Sophie stumbled backward, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.
"You have until midnight," Antonio continued. "Bring her to the old cathedral, or I'll come collect her myself. And I won't be gentle about it."
The line went dead.
I stared at the silent phone, remembering another call years ago.
"Vittorio, Father's dead," Antonio had said, his voice breaking. "It's just us now. We have to stick together."
We were twenty-three and twenty-five, suddenly inheriting an empire.
"We're brothers," he'd sworn. "That means everything."
When had that bond become this poison?
Sophie stared at me, her face pale as marble. "He's going to kill me," she whispered. "Whether you give me back or not, he's going to kill me."
"Sophie—"
"No." She shook her head frantically. "You heard him. I'm 'property' to him. Property that embarrassed him by escaping. He can't let that stand."
Her breathing was coming in short gasps now. "He knows about the trafficking. He knows I have evidence. Even if you hand me over, he'll—" She swayed on her feet.
"Sophie, breathe."
"I'm going to die." The words came out as barely a whisper. "Oh god, I'm going to die, and there's nowhere to run this time."
She took a step toward me, then another, her legs wobbling. "Vittorio, I—"
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground, her body limp in my arms. "Sophie!" I patted her cheek. No response. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow.
"Enzo!" I roared, lifting her against my chest. "Get the doctor! Sophie just collapsed in the garden after a phone call—she's out cold. Tell Dr. Rossi it might be shock or a panic attack. Have him meet us in her room. Now!
Dr. Rossi had been staying at the estate since yesterday—standard protocol when threat levels escalated to this degree.
I carried her through the garden, my heart hammering against my ribs. Her head lolled against my shoulder, red hair spilling over my arm. She felt too light, too fragile.
"Stay with me," I murmured, taking the stairs two at a time. "Come on, Sophie. Stay with me."
Memories of another woman, another collapse, flashed through my mind. Livia, trapped in the flames that tore through our estate. The explosion that came without warning. The funeral where I stood alone, staring at a closed casket.
"Not again," I growled. "Not you too."
I burst through the doors to find Dr. Rossi already waiting, medical bag in hand.
"Put her on the bed," he instructed, all business.
I laid her down gently, brushing hair from her face. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful, but the stillness terrified me.
"What happened?" Dr. Rossi asked, checking her pulse.
"She overheard a threatening phone call. Severe shock. She was hyperventilating before she collapsed."
"Panic attack leading to fainting," he nodded, continuing his examination. "I'll need to run some tests. Has she been eating regularly? Any medications I should know about?"
I thought of the knives she'd hidden, the weeks of captivity, the constant fear. "Yes. Significant stress."
