Chapter 19 #2
I pulled up a tactical map, marking the location, calculating approach vectors, identifying weak points in the perimeter. "Then I'll burn that building to the ground. But I'm giving her the chance to prove what I already know—that she's more dangerous than any of us gave her credit for."
Vince studied me for a long moment. "You've changed."
"No." I kept my eyes on the screen, on that steady pulse that meant she was still alive, still fighting. "She changed me."
I sent coordinates to Marcos with instructions: position teams within five blocks, await my signal, prepare for rapid extraction if needed.
Then I sat back and watched that GPS signal, waiting for the moment when she'd prove to everyone—to Lorenzo, to his men, to herself—that the woman they'd taken wasn't a captive.
She was a threat they should have never touched.
At 1:15 p.m., the signal flatlined.
I stared at the notification on my screen, waiting for it to reconnect. The device hadn't been destroyed—I would have gotten that alert. The GPS just... stopped transmitting. Like it had been detected and disabled.
My hand moved to the phone before the thought had fully formed.
"Where is she?" I said, not bothering with preamble.
"Lost her near the waterfront, ten minutes ago," Vince's voice came through tight. frustrated. He hated losing targets. "She took the Tesla into a warehouse district. Signal cut—"
"Which warehouses?"
"Red Hook industrial zone. We're narrowing it—"
I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, heading for the garage.
"Sir, wait for backup—"
I didn't wait.
The city blurred past in a symphony of horn honks and slamming brakes as I pushed the Range Rover to dangerous speeds. My hands were steady on the wheel, but something inside me was fracturing, sending up alarms that had nothing to do with tactical awareness.
She'd gone dark in Lorenzo's territory.
She'd removed her tracker deliberately. Which meant either she knew I was following—and she was smarter than I'd given her credit for—or she'd planned this all along and wanted me not to interfere.
Both possibilities made my blood run cold.
My phone lit up with an incoming call. Unknown number. I took it on speaker.
"Don Taviani." The voice was professional, cultured. Lorenzo Altieri. "I believe I have something of yours."
"Where is she?"
"My daughter is exactly where she should be—with family. Imagine my surprise when she simply walked into one of my facilities this afternoon. No escort. No protection. Just her, asking very interesting questions about a woman named Elena Marchetti."
"If you hurt her—"
"You'll what?" The amusement in his voice made my vision go red.
"You'll come for me? Please do. I'll be waiting with open arms. Literally open.
I've already drafted the ransom demand. Two of your casinos, plus controlling interest in your trafficking operation.
In exchange, you get your wife back. Eventually.
After we've had time to... discuss certain matters. "
The line went dead.
I hit the accelerator harder.
The warehouse district was a maze of corrugated metal and broken windows, the kind of place where bodies disappeared and no one asked questions.
My men were already arriving—I could see the vehicles pulling in from three different directions.
Marcos had called in half the organization. We had numbers. We had firepower.
But we didn't have her.
I pulled up to the main entrance of the largest warehouse and kicked the door open. My gun was in my hand before the hinges finished groaning.
Empty. Cavernous. The smell of salt water and rust and old concrete.
"Search the perimeter," I barked at the nearest team. "She's here. Find her."
But even as I said it, I knew the truth. Lorenzo wouldn't be stupid enough to hold her in the obvious location. This was misdirection. This was him dangling bait to see how far I'd chase.
My phone buzzed again. A video file.
I opened it.
Julietta stood in what looked like a basement, her hands cuffed in front of her, her jaw set but her eyes still burning with that dangerous intelligence. Behind her, Lorenzo Altieri smiled like a man who'd finally won the game he'd been playing for six weeks.
"Hello, Dante," she said, her voice steady. "I believe we have some negotiating to do."
I gripped the edge of the metal railing running along the warehouse floor, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter.
I'd let her go.
I'd given her freedom because I loved her, because I wanted to be the kind of man she could choose rather than the kind she'd be forced to obey.
And she'd run straight into her father's arms.
No. Not ran. Walked. Deliberately. While I was watching from the shadows, pretending that distance was love.
She'd played me.
Or she'd needed to walk away so badly that she'd risked everything, and I'd let her because I was weak enough to believe that letting her hurt me was the same thing as setting her free.
The rage that had consumed me when I'd first realized she was missing crystallized into something harder. Something colder.
It didn't matter which version was true.
What mattered was that she was gone, and her father was holding her, and I had a choice: negotiate, or burn everything to find her.
I looked at the video again. Watched her eyes. Watched the way she held herself despite the cuffs, despite the basement, despite everything.
She was still calculating. Still planning.
She wasn't broken. She wasn't desperate.
She was waiting for something.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, coming through on an encrypted channel most people didn't have access to.
Don't accept his terms. I have his location. Meet me at coordinates I'm sending now. Come alone.
The message was unsigned.
But I recognized the number. It was one of the burners I'd provided to Julietta when she'd started working operations with me. One I thought she'd never used.
One she'd apparently kept hidden in her pocket the entire time I was watching her on cameras and tracking her movements through the city.
One she'd activated the moment her father's men grabbed her.
I looked back at the video. Watched the way her eyes flicked to the left, just barely. The signal. The message.
I'm not a prisoner.
I'm bait.
And you're walking directly into exactly where I need you.
The rage gave way to something worse—respect. And something even more dangerous underneath it.
She'd learned the lesson I'd been teaching her all along.
In this world, the only person you could trust was yourself.
I gripped the edge of the desk, jaw clenched, and made a decision.
I'd let her go once. I'd convinced myself that love meant releasing her, meant giving her the space to choose.
I wouldn't make that mistake again.
Not because I was afraid of losing her.
But because I'd finally understood what she was teaching me: that love in this world didn't mean letting go.
It meant walking into hell beside her.