3. Closing In
Closing In
Damian
I ease my foot off the accelerator, letting the city lights blur past in streaks of gold and shadow. They’re still following.
Two cars back. Same black sedan. Same deliberate movements.
Too careful to be reckless. Too obvious to be a professional.
I exhale slowly, flexing my fingers against the wheel. This isn’t an accident.
They want me to know they’re here.
Fine.
I take the next turn sharply, cutting through a narrow side street that feeds into an empty stretch of road. If they follow, they’re making a mistake.
I glance at the rearview mirror. There they are.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. They want a chase? Let’s give them one.
I push the gas, weaving through the empty street, leading them exactly where I want them—an industrial area just outside the city. The kind of place where people mind their own business.
The kind of place where no one will interfere.
By the time I reach the dead end, my pulse is steady, controlled. I kill the headlights and step out of the car. The sedan slows, hesitating.
They weren’t expecting this.
I wait.
The driver’s door cracks open, cautious. A figure steps out, hooded, face obscured by shadows.
“Not the smartest move, following me,” I say evenly, keeping my stance relaxed, but ready. Prepared for anything.
The figure doesn’t speak immediately. Then, finally—
"You’re looking for Valentina."
The smirk fades from my lips.
The tension shifts. The game changes.
I narrow my eyes. "Who are you?"
A beat of silence. Then—"Someone who can help you find her."
I study the figure standing in the dim glow of the streetlights. Hooded, cautious. Not a hired gun. Not a professional.
But not a civilian either.
They knew my name. They knew what I was looking for. That makes them either useful or a liability.
I don’t like unknowns.
I take a slow step forward, keeping my voice calm, steady. "If you know I’m looking for Valentina, then you know I don’t have patience for games."
The stranger tilts their head slightly. “It’s not a game. I can take you to her.”
I don’t react, don’t let them see the shift in my focus. Anyone can claim to have a connection. That doesn’t make it real.
I let the silence stretch, waiting for them to fill it. People who are lying always do.
Sure enough, after a few seconds, the stranger exhales and adds, “But I need something in return.”
Of course.
I take another step forward, just close enough that the tension sharpens. "And what makes you think you have anything I want?"
A pause. Then—“Because I know what happened to her.”
That stops me.
The air between us turns electric, charged. The weight of those words settles in my chest, heavy and immovable.
I let out a slow breath. “You’re either very brave or very stupid.”
They don’t flinch. “I’d say desperate.”
I consider them for another moment, weighing options, measuring risks. Then, finally, I say, "Talk."
The stranger shifts slightly, still keeping their face hidden, but there’s a tension in their stance now—not fear. Something else.
Desperation.
“I need protection,” they say. “And in exchange, I’ll tell you everything I know about Valentina.”
I exhale slowly, tilting my head slightly. So that’s the game.
“You think my protection comes cheap?” My voice is even, but edged. “I don’t offer it to just anyone.”
The stranger straightens, shoulders squaring. “I wouldn’t have come to you if I had other options.”
A calculated answer. They’re not stupid. But I don’t trust them yet.
I take a step closer, letting the silence stretch. People reveal themselves in silence. They shift again, uneasy under my scrutiny.
I smirk. Good.
“Who are you running from?” I ask.
A flicker of hesitation—brief, but there.
Then—"The same people who took Valentina."
My expression doesn’t change, but inside, something sharpens.
That’s the first useful thing they’ve said.
“Keep talking,” I say.
The words linger between us, cutting through the night air like a slow, creeping blade.
The same people who took Valentina.
I let the silence stretch, watching the way the stranger shifts, how their breathing tightens as they wait for my response. They’re nervous, but not lying.
That doesn’t mean I trust them.
I take a step forward, closing the space between us just enough to make them uncomfortable. To remind them who’s in control here.
“Who?” My voice is calm, measured.
A pause. Then, “I can’t say.”
Wrong answer.
Before they can react, I grab them by the collar, slamming them back against the side of their car. The impact isn’t enough to hurt—just enough to send a message.
The hood falls back slightly, revealing wide, darting eyes.
I lower my voice. “You don’t come to me offering a trade and then hold back. Either you start talking, or this conversation ends here.”
A shaky breath. “If I say the name out loud, I’m dead.”
I press harder, my patience thinning. “And if you don’t, you’re wasting my time.”
A long, tense beat. Then—
“The Berettis.”
The name lingers between us, heavy and unshakable.
I keep my expression unreadable, but inside, something sharpens. If the Berettis took Valentina, there’s a reason. They don’t make moves without a purpose.
The stranger watches me carefully, waiting for a reaction. I don’t give them one. Let them wonder what I’m thinking. Let them be the one to feel the pressure.
“You wanted my protection,” I say, voice low. “You have sixty seconds to make me believe you deserve it.”
They inhale shakily, looking around like someone might be watching. Maybe they are.
“I overheard something,” they say quickly. “I wasn’t supposed to, but I did.” A swallow. “The Berettis didn’t just take her to keep her quiet. They took her because she’s connected to someone they need to control.”
The words send a slow pulse through my veins. Connected to who?
I step closer, letting the weight of my presence press down on them. “Who is she connected to?”
A hesitation. “I—”
I grab them by the collar before they can think twice. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
The stranger exhales shakily, hands twitching at their sides. Then—
"A woman named Nichole."
Everything stills.
The stranger doesn’t realize what they’ve just done. They don’t know I’ve been looking for her too.
But I do.
My mind is already working through the implications. Valentina isn’t just a pawn. She’s leverage. And if the Berettis are after Nichole—I need to find her before they do.
I let go of his collar, taking a step back. I already have what I need.
But I want more.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about her.”
The stranger swallows hard. “That’s all I heard, I swear. Just her name. Just that they need Valentina to get to her.”
Not enough.
I tilt my head slightly. “And where do the Berettis keep her?”
A hesitation.
Wrong move.
I’m on them in a second, my hand closing around their wrist, twisting just enough to send a warning shot of pain. He hiss, eyes darting around like he expect someone to save them.
No one will.
“You wanted my protection?” I murmur. “Then prove you deserve it.”
His breath comes fast and uneven, panic creeping in. Then, finally—"I don’t know the exact location. But I know who does."
I ease my grip just slightly. “Who?”
A pause. Then—"A man named Dante."
Everything stops.
Dante Beretti.
The name slams into me like a gunshot, but it’s not just the weight of the name that freezes me—it’s the memory.
The nightmare room.
Nichole, bound, terrified. The cold steel of a blade pressed against her throat. And Dante—his expression unreadable, his grip on her unshaking.
I remember the way my body had screamed at me to move, to stop him, to save her.
And now—now she may be in danger. Again.
Was that dream a premonition of this moment? A warning I didn’t understand until now?
The ice sets in my veins. I won’t make the mistake of ignoring it again.
I release the stranger with a sharp push. “Disappear,” I order. “Before someone less patient than me finds you.”
He doesn’t argue, taking off down the alley without a second glance.
I exhale slowly, adjusting my cuff. Dante. Nichole. Valentina.
This is bigger than I thought.
And I’m done waiting.
I move quickly, slipping into my car, the leather seat cold against my back. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, but my mind is already elsewhere—back in that nightmare.
Nichole, bound, terrified. Dante standing over her, the blade glinting under dim light. The nightmare had felt too real, too vivid. A warning disguised as a dream.
And now? Now it’s happening.
I pull out my phone, dialing a number without hesitation. A tired voice picks up.
“Boss?”
“I need eyes on every Beretti property in the city,” I say. “Now.”
A pause. Then, “Understood.”
I end the call and exhale slowly. It’s not enough.
If Dante is involved, then whatever’s happening is bigger than I thought. Valentina isn’t just missing. She was taken. And now Nichole is in the center of it.
I don’t know what role she plays in this yet, but I can’t afford to waste time figuring it out. I need more than street-level answers.
And there’s only one place I can get them.
The dream mansion.
The last time I stepped into that world, I let Nichole lead me through it. This time, I’ll be the one leading.
When the night comes, I’ll find her in the dream room.
And together, we’ll find Valentina.