7. Finding Nichole
Finding Nichole
Damian
Valentina grips the cup of water in her hands, staring into it like she’s searching for answers.
She looks exhausted. Unsteady.
But I need her to focus.
“Valentina,” I say, keeping my voice measured. “When you woke up… did you have your phone? Your purse?”
She frowns, her expression tight with frustration. Like she’s trying to remember but keeps hitting a wall.
“I… I don’t know.” She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t remember having anything with me.”
That’s enough.
If she doesn’t remember, it likely means she left everything at home.
Which means Nichole doesn’t know anything.
I lean forward slightly. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
She doesn’t hesitate this time. “Just Nichole.”
I nod, already forming the next move.
“If your phone is still at home, Nichole will be the first person you call.” I glance at Enzo, who catches on instantly. Our next move is clear.
I push back from my seat. “I’ll take you home.”
Valentina lets out a small breath, nodding. “Okay.”
She doesn’t realize it yet. But this isn’t just about getting her home.
It’s about leading Nichole straight to me.
The drive to Valentina’s apartment is quiet.
She leans against the window, arms wrapped around herself, her mind still hazy from whatever they gave her. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press for answers.
She just wants to go home.
And I’m counting on that.
I pull up a block away, keeping the car running as she hesitates for a moment before pushing the door open.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask, my voice calm.
She nods, offering a faint smile. “Yeah. Thanks, Damian.”
She doesn’t ask why I brought her myself. Doesn’t question why I didn’t just send someone else.
She doesn’t realize I’m not leaving.
As soon as she disappears inside, Enzo speaks from the passenger seat. “You think Nichole will show?”
“She will.”
If Valentina’s phone is inside, Nichole will be the first person she calls.
And when she does?
We’ll be watching.
The city moves around us, but we remain still.
Parked a block away, the SUV is nothing more than another shadow in the street. The windows are tinted, the engine low, running quiet.
Inside, we wait.
Enzo shifts beside me, his gaze locked on Valentina’s apartment building. His posture is easy, but I know him well enough to see the tension beneath it.
“How long do you think?” he murmurs.
I don’t answer. Because I already know.
It takes less than an hour.
A taxi slows in front of the building, and before it even comes to a full stop, she’s stepping out.
Nichole.
She moves fast, her coat drawn tightly around her frame, her bag clutched against her side. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t look around.
She’s focused. Determined.
And more than that? She’s afraid.
Even from here, I can see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way she walks with purpose, like she’s trying to convince herself that everything will be fine.
She disappears inside without looking back.
Enzo exhales slowly. “She came fast.”
I nod. “She’s worried.”
Which means she won’t be thinking clearly. And that makes things easier for me.
I grab my phone and send a quick text. A single command.
Move in position. Do not engage.
Nichole doesn’t know it yet, but the moment she walked through that door, she put herself exactly where I wanted her.
Now all I have to do is wait.
Real Nichole
The second I step inside, Valentina pulls me into a tight hug.
Her arms are shaky, her body tense—like she’s still trying to convince herself she’s really here.
I hold her just as tightly. I need to convince myself too.
When she finally pulls away, her eyes are glassy but sharp. “I thought I’d never get out,” she breathes, collapsing onto the couch. Her fingers tremble against the fabric of the cushions.
I sit beside her, gripping her hand. “Tell me everything.”
She exhales shakily, staring at some distant point across the room. “I don’t remember how it happened. One minute, I was home… and then, nothing. When I woke up, I was in this dark, cold place. A basement or something.” Her voice tightens. “I wasn’t alone.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Who was with you?”
She shakes her head. “Two men. I never saw their faces clearly, but…” She hesitates, biting her lip. “I heard one of them talking. He said your name.”
My name.
My chest tightens. “You’re sure?”
Valentina nods, her grip on my hand tightening. “They weren’t just after me, Nichole. They were after you.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing.
I had felt something. The prickle of being watched, the unease creeping up my spine these last few days. I dismissed it as paranoia—but what if it wasn’t?
Valentina shifts slightly, her eyes flickering with something softer. “Whoever they were… they weren’t the only ones watching.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, then says, “Someone else was there.”
I blink. “Another kidnapper?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “He wasn’t one of them. He saved me.”
The certainty in her voice startles me.
She swallows. “He was different. Dangerous, but in a controlled way. He wasn’t like them.” She exhales. “I don’t know why, but I trust him.”
A stranger saved her. And I have no idea who he is.
I try to process this, but then I remember—Valentina doesn’t know the truth about my family.
I inhale sharply. “Val… there’s something I need to tell you.”
She looks at me, her brows furrowing slightly.
I force the words out. “Antonio Beretti… is my father.”
Silence.
Then, her eyes widen.
“Beretti?” she echoes.
I nod.
She leans back, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Nichole, do you even know what that means?”
A small, humorless laugh escapes me. “Apparently not.”
She exhales, looking at me like she’s seeing me differently. “The Berettis aren’t just some powerful family. They’re Mafia.”
A sharp, cold feeling grips my chest. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it, but hearing it said aloud makes it real.
Before I can respond, Valentina leans forward, her eyes serious. “You need to tell him what happened to me. If they were after you too, he might be the only one who can protect you.”
I stiffen. The idea of going to Antonio for help feels foreign, impossible.
But the way Valentina is looking at me… I can’t ignore the weight of her words.
I watch as she grips the hem of her sweater, twisting the fabric between her fingers. She looks shaken, like the weight of everything is finally settling in.
Then, softly, she says, “Nichole… what if they come back?”
A chill runs down my spine.
Her purse. Her keys.
She left them here, in her own apartment—which means they must have taken her from here.
My stomach twists. That means they know where she lives.
Valentina must see the realization on my face because she swallows hard and continues, “I can’t stay here. What if they come looking for me? What if they’re still watching?”
She’s afraid. Really afraid.
And I don’t blame her.
I grab my phone without thinking.
“Nichole?” Valentina frowns, watching as I scroll through my contacts.
I hesitate only for a second. Then, I press the call button.
The line rings once. Twice.
Then—Antonio answers.
“Nichole.” His voice is even, calm, but there’s something sharp underneath it. “What’s wrong?”
I take a steady breath. “I need your help.”
A pause. Then, “Where are you?”
“At Valentina’s. She—” I hesitate. “She was taken. Kidnapped. She’s safe now, but… we don’t know why it happened. And I think—” My throat tightens. “I think I might be in danger too.”
Silence.
Then Antonio says, firm and without hesitation, “Come to my estate. Both of you. Right now. I’m sending you the address.”
I grip the phone tighter.
Valentina watches me, uncertainty flickering across her face.
I swallow hard. Going to Antonio’s house isn’t something I want to do.
But what choice do I have?
I exhale slowly and nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
I hang up and turn to Valentina.
“Pack a bag,” I tell her. “Overnight clothes, anything you might need. Just in case.”
She nods quickly, already moving.
As she disappears into her room, I glance at my phone again to see Antonio’s text with his address. I feel like I just made a deal I don’t fully understand.
But for now, it’s the only choice I have.
Damian
I remain parked in the shadows, eyes locked on the entrance to Valentina’s apartment building. The SUV’s engine hums quietly beneath my fingertips, low enough to blend into the distant city noise, but inside, the tension is thick.
Enzo exhales sharply beside me. “They’ve been in there a while.”
I don’t respond. I already know that. Thirty minutes. That’s a long time for a simple check-in. That means something is happening inside. Information is being exchanged. Decisions are being made. I just don’t know what—yet.
I get my answer moments later when the front door swings open and Nichole and Valentina rush outside.
My attention sharpens instantly. The way they move—hurried, tense, like every second matters—this isn’t casual. Nichole fumbles with her car keys, her hands unsteady, while Valentina clutches her bag so tightly her knuckles are white. They aren’t just leaving. They’re running.
Enzo mutters a curse under his breath. “That’s not normal.”
I agree. Something shifted. Whatever was said inside changed everything. They’re spooked.
I tap my fingers against my knee, considering my options. My original plan was to leave some of my men behind to keep an eye on Valentina’s place, but now? This is bigger than just watching.
“Follow them,” I order, my voice calm but firm.
Enzo doesn’t hesitate. As soon as Nichole’s car pulls into the street, our SUV slides into traffic behind it, keeping just enough distance to avoid suspicion.
They aren’t paying attention. Too focused. Too wrapped up in whatever panic has driven them from the apartment. That only intrigues me more.
They don’t stop. Street after street passes, the car moving steadily through the city, and then—the roads begin to change.
A quieter neighborhood.
My brow furrows. This isn’t the kind of place you drive through without a reason.
Nichole slows in front of a building. She and Valentina hurry inside.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Nichole’s place,” I murmur.
Enzo lets out a low whistle. “They’re packing.”
They are. This isn’t just a stop—they’re gathering whatever they need to leave. That means wherever they’re heading next is final.
I check my watch. Ten minutes pass. My patience wavers. If they’re staying the night, I’ll leave a few of my men behind and deal with this later.
But just as I’m about to give the order, the door opens again.
Nichole and Valentina reappear, bags slung over their shoulders, moving fast.
Now I’m paying attention.
I lean forward slightly as Nichole tosses her bag into the backseat and climbs in. Valentina barely hesitates before doing the same, and then—they’re off.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips. Now this is interesting.
“They’re running,” I murmur. “And I want to know where.”
Enzo pulls the SUV smoothly back into traffic, keeping us at a distance.
This time, I watch more carefully. The way Nichole’s hands clench the wheel, the way she keeps glancing in the rearview mirror—this isn’t just paranoia.
They’re heading somewhere safe. Somewhere important.
And then, the landscape changes. The streets grow wider, cleaner. The security around the homes becomes more pronounced. The air itself feels heavier, thicker with power.
A slow, steady pulse beats at the base of my throat.
And then, I see it.
An estate.
Not just any estate—a fortress. Towering gates. Armed guards. Walls high enough to ensure no one gets in unless they’re meant to.
Recognition settles in my chest like ice.
The Beretti estate.
My muscles tense as her car pulls up to the towering iron gates. A guard steps forward, but she doesn’t even roll down her window. The gates open without question, smoothly, as if she’s done this a hundred times before.
My grip tightens.
No hesitation. No verification. Just immediate access.
A slow, burning realization settles in my chest, and the initial shock is quickly swallowed by something darker.
Her best friend was kidnapped by the Berettis. These people. And now she’s running straight to them?
A sharp, ice-cold fury grips me. Something isn’t adding up. There’s a missing piece, something I haven’t uncovered yet, and it’s staring me right in the goddamn face.
Enzo glances at me, waiting for my order, but I don’t take my eyes off the estate as the gates swing shut behind her, locking me out.
“Drive off,” I mutter, the words edged with barely contained rage.
Enzo doesn’t question me, just turns the wheel and pulls us away from the Beretti stronghold. My jaw clenches, my thoughts racing, my pulse thrumming with unspent fury.
Something is going on here. Someone is keeping secrets.
And I’m going to get my answers from her—the moment I fall asleep.