Then Max nods once. "Penthouse. Now."
He doesn't give me a choice; his massive body moves forward, and if I don't want to be overrun, I have to move with him, back into the penthouse. He closes the door once we're inside, continuing on until we're standing in the middle of Massimo's living room with my heart in my throat and nowhere to put it.
Max holds out a phone. "We'll call him."
I snatch it. It rings once. Twice.
Then Massimo answers. "What," he sounds irritated, "is so urgent it couldn't wait?"
I don't bother with hello. "Where are you?"
Silence follows for a few seconds. Controlled. Dangerous. "Jenna?"
"Where are you? Where is my son?"
He exhales slowly, as if fighting with patience. "You have to trust me. I will get him back. And I will let you know the moment I have him."
Trust him? The words explode inside my skull.
"The last time I trusted you," I snap, "you?—"
I stop myself. Bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Not now. Now is not the time to tell him I know about the thirty thousand. About Northstar. About how close I am to believing he sold me out just like Carter did, maybe not with the same cruelty, but with the same result.
Gone.
Silent.
Paid for.
My chest aches like it's caving in.
"I need more than that," I press out instead, my voice shakes despite everything. "I need to know you're not playing a game with my son."
There's a breath on the other end of the line. Just one.
"I don't play games with blood," Massimo vows quietly. "Especially not mine."
Mine.
The word lands heavy. Complicated. Too late and too real all at once.
"You don't get to disappear again," my voice softens into something more dangerous. "You don't get to shut me out and expect me to just… wait."
"I'm not disappearing," he replies. "I'm working." Another silence follows. Thicker. Taut. Then, clipped, "Stay where you are. You're safest there."
The line goes dead. I stare at the phone, my reflection warped in the dark screen.
Max clears his throat behind me. "He'll bring him back."
I laugh once. Sharp. Broken. "They all say that."
I hand the phone back slowly. My hands are shaking now that the adrenaline has nowhere left to go.
Trust.
The word feels like a weapon someone else keeps handing me, even though every scar I have tells me exactly how dangerous it is. But Amauri doesn't have the luxury of my doubt. So I swallow it. For now. And pray that, this time, trust doesn't cost me everything.
Max clears his throat. "Let's go shopping," he suggests, looking at me like he expects those magic words will make everything better. Will make any woman jump up and down in joy. No matter the circumstances.
