When the call ended, I poured the rest of the whiskey and drank it slowly.The glass left a ring on the report beneath it—one more small imperfection in a world obsessed with order.I thought again of my father’s creed, the one he’d carved into my head like scripture:Rule through fear, not affection.
He’d believed love made a man weak.He’d never met Mia.
I turned toward the window again.The sun climbed higher, spilling over the gardens.Two guards crossed the courtyard below, rifles slung casually but eyes alert.Beyond the gates, somewhere out there, someone was waiting for me to falter.
They would not get what they wanted.They could strip my docks, burn my warehouses, poison my name.None of it mattered.The empire could bleed; it had bled before and survived.But the woman upstairs—she was the one thing I couldn’t rebuild.
I pressed my palm against the glass, the fog of my breath vanishing as quickly as it came.
They want a war.Then they’ll get one.My hand dropped back to my side, steady now.But they won’t touch her.Not while I breathed.
22
MIA
The house had been heavily guarded for the last few days.I ate alone at a table meant for twelve, my coffee cooling untouched while guards murmured.They’d doubled since yesterday.By mid-morning, I couldn’t stand the suffocating stillness.Catrina found me in the foyer, arms crossed.
“We should get out for a bit.”
I almost laughed.As if there were any oxygen left in this house full of secrets.But the thought of staying—of pacing the same polished hallways until my mind cracked—was worse.
“Let’s drive into the city.Somewhere quiet.”
Enrico did suggest we went somewhere a couple days ago before all this started.A break was needed.We told the guards.One insisted on accompanying us, but Catrina shook her head with her usual calm authority.“We’ll be gone for an hour.”
The car that pulled around wasn’t one I recognized.Black sedan, tinted windows.The driver opened the door.“Mrs.Di Fiore.”As the gates closed behind us, the estate disappeared in the rearview mirror, swallowed by mist and trees.
For a few miles, we said nothing.The city unfurled ahead.
“Has Enrico said anything to you?About why he’s...been different?”
Her fingers twisted the strap of her purse.“He’s under pressure.That’s all.Business.”
“Business always comes first.”
She didn’t reply.
The light turned red.The driver’s hand shifted, brushing something near the console.
“Where are we going?”Something wasn’t right.
“Just a little shortcut.”
Every muscle in my body went taut.“Catrina?—”
The world fractured into motion.The locks clicked.The car came to a halt and the driver’s arm shot back, a glint of metal in his hand—something cold and sharp pressed against my throat.
“Don’t move.”
Another car pulled in behind us.The rest blurred: shouting, another car blocking our path, hands yanking the doors open.Then darkness.Laughter bubbled out of me.How cliché—to be snatched by our driver.
“Think this is funny?”one of the kidnappers growled, breath hot against my cheek.Before I could muster a response, his knuckles crashed into my nose, a crimson tide bursting forth to stain my lips.
“Enough!”barked a voice from the shadows.“Secure them.”
We were shoved into the back of a van.Zip ties bit into our wrists, plastic cutting skin.The engine roared to life, the city dissolving into a smear of light and motion.
Minutes, maybe hours later, the van jerked to a stop.We were dragged into a warehouse that smelled of mold.They shoved us into chairs.
