I screech to a halt outside the Feretti mansion, tires burning rubber on the driveway. I don't even bother closing the car door behind me. My legs are weak, threatening to give out with each step, but I force myself forward.
"Alessio!" I scream, my voice cracking with desperation. "ALESSIO!"
The massive front door flies open. Alessio appears, gun drawn, with Enzo right behind him. Their expressions shift from alert to horrified as they take me in—clothes drenched in blood, face streaked with tears and God knows what else.
"Holy fuck," Enzo breathes.
Alessio holsters his weapon and rushes down the steps, catching me as my knees finally buckle. "What happened? Where's Damiano? Whose blood is this?"
"Not mine," I gasp out. "The drivers—they're dead. Someone took them. They took Damiano and Lucrezia."
Enzo's face transforms, rage replacing shock. "Who? Did you see them?"
I shake my head, fighting to catch my breath. "Three men. They stormed the café. I was in the bathroom when it happened."
"Byron," Enzo spits the name like poison. His eyes narrow as they fix on me. "Convenient timing, isn't it? You arrange a meeting, disappear to the bathroom, and suddenly my brother and sister are gone?"
"What? No!" I push away from Alessio, standing on my own despite the trembling in my legs. "You think I planned this?"
"Why should we believe you?" Enzo steps closer, towering over me. "You've been lying since day one."
Alessio pulls out his phone, hitting speed dial. After a moment, his face darkens. "Damiano's phone is dead."
"Listen to me," I plead, looking between them. "I had nothing to do with this. Byron tracked me—I was wearing a necklace he gave me. I didn't realize?—"
"Of course you didn't," Enzo cuts in, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just like you didn't realize who your father was, right?"
Alessio puts a restraining hand on Enzo's chest. "We don't have time for this. Every minute counts." He turns to me, his expression unreadable. "If you're lying, I'll kill you myself. But right now, we need to find them."
I force myself to focus through the shock. "We need to mobilize everyone you have. What about Byron's properties? Have you checked them?"
Alessio shakes his head, his thumb running along his bottom lip as he thinks. "We've been through every property listed under Easton's name—the Manhattan penthouse, the Hamptons estate, his offices downtown. Nothing."
My mind races, trying to remember anything useful from my years with Byron. All those dinners, all those conversations I was meant to overhear and others I wasn't...
Then it hits me.
"Wait," I say, my heart rate quickening. "There's a warehouse."
Both men turn to me, Enzo with suspicion, Alessio with cautious hope.
"What warehouse?" Alessio steps between us, his eyes intense. "Where?"
"I wasn't supposed to hear it," I explain, the memory crystallizing. "Byron was on the phone a few days before the wedding, thought I was asleep in the car. He was talking about a delivery needing to be 're-routed to the Red Hook warehouse' because it was 'off the books.'"
Enzo's expression darkens. "Red Hook has dozens of warehouses."
"He mentioned a number," I press my palms against my temples, trying to force the memory. "Something with a four and a seven..."
"The address," Alessio cuts in, his voice tight with urgency. "We need the exact address, Zoe."
"I don't—" I start, then stop. "No, wait. He said something about it being convenient because it was on Van Brunt Street. Building 47, I think. Or 74?" I shake my head in frustration. "One of those."
Alessio is already on his phone, barking orders. "I want two teams at Red Hook, buildings 47 and 74 on Van Brunt Street. Full tactical gear, silent approach. Nobody moves until I'm there."
"If you're wrong about this—" Enzo starts.
"I'm not," I interrupt, conviction hardening my voice. "If Byron has them, that's where they'll be. It's the only property he's ever mentioned that wasn't public knowledge."
