16. Wrong Move #2
The walls of the war room seem to close in, the weight of the revelation pressing against me, thick and suffocating. My jaw clenches so tightly I think my teeth might crack.
“How?” My voice is lethal, stripped of anything remotely human.
Enzo exhales, his fingers tightening into fists. “It was planned. Quick. They got past her guards, took her before anyone could react.”
My breathing is slow. Too controlled. It’s the only thing keeping me from snapping right then and there.
My sister has been stolen from me. Taken like some pawn in a game they think they can win.
I press my palms flat against the table, fingers twitching against the wood. The sharp scent of espresso, gunpowder, and leather lingers in the air, grounding me for only a fraction of a second. But it’s not enough. Because rage is consuming me whole.
Dante Beretti has made his move.
Now, I’m going to erase him from existence.
My fist slams into the table, the force sending papers flying, the wood groaning under the impact. The sound ricochets off the walls like a gunshot. Enzo doesn’t flinch. Neither do Marco or Salvatore. They know this storm. They’ve seen it before.
But this time, it’s different.
This isn’t just business.
This is personal.
“I want everything,” I say, my voice deathly calm. “Every lead. Every whisper. I want to know where they’re keeping her, who helped them, how they managed to slip through the cracks.” My breath is slow. Steady. Deadly.
“And when I find them—” I lift my gaze, meeting the expectant stares of my men, my eyes burning with something lethal.
“I want their bodies left in the streets as a reminder.”
Enzo gives a sharp nod. “I’ll find her.”
Marco exhales, running a hand over his face. “We’ll get her back, boss.”
There is no other option.
But I’m not thinking about if we’ll get her back.
I’m thinking about how many bodies I’ll have to bury to make it happen.
The war room still vibrates with the aftermath of my fury.
The dent in the table where my fist struck is deep, a scar on the surface—a reflection of the rage carving itself into my bones.
Papers drift to the floor, abandoned remnants of strategy and patience—neither of which I have time for anymore.
Alessandra is out there. Alone. Afraid. And every second wasted is another moment Dante Beretti holds the upper hand. Unacceptable.
My mind works at a ruthless speed, dissecting every angle, every possible move. But the truth is, I don’t have enough information. And I need it now. My hand twitches toward my pocket, reaching for my phone before I stop myself. Think, cazzo.
If I rely solely on the streets, the Berettis will anticipate my every move. Dante planned this. That bastard waited for the perfect moment to strike, knowing exactly how to hurt me where it matters.
This isn’t a power play. It’s personal. Which means I need to do something Dante won’t expect.
The Dream Room.
It has given me insights before—glimpses of things I shouldn’t have been able to see. Things that later proved to be real. I don’t understand how, but that doesn’t matter.
If there’s even a chance it can show me where Alessandra is, I have to take it.
No hesitation. No doubt.
I turn on my heel, moving fast, strides long and deliberate. Enzo barely has time to react before stepping into my path.
“Boss.” His voice is edged with warning. “What are you doing?”
I don’t slow. “Finding her.”
His brow furrows. “We need to gather intel. Our men are already—”
“I don’t have time to wait.” My voice is steel, sharp and final.
Enzo exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “You’re going to the Dream Room, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
He curses under his breath. “You don’t even know if it’ll work this time.”
I stop just long enough to turn my head, my expression unreadable.
“It will.”
Because it has to.
The seconds slip through my fingers, each one sharpening the image of Alessandra—bound, beaten, vulnerable. A vision that makes my stomach churn with something lethal.
Without another word, I push past Enzo, heading straight for my room.
The moment I step inside, I don’t hesitate. I go straight for the nightstand, yanking the drawer open and pulling out the small amber pill bottle. The familiar weight of it settles in my palm—a gateway to the only place that can give me what I need.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror across the room. My face is hard, my jaw clenched, my eyes dark with something merciless.
I unscrew the cap and tip two pills into my palm. The bitterness hits my tongue, but I barely notice. All that matters is the fall.
My body sways slightly, the pull of unconsciousness already creeping through my veins, slow and inexorable. I move toward the bed, barely managing to sit before the world tilts around me.
The room blurs, the golden edges of the Dream Room bleeding into my vision.
My last conscious thought is a promise. A vow. A warning.
"I'm coming for you, Alessandra."
Darkness curls around me, swallowing me whole. And just before the last flicker of reality disappears, my mind whispers the rest—
"…and I'm going to burn the entire fucking city down to get you back."