"And they thought you were unconscious?"
"Yes. They carried me inside. I kept my body limp. My eyes closed."
"They tied me to a chair. Then they left. I heard footsteps. A door closing. Silence."
Dmitri's hand moves from my thigh to my hand. Laces our fingers together.
"I opened my eyes. Looked around. The warehouse was mostly empty. Some old crates. Broken pallets. Dust everywhere. One overhead light. That's it."
"How long were you alone?" Lorenzo asks.
"Three minutes. Maybe four. Not long."
My throat tightens. I swallow hard.
"Then I heard footsteps. Different from before. Slower. Confident. The door opened. And he walked in."
"He?" Pietro straightens.
"The man in charge. Their boss."
Every eye in the room fixes on me.
"He walked right up to me. Stood maybe three feet away. Under the light. I could see his face perfectly."
"Describe him," Pietro commands.
"Mid-forties. Maybe five-ten. Average build. Dark hair. Clean-shaven."
I close my eyes. See him clearly.
"He had a scar. Small. On his left eyebrow.. And his eyes were..." I pause. "Cold. Empty. Like looking at a corpse. The right one was a bit larger."
"Did he have an accent?" Nico asks.
"I can't tell. He looked like european. Or mexican, or Italian. But he didn't have a specific accent. He spoke clearly. Calmly. Like we were having tea instead of?—"
My voice breaks. Dmitri squeezes my hand.
"He called himself Smoke."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Dmitri
Aweek passed.
Seven days since Vittoria was taken from my club. Seven days of chasing ghosts.
I stare at the laptop screen. Security footage from Nexus. Again. Frame by frame. Looking for something we missed.
Nothing.
Igor sits across from me. Silent. Waiting.
Vittoria is upstairs. Asleep in my bed. She's been here two days.
I want her here. Where I can see her. Touch her. Know she's breathing.
