REBECCA
A few days later…
Valentina hasn't been successful in opening the safe, and according to Alessio, is getting grumpier by the day. She wants the programmer's head on a silver platter one minute and him or her alive the next so they can talk shop. Alessio offered him or her as another bonus.
I've had a few days to accept that Rachel is alive. Safe. Happy. The relief should have drowned everything else. It hasn't. I thought finding Rachel would make everything simple. Instead... it blows my entire world apart.
I stare at the picture. At Rachel. At the little girl holding her hand.
My mind simply... stops. She's alive and back in Arizona.
Alive. The word echoes through my head but somehow refuses to settle.
For four years I've imagined this moment.
Thousands of times. Ten thousand. A hundred thousand.
Every version ended the same way. Chains.
Bruises. Dark basements. Shipping containers.
Warehouse cages. A shallow grave somewhere in the desert. Or worse. A body I'd have to identify.
I'd rehearsed all of them. I'd prepared myself to find a broken woman. A frightened woman. A woman who needed me to put her back together. But never... not in a million years... did I imagine finding Rachel walking out of a perfectly ordinary suburban house in fucking Arizona.
Smiling. Holding the hand of a little girl.
A little girl who looks so much like the photographs of Rachel as a toddler that my heart physically hurts.
I can't breathe. Because the questions don't stop.
The anger still simmers beneath my skin, because if Rachel survived...
if she escaped... if she built a life...
Why?
Why didn't she come home?
Why didn't she call?
Why didn't she send one letter?
One text.
One anonymous postcard.
Anything.
The not knowing has changed. Before, I feared she was dead. Now I know she's alive. And somehow... that hurts even more.
I still haven't found the courage to confront her. Half of me wants to drive to her house, wrap my arms around her, and never let go. The other half wants to punch her until she tells me why she let me mourn her for four years.
I don't know which version of me will show up first. Maybe both. It's torture. I need to find my own peace with this before I can talk to her. Or so I think. "Let's go," Alessio announces suddenly.
"What?"
"Let's go see your sister. It's only an hour flight. If Valentina finds anything, we can be back here in no time." He kisses the top of my head. "I don't like watching you fret. It's time."
I just stare at him. My brain refuses to catch up. Fly to Arizona? See Rachel? His phone is instantly in his hand. "Rossi."
I can hear the other man respond. "Boss."
"Get the jet ready."
No hesitation. "Where we going?"
Alessio's eyes never leave mine. "Arizona."
My heart stutters.
"I'll text you the address."
"How soon?"
"Thirty minutes."
"I'll have the crew standing by."
The call ends. Just like that. As if flying to another state to confront long-lost sisters is something people do on a Tuesday afternoon. I blink at him. He slips the phone into his pocket. Then looks at me. His glacier-blue eyes are impossible to read. Calm. Steady. Certain.
"We're going to go get some answers from your sister."
Not if. Not maybe. Not someday. We're going.
Now. Something shifts inside me. The numbness doesn't disappear.
The fear doesn't either. Neither do the questions.
But underneath them... something harder forms. Steel.
Borrowed from the man standing in front of me.
He's lending me his certainty because mine is gone.
Somehow, finding my missing sister has knocked all energy out of me.
I nod. "Yeah." I shake myself. My voice is stronger this time. "Let's."
Then something catches up with me. I blink. "Did you say... jet?"
One corner of his mouth lifts. "Private."
My brain tries very hard to process that and fails spectacularly. "Private..."
He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Only the best for you, mia piccola diavoletta."
The words should make me smile. Normally they would.
Normally I'd tease him about being an arrogant, overgrown mafia peacock.
Instead... nothing. No excitement. No nerves.
No anticipation about flying on a private jet for the first time in my life.
No disbelief that Alessio is dropping everything to fly me across state lines.
No overwhelming joy that I'm about to see Rachel.
Nothing. Just... numbness. Like my emotions have overloaded and blown a fuse. I must look completely lost. Because Alessio steps closer. Wraps both arms around me. And kisses my forehead.
"I've got you." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Always."
The word settles somewhere deep inside me. Always. Nobody has ever promised me always. Not since Rachel disappeared. He reaches for my phone. Scrolls to the last call. Hits redial.
Charly picks up. "Nothing new to report."
"It's Alessio."
Charly sounds worried. "Beccs okay?"
Alessio squeezes my hand. "I'm taking her to Arizona."
A short silence is followed by, "I figured you might."
"I need the address."
Charly doesn't ask questions. Doesn't waste time. He simply starts reading it out. Alessio types it into his phone and hits send. Probably to Rossi. When he's finished, he looks at me. "Anything else?"
Charly's voice softens. "Just..." He hesitates. "When you see her..."
Another pause. "Remember that whatever happened..." His voice is full of the same caution I've been trying to ignore. "She's had four years to become someone else."
The words hit like a punch. Because he's right. The girl I'm flying to meet... may not be the sister I remember.
The flight is over before my brain realizes we're on one. One moment, we're climbing into the endless blue Nevada sky. The next, the pilot announces our descent into Glendale Regional Airport. Just outside Phoenix. The whole flight barely lasted an hour. An hour during which Alessio asked exactly zero questions or told me everything is going to be okay. He didn’t speculate about Rachel. He didn’t fill the silence.
He knows better. He simply sat beside me, his hand wrapped around mine the entire flight. Solid. Warm. Unmoving.
A flight attendant appeared at some point, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of me and a glass of bourbon in front of Alessio. I don't remember thanking her. The coffee grew cold, untouched. Alessio nursed his bourbon without taking his eyes off me.
Meanwhile, I stared out the oval window.
The desert stretched beneath us in impossible shades of tan and rust. The Colorado River snaked through it like a ribbon of green life before giving way to the deep blue water of Lake Mead.
The Hoover Dam flashed beneath one wing. Then miles and miles of desert.
Long ribbons of freeway cut across the landscape; tiny cars moved like ants. Mountains rose from nowhere only to disappear again behind endless stretches of sand and scrub. Somewhere below us was Kingman. Somewhere beyond that... my entire life.
Then civilization began swallowing the desert.
Neighborhood after neighborhood. Shopping centers.
Freeways weaving over and under each other.
Phoenix. I've never been there. I've never been on an airplane before, either.
Never thought my first flight would be to meet the sister I've spent four years searching for.
The city slides beneath us before giving way to industrial buildings, warehouses, and neat suburban streets. The plane banks gently. Drops lower. I catch sight of baseball diamonds surrounding what looks like a professional training complex. People. Cars. Palm trees. Life.
Completely ordinary. It feels wrong somehow. Like the world should have stopped spinning while mine was falling apart.
The wheels touch the runway with a soft chirp. We're here. Just like that. The engines wind down. My heart doesn't. Alessio squeezes my hand once. "Ready?"
No. Not even close. I nod anyway. He knows I'm lying.
He doesn't call me on it. He simply takes my hand again and guides me down the narrow stairs.
The Arizona heat slams into me. Nevada was hot.
This... is different. It's like stepping out of an air-conditioned house straight into a sauna.
The air itself feels heavy. It presses against my skin.
Steals my breath for a second. I stop halfway down the stairs.
Not because of the heat. Because this is real.
Arizona. Rachel. The life she built without me.
Alessio's thumb brushes across my knuckles. A small movement. Barely noticeable. But so much more. I force my legs to keep moving towards two black SUVs waiting for us on the tarmac with their engines running.
The windows are tinted so dark, they look black. Rossi is walking ahead of us, opening the doors on the second SUV. His eyes are hidden behind black shades.
The drive is absurdly short. Too short. I expected hours. At least enough time to prepare myself. Instead, Rossi barely has time to pull out of the airport before we're making another turn. I frown, but my mind is too busy to care.
We merge into traffic for all of five minutes, circle around a few blocks, then suddenly we're driving back toward the airport. Even my numb mind notices it, taking in the narrowing road, a sign announcing PRIVATE ROAD. NO STADIUM PARKING.
The SUVs turn. To my right, the landscape changes almost instantly.
The airport disappears behind rows of mesquite and palo verde trees, even some pine trees.
Houses sit on sprawling lots. Not subdivisions.
Actual land. An acre. Two. Maybe more. A horse lazily swishes its tail beneath a shade tree.
A little farther on, three cows graze behind a split-rail fence. I blink. "Cows?"
Alessio follows my gaze. "Arizona."
I stare at him. "I thought Arizona was..."
"Desert?"
I nod. He smirks. "It is."
I look back out the window. "I wasn't expecting... cows."
"They're very convincing cows."
Despite everything, a tiny huff of laughter escapes me.
It disappears just as quickly. The SUV turns again.
This time onto a quiet residential street.
The houses become smaller. Comfortable. Lived in.
Children's bicycles lie on driveways. A basketball hoop.
A chalk drawing that's slowly fading beneath the relentless Arizona sun.
Wind chimes tinkle somewhere nearby. A sprinkler hisses softly across a patch of stubborn green grass.
Life. Beautiful, painfully ordinary life.
Then... I see it. The house. My breath catches.
Cream stucco. Dark roof. Small front porch.
The exact same house from the photograph.
Rossi pulls to the curb. Nobody speaks when he climbs out first. One hand disappears beneath his jacket as his eyes sweep the street with practiced efficiency.
Left. Right. Across the road. Behind us. Like he's expecting a sniper.
The only things in sight are a barking dog, a mailbox, and what appears to be a very judgmental horse.
Satisfied, he nods. The dog barks again.
Another answers, somewhere in the distance.
The horse lets out a low whinny. The neighborhood settles back into silence.
Too quiet. Like the entire world is holding its breath.
My door opens, and suddenly Alessio is there.
He doesn't ask if I'm ready. Thank God. Because I'm not.
I don't think I ever will be. He simply offers me his hand.
The same hand that held mine all the way from Las Vegas.
I take it. He helps me out. The Arizona heat wraps around us immediately.
Together we walk up the flagstone path. Desert landscaping lines both sides.
Barrel cactus. Agave. A towering saguaro stands like an ancient sentinel beside the driveway.
Its long arms stretch toward the cloudless sky.
We pass a small wooden sign. NO SOLICITING.
My feet stop. This is it. This... this is really happening.
Four years. Four years of searching. Four years of hoping.
Four years of imagining this exact moment.
Alessio looks at me. He doesn't say a word.
He doesn't have to. His hand tightens around mine.
Just enough to remind me I'm not standing here alone.
Then he reaches out. Presses the doorbell.
The chime echoes somewhere inside. The sound of footsteps on tile follows the chime, then a woman's voice calls through the house. "Coming!"
My entire body freezes. I know that voice.
I'd know it anywhere. Rachel. My heart doesn't just skip a beat.
It forgets how to beat. The world rushes back into focus all at once.
The heat. The smell of sunbaked creosote.
The rough texture of Alessio's fingers intertwined with mine.
The sound of blood pounding in my ears. I inhale sharply. Roll my shoulders back. Lift my chin.
Whatever waits on the other side of this door... whatever answers she's about to give me... whatever truths have kept us apart for four long years... I'm ready to face them.
The doorknob turns.