I slam my fist against the steering wheel when I pull up beside Lucrezia's abandoned Audi. The car sits emptyoutside some nameless coffee shop, no sign of my sister or Zoe anywhere.
"Fuck!" I hit the wheel again, anger and fear coursing through me in equal measure.
I leap out, scanning the area before approaching the vehicle. The doors are locked.
My phone buzzes. Alessio.
"Talk to me," I answer.
"We've got teams checking cameras in a six-block radius. Nothing yet." I end the call.
Enzo's black Range Rover screeches to a halt behind me. He jumps out, eyes sharp as he approaches.
"They're not here," I say, the obvious statement heavy with everything I'm not saying.
Enzo circles the Audi, peering inside. "Keys?"
I shake my head.
"Byron has them," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "He found out Zoe was compromised and took them both."
Enzo shakes his head. "We don't know that."
"We need to split up," I tell Enzo. "Cover more ground. She wouldn't go far without transportation."
"Unless they took a cab," Enzo says quietly.
Fuck. He's right. They could be anywhere in the city by now.
"Check with dispatch services," I order. "Every taxi company in a ten-mile radius."
Enzo nods, already dialing.
I stare at the empty car, my fingers closing around the gun at my waist. The image of Byron touching either of them makes my blood boil.
I blink awake with a jolt, heart hammering against my ribs. Bianca's screams still echo in my ears, but this time they weren't alone. Lucrezia's terrified face flashed through the nightmare, Byron standing over her with that fucking smirk on his face. And Zoe?—
Shit.
The office comes into focus around me. Papers scattered across the desk, my laptop still open, screen gone dark. I check my watch: 3:17 a.m. Somehow I managed to fall asleep at my desk while the world burns down around me.
I grab my phone. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.
Four hours since Lucrezia's car was found abandoned. Four fucking hours with no sign of either of them.
Enzo pokes his head through the door, looking as exhausted as I feel. "Anything?"
"Nothing," I say, voice rough with sleep. "Updates?"
"We're combing through camera footage from the entire neighborhood where we found the car. Noah's got men on every block within a two-mile radius. Daniel's checking hospitals."
I nod, tension coiling tight in my gut. "And Easton?"
"Still no trace. It's like the bastard vanished."
The phone on my desk rings—not my cell, but the secure landline. We both freeze.
"Trace it," I say, and Enzo's already moving, signaling to Alessio in the hallway.
