REBECCA
By the time our helicopter finally touches down... it's over. No more gunfire. No explosions. No frantic voices over the radio. Just... silence. The rotors haven't even stopped before Olivere jumps out, scanning every direction while Rossi opens my door.
"Stay behind us."
"I will."
Neither of them believes me. They form up around me anyway.
We jog toward what looks like a military field hospital that sprang up in the middle of the Nevada desert.
Floodlights. Stretchers. Doctors. Nurses.
Blankets spread across folding tables. Enzo hadn't been kidding. He'd thought of everything.
One woman sits wrapped in a silver emergency blanket, clutching a teddy bear someone must have found inside the house.
Another stares blankly at the ground while a medic bandages her wrist. One keeps apologizing over and over in broken English.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
The nurse gently shakes her head. "You don't have anything to apologize for."
My heart cracks a little more. I don't know where to start. So... I kneel in front of the closest girl. "Hi."
She doesn't answer. "My name's Beccs."
Nothing.
"I know you're scared."
Still nothing.
"But nobody here is going to hurt you." Her eyes slowly lift to mine; her pupils are blown and filled with disbelief, warring with hope and fear. So much fear. All tangled together.
"You don't have to believe me yet." I smile softly. "You just have to let us help."
Her chin trembles, and she gives me the smallest of nods.
Hours blur together. Some women cry. Some scream if a man gets too close. Some don't say a single word. One refuses to let go of my hand. Another falls asleep sitting upright with her head against my shoulder. I stay. Because that's all I can do. Stay.
Eventually, I feel someone stop beside me.
I don't need to look up to know it's Alessio, but I do it anyway.
His tuxedo is ruined. Blood stains one sleeve.
His hair is a mess. There's a fresh cut along his jaw.
The sight of him makes my chest unclench.
I stand so fast the blanket slides off my lap.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around him.
He catches me easily. Buries his face against my neck. Just for a second. Only a second. But it's enough.
"You came back."
"I told you I would."
I pull back just enough to look at him. "Are you hurt?"
He looks almost insulted. "This was nothing more than taking ice cream from kindergartners."
He's underplaying it. But I let it go. Something behind those glacier-blue eyes feels different. Colder. Focused. Like he'd closed another door inside himself. I reach up and brush my palm over his cheek. His eyes close for the briefest moment. Comfort. Maybe the first he's allowed himself tonight.
"I heard," I say quietly. "About your mother."
He opens his eyes again. "I've got her."
I hesitate before asking the question that's been sitting like a stone in my stomach. "Do you..." I swallow, "want me there?"
He studies me for a long moment. Then slowly shakes his head. "No."
"No?"
His hand comes up to cover mine. Warm. Steady. "Trust me." His voice is calm. "That's not something you need to see."
I shiver. Not because I'm afraid of him. Because for just a heartbeat... I catch a glimpse of the man everyone else fears. The capo. The king. The man who ends problems. Then... he's gone again. Only my Alessio remains. The man he shows only me. I stroke his cheek with my thumb. "I'm here."
His hand tightens over mine. "I know."
Three simple words. But somehow... they sound like a lifeline.
"I love you."
The corners of his mouth soften. "I love you too, Grease Monkey."
He leans down and kisses my forehead. Then glances toward the women. "They need you."
I follow his gaze. A young girl is crying into one of the blankets. Another keeps looking over her shoulder as though someone will drag her back. He's right. "They do."
He gives my backside a light smack. "Go save the world."
A startled laugh escapes me. "You know..." I glance back over my shoulder. "I liked you better when you were grumpy."
"I still am."
"Liar."
I walk away, smiling. The smile doesn't last. Because I know where he's going.
Toward the helicopters. Toward a woman in handcuffs.
Toward answers that have waited eighteen years.
For a moment, I think about Rachel. How desperately I'd wanted to understand why she'd hidden from me.
How easy it had been to invent reasons. Excuses.
Stories that made it hurt less. Maybe that's what we all do.
We build versions of the people we love because the truth is too painful to carry. Rachel has shattered mine.
Luciana has shattered his.
The difference... Rachel still has a chance to put the pieces back together. I'm sure Luciana never wanted to.
I look down at the young woman clutching my hand. "No one's ever going to hurt you again."
She looks up, terrified. "Really?"
I squeeze her fingers. "Really."
Behind me, helicopter blades begin to spin. I don't turn around. Some journeys... people have to make alone. Mine isn't one of them. Forty-three women need to be flown back to Las Vegas, which means several trips back and forth.
The next few hours disappear into organized chaos. Names are taken; blankets and phones are given out. Medical care is available for anybody who wants or needs it. Some cling to the medics like lifelines. Others refuse to let anyone touch them.
A little girl—God, I hadn't even realized there were children—falls asleep curled against one of the nurses before the helicopter doors even close.
Another woman keeps asking if this is another trick.
If they're being sold again. Every time...
I give the same answer. "No. You don't belong to anyone anymore. "
Eventually... the last helicopters lift into the night.
One after another. Heading back to Vegas.
Heading home. I spend most of the flight moving from seat to seat.
Holding hands. Explaining. Repeating the same promises over and over.
By the time the Strip finally appears beneath us...
my voice is hoarse. My heart somehow feels both heavier... and lighter.
The mansion is waiting when we arrive. Lights blaze in every window. The circular driveway is lined with unmarked SUVs for the women who want to leave right now.
The moment the first helicopter touches down... the machine starts moving again. Charly, the other women who haven't left the mansion yet for one reason or another. More blankets. Hot coffee. Fresh clothes. Questions. Quiet reassurance. Nobody rushes the women. Nobody demands answers.
For the first time in a very long time... they get to choose. Only after the last one disappears inside... do I finally allow myself to breathe.
Inside, women drift through the kitchen wrapped in new sweatshirts. Some are sleeping on couches. Others are sitting on the patio beneath the string lights Enzo had someone put up this afternoon.
It almost feels... normal.
Charly is sitting at the dining room table with three laptops open, two legal pads covered in notes, and enough empty coffee cups to qualify as a health hazard. He glances up. "You look tired as hell."
A grin forms on my lips. "So do you."
He chuckles. But after some more scrutiny, he must notice something on my face. "You okay, kiddo?"
"I don't know."
As always, he assures me, "I'm here if you need to talk."
I nod. "Not tonight, Charly. But soon. Thank you."
I can feel his gaze on me when I walk through the open patio doors outside.
One of the women who’d been at the mansion for a while, a dark-skinned beauty named Cookie—or that's the name she gave us—sits cross-legged on one of the lounge chairs with a cigarette she hasn't lit yet. She watches me for a second.
Then snorts. "Girl..." she pats the chair beside her, "you look like somebody stole your puppy."
I laugh despite myself. "It feels worse."
"Uh-oh." She leans back. "Man trouble?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Family?"
"Yeah."
She whistles softly. "Oof. The worst kind."
I sit beside her. For a while... neither of us says anything.
But then, for some reason, the words pour out of me.
Maybe because Cookie is Cookie, she makes it really easy to talk to her.
Maybe because I just need to let it out.
I tell her about Rachel. About the years I've spent looking for her, thinking her dead, kidnapped.
Trafficked. She listens with that careful, world-wise expression she always wears.
She doesn't interrupt. She doesn't make any comments.
I tell her about Arizona and Rachel, about Mexico and margaritas on a beach. About the little girl who calls her Mommy. About wondering whether my sister ever thought about me at all. When I finish... Cookie rubs her hands together for warmth.
"You know..." She stares out across the backyard. "If somebody found my mama tomorrow..." She shrugs. "I wouldn't go."
I blink. "What?"
"I love her." Another shrug. "But I still wouldn't go."
"Why?"
She smiles. It's the most lost smile I've ever seen. "Because I'd never be her little girl again."
The words hit me like a punch. "I don't understand."
"You will." She scratches absentmindedly at the fading bruise on her wrist. "The shit we've been through..." She shakes her head. "It changes the furniture."
"The what now?"
She laughs. "Inside."
She taps her chest. "You move things around just to survive. And after a while... you don't know where home is anymore."
I don't know what to say.
Cookie keeps talking. "I don't want people looking at me..." she makes air quotes, "like I'm broken."
"I wouldn't be."
She gives me a look. "You say that now."
"I mean it."
"I know."
She smiles softly. "And you wouldn't do it on purpose.
But every time you'd look at me..." she swallows, "I'd wonder if you were thinking about those men.
I'd wonder if you pitied me. I'd wonder if you were trying not to imagine what happened.
" She lets out a slow breath. "I couldn't live like that. "
I stare at her. "I never would've..."
"I know."
She cuts me off gently. "You love your sister. I can hear it every time you say her name." She smiles. "But love doesn't erase memory. It just gives it another place to hide."
The lump in my throat grows.
"Alessio offered me a new identity." She looks out into the darkening backyard. "New name. New papers. The whole James Bond package."
A laugh escapes me. That sounds like Alessio. He never told me. He's not making any big deal out of the good deeds he's doing, but they're there.
"So..." she bumps my shoulder, "I'm taking it."
"What about your family?"
She looks toward the stars. "Maybe one day. Maybe. But not today. Not tomorrow. Probably not next year." She shrugs. "I need to figure out who the hell Cookie is before I try becoming somebody's daughter again."
I sit there quietly. Thinking. Rachel. The beach. The little girl. The way she'd looked... happy. Not guilty. Happy.
Cookie nudges me again. "Maybe your sister ain't running from you."
I look at her. "Maybe..." She finally lights the cigarette. "She's still running from herself."
I wonder if Cookie is right. Maybe Rachel hadn't run from me.
Maybe she'd been running from herself all along.
From memories too painful to survive. From a past that refused to stay buried.
Maybe. And maybe her running has nothing to do with what happened to her in the last four years, but everything with what happened nine years ago and the questions and stares whenever someone finds out what our father did.
She never talked about it. Not even to her counselors, who were concerned, which I know because I eavesdropped on one of them and a foster mom.
It was almost like it was harder for her to accept what Daddy did and the consequent questions and stares from other people than the loss of our mother and brothers.
I honestly didn't know anymore. Rachel and I hadn't lived the same nightmare. She'd been taken. I'd been left behind. She'd spent almost a year trapped in a world I could barely comprehend. I'd spent four years searching for her. Neither one of us had escaped untouched.
Then again... Rachel and I were the only survivors of our family. Didn't that count for something?
I rub my hands over my face. I don't know anymore. But just maybe... for the first time... I'm okay admitting that.
One thing hasn't changed though.
Rachel is still hiding something. Something big. Something she's deliberately kept from me. From Charly. From Alessio.
Flea and the Collector. The fake identity.
The apology tucked inside her file. Too many pieces still don't fit. Cookie is right about one thing. People deserve the chance to build a new life. To become someone new. If that’s what Rachel wants, then I want that for Rachel.
But loving her doesn't mean I can ignore the truth.
Not anymore. Because this isn't just about my sister.
It's about the man I love. About the future we're trying to build together.
Whatever Rachel is protecting... whatever she survived...
whatever she chose not to tell us... it has already reached Alessio.
And that... I can't ignore. I look toward the mansion where lights still glow in nearly every window.
Tomorrow. I'll give Rachel a little more grace.
But I'm also going to demand the truth. For both of us.