, the picture became clearer and there was only one location left worth our attention.
Mario finally looked up from his laptop.
“I've got it.”
The room fell silent.
He turned the screen towards Rafael and pointed to a warehouse on the outskirts of New York.
“The scouts confirmed it twenty minutes ago. Russian movement matches everything we've intercepted.”
No one celebrated.
Finding Sabrina was only the beginning.
The discussion resumed almost immediately. Entry points were reassessed, escape routes refined and contingency plans rewritten as everyone contributed without ego or hesitation. There were no arguments over who would lead or whose idea was better. Every decision served one purpose.
Bring Sabrina home.
Watching them, I understood something I'd never fully appreciated before.
The Morettis weren't dangerous because of their money, their influence or the number of men willing to fight for them. They were dangerous because they trusted one another completely.
Nobody in this room questioned whether Sabrina could survive until we reached her.
She could.
I'd seen enough of her to know that.
But she shouldn't have to.
Not anymore.
She'd spent years believing every battle was hers alone.
She was wrong.
My gaze settled on the warehouse circled in red at the centre of the table. Somewhere inside, Sergei Volkov believed he'd won.
He hadn't.
He'd declared war.
Tomorrow, we'd make sure he regretted it.