28. A Missing Piece
A Missing Piece
Dante
Something is wrong.
I feel it the moment I step into the estate’s main hall. The usual rhythm of the morning feels off—too quiet, too stiff. Servants move cautiously, their heads ducked, avoiding unnecessary eye contact.
The guards are tense, standing straighter than usual, their eyes scanning every movement like they sense a shift in the air.
I don’t like it.
Pulling out my phone, I check for updates. Nothing. No calls. No messages from the man I assigned to tail Nichole.
Frowning, I dial his number, bringing the phone to my ear. One ring. Two. Three. Voicemail. My jaw clenches. I try again. Same result. The irritation that has been sitting at the edge of my chest all morning starts curling into something sharper.
He was supposed to be watching her. Tracking her every move. Reporting back to me the second she did anything out of the ordinary. So why the fuck haven’t I heard from him?
Think. Stay calm. I exhale slowly through my nose, forcing myself to analyze. Last night, she left for a drive. She was supposed to come back.
Was she even here?
I turn sharply, moving through the halls with precise, measured steps, but my patience is running thin. Spotting one of the guards stationed near my father’s office, I stop in front of him, my voice level but firm. “Where’s Nichole?”
The man barely blinks. “She hasn’t returned yet, sir.”
Silence stretches between us, the words sinking into my bones. She hasn’t returned.
My fingers flex at my sides, but I keep my expression unreadable. Gone. She’s gone. And my tail? Either dead or compromised. Someone got to her.
No—he got to her.
Damian.
My teeth grind together at the realization. He planned this. He took his time, watched, waited—and then he made his move.
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. If he thinks this ends with her disappearing, he’s a fucking idiot.
I pivot on my heel, already moving toward my father’s office. If Damian is making a move, so are we.
I find my father in his office, seated behind his heavy oak desk, sifting through documents like it’s just another morning.
It isn’t.
I step inside without knocking, my movements sharp, precise. Antonio barely glances up, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Dante.” His voice is calm, measured. “This better be important.”
I don’t waste time. “Nichole is gone.”
That gets his attention.
His eyes flick up, sharp and unreadable, but there’s no immediate concern. He sets his pen down, leaning back in his chair. “Explain.”
“She left the estate last night, supposedly to clear her head,” I say, my voice clipped. “She hasn’t come back. And the man I had tailing her?” I pause, jaw tightening. “Not responding.”
Antonio exhales through his nose, rubbing his temple as if this is merely an inconvenience rather than a serious problem.
“I know where she is,” I continue. “She’s with Damian LaCampanella.”
That should have made him react. It should have angered him. Instead, he lifts an eyebrow, unmoved. “And you’re sure of this?”
I hold back my frustration. “Yes. I’ve seen the way they look at each other. I had my men follow her after that night at the milonga. They were at his casino for hours. Then they left together, drove out to a secluded spot, and fucked before he dropped her back at the estate.”
Antonio doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink at my choice of words. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “So, what you’re telling me is that my daughter is gone, and you lost your man.”
“She didn’t just disappear,” I say coldly. “She left.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, Antonio sighs, as if I’m overreacting. “Dante. You forget—I have a way to track her.”
That makes me pause. “What?”
He picks up his phone, unlocking it with slow precision. “When I had those trackers made for her and Valentina, I made sure my men installed the app for me as well. I never planned to use it, but…” He trails off, pulling up the screen. His gaze flickers with satisfaction. “She’s at the front gate.”
My stomach tightens. That doesn’t make sense.
Antonio relaxes back in his chair, smirking slightly. “So much for your dramatic assumptions.”
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door, and one of our men steps inside. “Sir,” he says cautiously, eyes flicking between us. “There’s no sign of her at the front gate.”
Antonio’s smirk fades.
He looks down at the phone again, his expression darkening. “Check again.”
Another pause, then, “We did. She’s not there.”
The silence in the room shifts, growing heavier.
Antonio stares down at his phone, his smirk fading
She got rid of the tracker.
The realization settles over him like a storm cloud, dark and consuming. He sets the phone down, fingers tapping once against the desk before he slowly lifts his gaze to me. His eyes are colder now, sharper.
“She left,” he mutters, almost to himself. “On her own.”
He isn’t asking. He knows.
I watch him, silent.
The wheels are turning in his head, piecing it together—the woman who collapsed, the whispers of poison, Nichole leaving without a trace.
Then, his gaze sharpens. He’s figured it out.
“She thought the drink was meant for her.” His voice is lower now, but there’s rage simmering beneath it. “That’s why she ran.”
I don’t react. Let him think whatever he wants.
A slow breath leaves his nose as he sits back, pressing his fingers together. “Tell me something, Dante.” His voice is deceptively calm. “Did you have anything to do with what happened last night?”
I meet his gaze, unwavering. “No.”
His fingers flex, his expression unreadable. “Because if you did…”
The threat lingers, hanging thick in the air between us.
I hold my ground. “I didn’t.”
A beat of silence.
Then, suddenly—Antonio slams his fist onto the desk, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the office.
“Find her!” His voice booms, the anger no longer contained.
I don’t flinch, but I turn on my heel, heading for the door.
Before I step out, I let my lips curl into a slow, malicious smirk.
She’s right where I want her.
I don’t waste time.
The moment I step out of my father’s office, I pull out my phone and make the call.
“Gather the men,” I order, my voice sharp, precise. “We’re moving now.”
The response is immediate. “How many?”
“All of them.”
There’s a slight pause. Then, “Understood.”
I hang up, my steps echoing through the hallway as I make my way outside. Nichole thinks she can disappear? She thinks Damian can just take what belongs to us and slip away into the night?
She’s wrong.
I step onto the estate grounds, and within minutes, my men begin to assemble. Some are already armed, others still pulling on jackets, loading clips into their weapons, the tension in the air thick, charged. They don’t know the details yet. They don’t need to. They just follow orders.
I scan the crowd, my pulse steady, my anger cold and controlled. “Nichole is gone,” I tell them, my voice cutting through the silence. “We find her. I don’t care how.”
A murmur ripples through the group, low and expectant. They’re waiting for the real order—the one I haven’t spoken yet.
I take a step forward, letting my gaze settle on them, making sure they feel the weight of what I’m about to say.
I already know where she is.
With him.
The thought makes my blood burn.
Damian fucking LaCampanella.
He thinks he can steal from me. He thinks he can take what’s mine and walk away unscathed.
I let the moment stretch, the tension snapping tight around us. Then, finally, I speak.
“We find her. We take her back.” A pause. A smirk.
“And anyone who stands in our way?”
Kill them.