The line went dead.
I stood motionless, the phone clutched in my hand, fury and fear warring inside me. The room had gone silent, my men waiting for orders.
But all I could think about was Livia. How I'd failed to protect her. How my arrogance and pride had cost her life. How I'd sworn never to care about anyone that deeply again.
Yet here I was, my heart hammering against my ribs like it might break free. The same terror. The same helpless rage. The same knowledge that I would tear apart the world to save her.
When had Sophie become more than a strategic asset? When had protecting her become more important than protecting my empire? I thought I knew, but it didn't matter now. What mattered was getting her back.
"Sir?" Enzo ventured. "We should form a strategy. If we give him what he wants—"
"We give him nothing," I cut him off, my voice deadly calm. "Except his own entrails to choke on."
I played the video again, studying every detail. The warehouse had high windows—industrial district, most likely. A glimpse of machinery in the background—possibly one of the abandoned textile factories. And Jonah, selling out everything he'd sworn to protect.
"He's using Jonah's information against us," I said, more to myself than Enzo. "Knows our standard rescue protocols, our equipment, our timing."
"So, what do we do?"
I looked up at him, my decision crystallizing in my mind. "We throw out everything standard. No protocols, no predictable patterns. We go in hard, fast, and brutal."
"Boss,that's—"
"The only way to surprise them." I moved to the wall safe, entering the combination. "Falco thinks he knows how I operate because that traitor told him about the careful, calculated Vittorio Ricci."
I pulled out my personal weapons—a matte black Beretta and the antique switchblade that had belonged to my father.
"But Jonah never met the man who would burn down the world for the woman he loves."
The admission hung in the air between us. Enzo's eyebrows rose slightly, but he was too professional to comment.
"Get every man we have," I ordered. "Every gun. Every contact in the police department. I want eyes on every property Falco has ever been associated with."
As my men mobilized around me, I stared at the frozen image of Sophie's face on the phone screen. At the bruise forming on her cheek. At the defiance in her eyes even as blood trickled from her lip.
She'd tried to warn me twice. Falco was working with someone—Antonio, most likely. My brother using a third party to avoid direct confrontation while keeping his hands clean.
"I failed Livia because I was arrogant," I whispered to myself. "Because I thought my power could shield her from everything. I won't make the same mistake with Sophie."
Enzo approached cautiously. "Boss, we have a lead. One of Falco's cousins owns an abandoned textile factory near the port. Matches the background in the video."
I nodded, already moving toward the door. "Gather the men. Full tactical gear. No police response—this stays within the family."
"And the money? Should we prepare it as a contingency?"
I stopped, turning to face him. "Prepare nothing except body bags for Falco and every man with him."
As I walked out, I touched the inside of my jacket where I kept the only photo of Livia I'd allowed myself to keep. A reminder of what happened when I let someone matter too much.
But Sophie wasn't Livia. And I wasn't the same man I'd been then.
I lost Livia to my pride," I murmured. "I won't lose Sophie to my fear.
The war was coming. And this time, I would show no mercy.
CHAPTER 8
Sophie
