“Jesus Christ,” he breathes.
“Jennifer Martinez disappeared two years ago. But Sarah Carson and Claire Rodriguez are still out there. We need to know they’re safe.”
He’s flipping through the files now, his face growing darker with each page. When he reaches the letter to Claire, his jaw clenches so hard I can hear his teeth grinding.
“How many more files are there?” he asks.
“Just these three. That I found.”
“That you found so far.”
The implication hangs between us. If Dante kept files on three women, how many others might there be?
“We have to find them,” I say. “Sarah and Claire. Make sure they’re safe.”
“We will, but first, we’re going to find out exactly how deep this goes.” He pulls out his phone and speed-dials a number.
“Benedetto? I need a complete search of Dante’s house. Every room, every file, every hidden compartment. We’re looking for surveillance equipment, documents, anything related to stalking or kidnapping… Yes, immediately… No, drop everything else.”
As he gives orders, I sink into the chair across from his desk and stare at the folders. Three women whose lives were violated by a monster who convinced me I was special.
The worst part isn’t the betrayal or the lies. The worst part is the relief.
Relief that I survived when Jennifer Martinez didn’t. Relief that for two years, while Dante was focused on me, other women were safe.
Relief that I’m not crazy for being afraid, because the danger was always real.
“Hey.” Alaric’s voice is gentle as he kneels beside my chair. “Look at me.”
I meet his eyes, and the concern I see there almost breaks me.
“This doesn’t change anything between us,” he says firmly. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“But he hurt others. And I never knew. For two years, I never even suspected…”
“Because you were surviving.” His hands frame my face. “You’re not responsible for his crimes.”
“Aren’t I? If I’d been braver, if I’d left sooner?—”
“Then you’d be dead, and these files would still be locked in his desk.” His thumb brushes away a tear I didn’t realize I’d shed. “You found them, Kasimira. You’re going to help us find the others.”
The ones who might still be alive.
26
ALARIC
Benedetto’s searchteam finds seventeen more files hidden behind a false wall in Dante’s study.
Seventeen.
I stand in my son’s former sanctuary, watching my men document evidence of crimes that span nearly a decade. Each folder contains the same meticulous pattern—surveillance photos, stolen personal information, obsessive letters, and in some cases, jewelry or clothing that was clearly taken without consent.
What monster did I raise?
“Boss?” Benedetto approaches with a laptop. “Found this hidden in his desk. Password protected, but our tech guy cracked it.”
The screen shows a database that makes my stomach turn. Names, addresses, photographs, detailed behavioral analyses.
