Bonus Epilogue
Luciano
Three years later
Twenty-four hours.
A whole fucking day has gone by, and still no sign of Annamaria.
It’s like she just vanished—vanished into thin air without leaving a note, a trace, without a goddamn whisper left behind.
But people don’t just vanish.
Not in our world.
“You should grab a few hours of sleep,” Enzo says beside me, voice low, taut with exhaustion. “I can take over for a bit.”
I don’t look away from the screen. My fingers hover, frozen above the keyboard.
“No. I’m good.”
“You’re not good, Lucky.” His tone sharpens, but there’s worry in it too. “You’ve been at your computer all night. How are you supposed to find Anna if your brain’s fried?”
“Have you slept?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Enzo bows his head. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I turn back to my monitor. “Run every number that pinged in the two-mile radius around Uncle Sal’s estate.”
“I already did that.”
“Then do it again,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Enzo flinches slightly, causing guilt to gnaw at me.
“Fuck. Sorry,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. “I’m just—”
“I know,” he cuts in quietly. “Me too.”
He pulls up a chair and opens his laptop beside me. The sound of keys clicking quickly fills the room again.
“I’ll expand the search radius,” he says. “A few extra miles. Maybe whoever took her got sloppy. Turned on a phone when they thought they were in the clear.”
Whoever took her…
What Enzo really means is whoever kidnapped our baby sister.
For a few hours, we let ourselves believe she might’ve just fallen asleep somewhere. Maybe curled up in some quiet corner with a romance novel, hiding from the chaos of our parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary party.
It wouldn’t have been out of character for her. Anna’s never been the type to enjoy crowds. She fades into the background by nature, not because she’s weak—but because peace and quiet is where she thrives.
No one noticed she was gone. Not at first.
And that’s what makes this even worse.
Dad was right.
Whoever did this… they knew our weaknesses.
They knew Anna.
And they knew us.
They did their fucking homework alright.
They must’ve spent months learning how she moved, how she thought. Learning that she was the heart of this family—quiet and soft-spoken, but holding every single one of us together without even realizing it.
And I can see it now—so clearly it makes me sick.
Some asshole walking right through the front door, pretending to be just another guest.
How did he lure you, Anna?
Did he smile at you?
Say all the right words?
Or did he look hurt, and—being you—you instinctively wanted to help?
Did you follow him, thinking you were saving someone, not knowing you were the one being hunted?
“Stop, Lucky.” Enzo’s voice cuts into my thoughts like a blade. “You’re spiraling. You’ll lose it if you keep going there.”
I lean back in my chair, head bowed, and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“This is all my fault,” I whisper.
“It’s not.”
“It is.” My voice breaks. “She came up to me at the party and asked me to dance with her.” I laugh, the sound bitter to my own ears. “I told her I would. Later. Later, Enzo. What if later was already too fucking late?”
Enzo stands, walks over to me and goes to his haunches, pulling me into a hug—his arms tight around my shoulders, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Stop. Thinking. Like that,” he says, steady and fierce. “It’s not too late. It will never be too late. We’re going to find her.”
I shut my eyes. Swallow the burning tears that threaten to fall.
But I won’t cry.
Not until she’s home.
Not until I know who took her.
And not until I’ve made them pay in blood.
“Is everything okay over here?” Frankie’s voice cuts through the tension like a balm—warm and soft, soothing the ragged hole in my chest.
“Everything’s fine,” Enzo lies, forcing a tired smile.
I lift my head and find her standing in the doorway, holding a tray of snacks like she still believes food can fix this. Her eyes are red and puffy, proof she’s been crying most of the night, worried sick for my sister’s safety.
“I brought you both something to eat, just in case—” Her words trail off the second she sees my face, gaunt and probably a little unhinged.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” Enzo says, already rising. “I should check on Alejandro anyway.”
“I saw him praying with your mom and Lourdes in the kitchen,” Frankie says softly.
Enzo snorts under his breath. “Of course he is. Old habits die hard.” He then grabs his laptop and leaves the room without another word.
The moment he’s gone, Frankie crosses the floor and sinks onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing her face into my shoulder. Her tears fall freely, soaking into my shirt, and I let her cry. I hold her close, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “It’s okay, baby. We’ll find her.”
Her voice is a whisper, barely holding together. “Who would do this? Who could be that cruel—to take someone like Anna? She’s so innocent. So pure. So… good.”
“Jude thinks maybe that’s why they took her,” I explain, hating how my voice cracks at the end. “She’d never see such danger coming. She always thinks the best of people.”
Frankie pulls back just enough to look at me, and I wipe the tears from her face before kissing her—soft and slow, trying to anchor myself to her calm, to anything that keeps me from falling apart.
“This might sound stupid,” she murmurs, “but when Mina said Anna might’ve snuck out to meet a boy, I thought maybe… maybe she knew about Anna’s secret crush too.”
“What are you talking about? What secret crush?”
“You know who I’m talking about,” she says, giving me a look. “That boy she’s always texting.”
“Babe, does this look like the face of a guy in the know?” I ask, pointing to myself.
Her brows pinch together. “You seriously didn’t know Anna was talking to a boy?”
“Jesus Christ, Frankie, this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“Then who did you think she’s been texting all these years?”
“YEARS?!” I shout, surging forward, Frankie instantly jumping off my lap.
“You don’t need to yell, Lucky,” she snaps, arms crossing over her chest. “I know that you’re tense, and scared and tired, but there’s no need to shout. I hear you just fine.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right,” I say, dragging a hand down my face. “It’s just—Frankie, that kind of intel could’ve helped us hours ago.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant. I mean, we’re looking at someone who has a grudge towards the Outfit, right?”
“Maybe not,” I say before shoving my chair toward the desk and start hammering at my keyboard with new resolve.
“What are you doing?”
“Cross-checking every guy from Sacred Heart who was in her class and seeing if any of them have been spotted in the area.”
“What makes you think it’s someone from school?”
“Because if they’ve been talking for years, that means whoever has her has been in her life for just as long. And aside from church, charity work with Mom, and school, Anna doesn’t go anywhere. So if someone seduced her, pulled her in…it’s gotta be someone from Sacred Heart.”
Frankie chews her bottom lip, eyes darting between me and the screen. “Yeah… I guess that makes sense. Maybe this isn’t as bad as we think it is.” Her voice is small. Hopeful. But I can see the fear in her eyes. The last time any boy showed any interest in Anna, it wasn’t the good kind.
And we all know what happened to those two fuckers freshman year.
Still, I can tell Frankie wants to believe we’re close to finding Anna, untouched and safe. That this is the thread that’ll unravel everything.
God, I hope she’s right.
I pull up every name of every guy Anna’s ever come into contact with—every friend, classmate, church volunteer, charity kid, even anyone who’s ever liked one of her damn posts on social media. I narrow the list down to those close to her age—plus or minus two years.
When I’m done, I’ve got twelve names. Twelve assholes who, from what I can tell, are all painfully unworthy of my sister.
I hit print, grab the pages, and snatch Frankie’s hand.
“Where are we going?” she asks, breathless, as we tear down the hallway.
“We have to find my dad. He needs to send Marcello and Stella to pay each of these guys a visit. Anna’s gotta be with one of them.”
“You really think so?” she pants as we round a corner, heading for the foyer.
“You said she’s been texting this guy, right? Maybe she told him about the anniversary party, and how bored she was. Maybe he used that excuse to get her to invite him. Maybe he came… and left with her.”
“Okay, but why take her?” Frankie presses, eyes narrowing.
“I don’t know yet,” I growl. “Right now, I care more about who than the why.”
She nods. “I can call Kill and Kostya, too. If they show up at anyone’s doorstep, whoever has Anna will crack in ten seconds flat.”
There’s a glint in her eye. My girl’s lethal when she wants to be. Must be those Petrov genes.
You’d think someone with uncles like hers would be intimidated by them. But Frankie? She has all of them—Aleksandr, Mikhail, the whole damn Bratva—wrapped around her finger.
Still, we don’t need the Bratva for this.
This is Outfit business.
When I reach my dad’s office, I find Enzo already inside, laptop open in front of him. Gio and Dominic are standing behind my father looking tense.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my pulse spiking.
Enzo looks up, and the grief on his face nearly knocks the wind out of me.
“We found your sister,” my father says, his voice low, edged with fury.
“What? How?” I breathe, frozen in place.
Enzo swallows hard. “You told me to check the phone towers near the house during the party. I did. I even expanded the search radius. Nothing. But then I had a horrible thought… what if whoever has her is trying to take her across state lines?”
“We already checked O’Hare, Midway, every train and bus terminal. No sign of her,” I say, my heart slamming in my chest.
“Right. We did,” Enzo agrees grimly. “But then I remembered the time when Frankie and Stella were… well, when they ended up in Russia. I remembered that the Petrovs used an old abandoned military airstrip.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “That’s right. They did.”
How the hell did I miss that?
“So I checked the towers out by the old airfield. And I found a phone number.” He looks physically ill. “It matched one of Anna’s contacts. A New York number.”
“New York?” I bark. “Who the fuck does Anna know in New York?”
My dad flips the laptop around. On the screen is a paused surveillance image.
A tall man with wavy blond hair is carrying an unconscious Annamaria toward a private jet.
“Raffaele Donato,” my father says, his voice like a gun cocking. “That is who Annamaria knows in New York. And that is who we are going to kill.”
The End