“You’re the best,” Nico says.
A woman rushes to Ivy’s side and whispers in her ear. Ivy nods as she listens, then shifts her gaze to me. “Unfortunately, I must go, but I hope you’ll attend my after-party this evening? We can talk in private there.”
She flutters her fingers at us, then slips away.
A sense of defeat envelops me.
I’m wasting precious time. I haven’t accomplished anything in all the years I’ve worked for Don Savastano, and I’m failing my sister yet again.
Grace tugs on my arm.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
I turn to look at her, but my eyes catch on Nico Monte. He has a look of understanding on his face, like he knows exactly why I’m here.
“It’s about the children and the women, isn’t it?” he asks in Italian.
I hesitate for a moment. I’ve heard things about Nico Monte. He’s volatile, hotheaded, unpredictable. But my gut feeling tells me I can trust him.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said that I follow your work,” he continues in Italian. “I know what you do. And I would like to offer my support. If you’re planning to attend Ivy’s after-party tonight, I can arrange a meeting with the heads of the other families. I know people who will be happy to support the cause.”
I’ve never been more grateful for someone in my entire life. Relief dissolves all of the tension that’s been building inside me.
I look at Grace.
“We’ll be there.” I nod. “Thank you.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll introduce you to everyone tonight,” Nico says.
I extend my hand for a handshake, but he pulls me into a hug. And then he leans down to kiss Grace on each cheek.
Just as he leaves, the door to the dressing room opens again. My heart is slamming hard against my breastbone before I even turn around.
It’s her.
A million thoughts fight for control in my head. I can’t believe my luck. After two decades of endless work, I’ve been blessed with serendipity.
"Paige," I call out.
The girl turns to look right at me. Her eyes widen before she quickly looks away.
Strange.
I walk toward her as she picks up her stride. I'm faster than her, though.
"Paige Dawson, am I correct?" I ask, coming to a stop before her.
She's a tall woman, over six feet with her stilettos on. Her eyes flick up and down my face.
"I'm sorry," she says. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else."
“Summer of 2007,” I say. "You were playing in the park where a white van was parked. Two men snatched you off the swing set, and you were never seen again.”
She takes a deep breath. "Sir, I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“My sister was taken that same year,” I tell her. “It’s the reason I know who you are. You weren’t forgotten, Paige. There were others, too. I learned your stories. I remembered your faces. I guarded your memory in the hope that one day I’d find every one of you.”
“Can you please step out of my way?” she says. “I have another show to attend.”
