Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bruno
One second. Two. Three.
I count in my head, the numbers a steady rhythm against the trembling in my muscles. Valentino stands three feet away, arms crossed, watching without hovering. He knows better than to reach for me unless I'm actually falling.
Four. Five. Six.
The sensation in my legs has changed over the past weeks. What started as pins and needles, random sparks of feeling that came and went, has become something constant. Something real. I feel the cold floor beneath my bare feet. I feel the strain in my calves, the burn in my thighs.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
"Breathe," Valentino says.
I exhale. Didn't realize I was holding my breath.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
My right foot slides forward. It moves because I told it to move.
Thirteen. Fourteen.
My left foot follows.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.
I think about Antonella. About the way she looked at me when I told her I wasn't angry about the pregnancy. The way her whole body relaxed, like she'd been bracing for a blow that never came.
My kid can't watch me seated in that chair. Can't grow up thinking their father is weak. Can't—
I picture it. Standing at my coronation. Walking to Antonella. Holding my child in my arms while standing on my own two feet.
I've moved more than twenty-five steps. I can move more than that.
"Enough," Valentino says.
He's right. I get back into the wheelchair. I am really close now to become the man I used to be.
And all it needed was a woman. The woman.
Antonella made this. Not me. She didn't have to try. She just reminded me how different I was. And she doesn't even realise it, because she doesn't know how I was like.
A knock at the door.
Valentino's head snaps toward the sound. No one interrupts these sessions. Everyone in the compound knows that. Even Pietro doesn't come to this gym without warning.
"Stay there," Valentino says, already moving toward the door.
He opens it a crack, blocking the view with his body. I hear a woman's voice—Giulia. Her tone is strange. Tight. I sit.
Valentino steps back, and Giulia enters. She's holding an envelope. Her face is pale.
"A courier just arrived. He insisted this was urgent.
She crosses the room and holds out the envelope.
It's plain white. No return address. No markings except my name written in block letters across the front.
I take it from her.
"Who was the courier?" Valentino demands.
"I don't know. He left before I could ask questions. Just shoved this at me and said it was life or death."
I tear open the envelope.
Something small falls into my lap.
A ring.
Gold. Simple. The wedding band I put on Antonella's finger three months ago.
My heart stops.
I reach into the envelope again. My fingers touch paper. I pull it out.
A note. Three words written in the same block letters:
WE HAVE HER.
Something else is in the envelope. Something wet.
I tip it over my palm.
Blood.
Dark red. Still damp. Smeared across a small square of white fabric.
The world goes silent.
I stare at the ring. At the blood. At the three words that have just ripped my entire existence apart.
We have her.
Antonella.
My wife.
The mother of my child.
Someone has taken her.
The sound that comes out of me isn't human.
It's a roar. Raw and primal and filled with every ounce of rage I've kept locked inside for two years. The envelope crumples in my fist. The ring bites into my palm as I squeeze it so hard the metal warps.
"brUNO!" Valentino is in front of me, hands on my shoulders, but I can't hear him. Can't see him. Can't see anything except red.
Someone took her.
Someone put their hands on my wife.
Someone made her bleed.
"Who." The word comes out broken. Shattered. "WHO FUCKING HAS HER?"
I'm already moving, wheeling toward the door with a force that sends Valentino stumbling back. The ring is clutched in my fist. Her blood is on my skin.
I will find whoever did this.
And I will tear them apart with my bare hands.
I'm through the gym door before Valentino can stop me. The wheels of my chair slam against the hardwood as I push myself faster than I've ever moved.
"brUNO!" Valentino's footsteps pound behind me. "Wait—we need to think—"
"Think?" I spin the chair around so fast I nearly tip it. "Someone has my wife. Someone has my pregnant wife. There is nothing to think about."
I pull out my phone. My hands shake so badly I almost drop it. I find Carlo's number—Antonella's guard, the man I assigned to protect her—and hit call.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
"Pick up," I snarl at the phone. "Pick up, you useless piece of shit."
Voicemail.
I call again.
Voicemail.
"FUCK!"
I hurl the phone at the wall. It shatters against the plaster.
This is my fault.
The thought slices through me like a blade. I knew the orphanage was a risk. I knew letting her go there, again and again, exposed her. But she loved it. She loved helping those kids, loved having something that was hers, and I couldn't bear to take that from her.
Not after everything else I'd already taken.
And now that she's pregnant—
I should have stopped her. Should have insisted. Should have locked her in the compound and dealt with her anger because at least she would be safe. At least she would be here.
But I didn't want to make her sad.
I didn't want to see that light in her eyes dim.
And now some bastard has her. Some fucking coward took my wife to get to me, and I don't even know who they are.
"Bruno." Valentino catches up to me, barely winded despite sprinting down the corridor. "We need to be smart about this."
"Smart?" I laugh, and the sound is ugly. Broken. "Smart would have been keeping her locked up."
I start moving again, pushing toward Pietro's office. Every second I waste is a second she's with them. A second they could be hurting her. Hurting our baby.
The thought makes me want to vomit.
I burst through Pietro's door without knocking.
He's at his desk, papers spread in front of him. Liam stands by the window, tablet in hand. They both look up when I enter.
"Bruno—" Pietro starts.
"Someone took Antonella."
The words hang in the air. Pietro's face goes blank. Liam's hand tightens on his tablet.
"What?" Pietro rises from his chair. "When? How?"
I throw the crumpled envelope on his desk. The ring rolls out, followed by the blood-stained fabric.
"This arrived ten minutes ago. Courier. No return address. No fucking clue who sent it."
Pietro picks up the ring. His jaw clenches.
"Liam." I wheel toward him, my voice deadly calm despite the hurricane raging inside me. "I need every camera within a mile of St. Catherine's orphanage. Every traffic cam, every security feed, every goddamn doorbell camera. I want them all. Now."
"Bruno, we need to—"
"Three minutes." I cut Pietro off without looking at him. "You have three minutes to get me those feeds, or I start tearing this city apart building by building."
"Bruno." Pietro's hand lands on my shoulder. "Calm down. We need to think this through—"
I turn on him so fast he steps back.
"Shut the fuck up."
The words come out low. Dangerous. I've never spoken to my brother like this. Never looked at him with this much rage burning in my eyes.
"My wife is gone. My pregnant wife. Someone took her, and they sent me her wedding ring covered in blood. So don't you dare tell me to calm down. Don't you dare tell me to think. I will burn this entire city to the ground if that's what it takes to get her back."
Pietro holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Liam. Get him those cameras."
Liam is already moving, fingers flying across his tablet. "I'm pulling everything now. Traffic cams, business security, residential systems. Give me two minutes."
I ask for Valentino's phone and dial the orphanage.
Sister Catherine answers on the second ring.
"St. Catherine's Home for Children, how may I—"
"This is Bruno Sartori. Where is my wife?"
A pause. "Mr. Sartori? I... I thought she left. About an hour ago. She was sorting donations in the back room, and then she was gone. We assumed she had an appointment."
My blood runs cold.
"She didn't say goodbye? Didn't tell anyone she was leaving?"
"No, but that's not unusual. She often slips out quietly so the children don't get upset. Is something wrong?"
They didn't cause a scene.
Whoever took her did it quietly. Professionally. They got her out of that building without anyone noticing, without alerting the staff or scaring the children.
This wasn't random.
This was planned.
"Did you see anyone unusual today? Anyone who didn't belong?"
"I... no. Just the regular volunteers and staff. Mr. Sartori, please, what's happening? Is Antonella alright?"
I hang up without answering.
"They took her clean," I say to the room. "No witnesses. No scene. Professional job."
Pietro's expression darkens. "That narrows it down. This isn't some street crew looking for ransom. This is someone with resources. Someone who knows how we operate."
"I don't care who they are." I grip the armrests of my chair until my knuckles go white. "I care about getting her back."
Liam looks up from his tablet. "I've got the feeds. Pulling up the orphanage's back entrance now."
He connects to the screen on Pietro's wall. Grainy footage appears—the service entrance of St. Catherine's, timestamp from an hour ago.
And there she is.
Antonella.
Walking out the back door with a man's hand wrapped around her arm.
Antonella
I can't scream.
The duct tape across my mouth makes sure of that. It pulls at my skin, tastes like chemicals and adhesive. Every breath I take comes through my nose, shallow and controlled.
Don't panic.
I repeat the words in my head like a prayer. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
My eyes drop to my dress.
White.