Whoever did this. Whoever took her. Whoever made her cry.
They're already dead.
They just don't know it yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dmitri
The Sartori compound appears ahead. Lights blazing. Guards everywhere.
Vittoria hasn't stopped shaking. Hasn't let go of my jacket.
The SUV stops. Pietro gets out first. Nico follows.
I carry Vittoria toward the entrance. She keeps her face buried against my neck.
Aria Sartori rushes out. Her face pale. "Vittoria. Oh, my baby."
"She's okay," Pietro tells her. "She's not hurt."
"I want to see her. I need to?—"
"Mamma." Vittoria's voice is muffled against my shoulder. "I'm okay. I just need a bath. Please."
Aria's hand touches her daughter's hair. Gentle. Trembling. "Of course. Whatever you need."
We move through the compound. Past guards. Past family members who stare with worried faces.
I carry Vittoria up the stairs. Down a hallway I've never walked before.
She lifts her head. "Third door on the right."
I push the door open with my shoulder.
Her bedroom is exactly what I expected. Clean. Organized. Multiple monitors on a desk. Books stacked neatly on shelves.
I set her down carefully on the bed. She sways. Grabs my arm for balance.
"I need a bath." She won't look at me. "I need to feel clean."
"I'll help you."
"No." Her voice is sharp. "I need to do this alone. Please."
The words cut. But I nod. "Okay."
She stands. Walks toward what must be the bathroom. Her steps are unsteady.
I watch her go. Watch the door close behind her.
Water runs. The sound fills the silence.
I sit on her bed. My hands shake. I clench them into fists.
She's safe. She's home. She's alive.
But someone took her. Someone tied her to a chair. Someone hit her hard enough to leave a mark.
