And I left her there. Alone with these bastards. I ignored her cry for help. I let this happen because I was too busy being paranoid and jealous and stupid.
"Boss!" Bruno grabs my arm, shaking me. "What is it? What's on your phone?"
I turn the phone toward him, unable to find words.
He looks at the photo. Goes pale, all the color draining from his face.
"Shit," he breathes. "Is that—"
"Liana." My voice is hollow, empty of everything except horror. "Someone has Liana."
"Who?" Paulie asks, moving closer. "Who took her?"
"I don't know." I look at the phone number, memorizing it. "But I'm going to find out."
I'm going to find whoever did this. I'm going to find them and I'm going to make them regret the day they were born. I'm going to make them pay for every second of fear she's experiencing, for every drop of blood they've drawn.
But first, I have to live with the fact that this is my fault.
She texted me for help. She reached out when she was in danger. And I thought it was a game. I thought she was manipulating me.
The image of her face—scared, hurt, alone, waiting for help that didn't come—burns into my mind like a brand.
I failed her. When she needed me most, when it actually mattered, I failed her completely.
And now I have to figure out how to get her back.
If it's not already too late.
Chapter 21: Liana
My wrists are bleeding.
Not a lot—just enough that the zip ties are slick with it, just enough that I can feel the warm trickle down my palms and onto my fingers. The pain is sharp and constant, but I welcome it. Pain means I'm still alive. Pain means I can still fight.
I keep my face neutral, letting fear show through because that's what they expect to see. And it isn't hard to look scared, because I am scared. Terrified, actually.
But I'm also calculating. Planning. Watching for any opening I can exploit.
The man who hit me earlier paces near the door with restless energy. His name is Terzo. I heard one of the others call him that during their earlier conversation.
There are three of them total. Terzo, who seems to be in charge of this operation. A younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, who keeps checking his phone obsessively like he's expecting bad news. And an older man with a jagged scar across his eyebrow who hasn't said a single word since they tied me up, just watches everything with cold, dead eyes.
They've been arguing in low voices for the past twenty minutes. About me. About what comes next. About how this is all going to play out.
"She's worth more alive," Terzo says with certainty. "Marcello will pay whatever we ask to get her back unharmed."
"If he comes," the younger one counters nervously. "What if he doesn't care enough? What if he thinks she's not worth the trouble?"
"He'll come. He's already got her father involved. The Costa family won't let this slide. They can't afford to look weak." Terzo sounds confident, like he's thought this through. "Between Costa's reputation and Marcello's pride, they'll both come running."
They know Santino contacted Papa. Either way, someone's coming eventually. The question is whether I'll still be alive when they get here. Whether they'll find me in time.
"What if Marcello calls the cops instead of negotiating?" the younger one asks, his voice rising with anxiety.
Terzo laughs, and it's not a pleasant sound—sharp and mocking. "He won't. Not for this. This is family business, not civilian business. He'll handle it the family way."
Family business.
