"Alessandro, please. I'm begging you. Don't let me end up with in Saudi Arabia or Russia. Please."
"You won't. I promise you. This will all be over soon."
The words should comfort me. But they feel hollow. Empty. Like promises made to a child who doesn't understand how the adult world works.
"How long?" I ask desperately. "How long until you have the money?"
"A few more days. I need to finalize some arrangements. But it's coming together. You just need to stay strong a little longer."
"And if something goes wrong? If you can't get the money in time?"
"Nothing will go wrong. I've handled situations far more complex than this."
"This isn't a business deal. This is my life."
"I know that. And I'm treating it with the gravity it deserves." A pause. "In the meantime, if Vitiello asks you anything about our family's business dealings, about my investments or connections, you tell him nothing. Understand?"
The shift in topic makes me uneasy. "Why would he ask me about that? I don't know anything about your businesses."
"He might try to use you to gather information. Financial leverage, business intelligence. Keep the conversations focused on the ransom. Nothing else."
"Alessandro—"
"I have to go. I'll be in touch with Vitiello soon."
The line goes dead.
I sit there holding the phone, staring at nothing.
Three calls.
Three men who should be moving heaven and earth to save me.
Lorenzo, uncomfortable and distant, passing me off to his father like an inconvenient problem.
My father, heartbroken and powerless, broke and broken.
And Alessandro, smooth and reassuring but offering nothing concrete. No timeline, no plan, just vague promises that he'll "resolve" things.
Renato takes the phone from my numb fingers.
"Well," he says quietly. "Now you know what I've been dealing with."
He slips the phone into his pocket. "Your fiancé can't be bothered to fight for you. Your father loves you but has nopower. And Alessandro..." He shakes his head. "Alessandro is a bastard.”
"He said he'll pay. He promised."
"He promised to 'resolve the situation.' That's not the same thing."
I stare at him. "You think he won't pay."
"Alessandro Rossi is a man who values his money more than other people's lives. Even family."
"But my father is trying."
"Your father is bankrupt. He told you himself. Lorenzo defers to his father. Who is stalling about paying up."
I want to argue. Want to insist that Alessandro will come through, that someone will save me. But the truth is staring me in the face.
