The Sartoris have money. More money than these men could spend in ten lifetimes. Bruno would pay any ransom to get me back. He'd empty every account, sell every property, give them whatever they asked for.
This could be simple.
A transaction.
The scarred man crouches in front of my chair, bringing his face level with mine. Up close, I can see the scar more clearly—a jagged line running from his temple to his jaw, puckered and white against his tan skin.
"Your husband is a hard man to reach," he says. His voice is flat. Emotionless. "But I think we got his attention."
I stare at him. I can't speak, can't respond, can't do anything but breathe and wait.
He turns to the stocky man.
"Watch her. Don't touch her—not yet. We need her intact for the next part."
The stocky man nods.
The scarred man walks toward the door, then pauses. He looks back at me over his shoulder.
"Your husband took something from my employer. Something important. You're going to help us get it back."
He leaves.
The door slams shut behind him.
I'm alone with the stocky man, who settles into a chair by the wall and pulls out his phone. He doesn't look at me. Doesn't speak. Just scrolls through whatever's on his screen like I'm not even here.
I stare at my white dress.
At the blood stains spreading across the fabric.
And I wait.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bruno
The screen glows in the dim light of Pietro's office.
A map. Red dot. Timestamp.
"Last ping was here." Liam points to a spot on the monitor. "Forty-seven minutes ago. Her phone went dark after that."
I stare at the location.
Warehouse district.
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I know that area. We all do. It's a maze of abandoned buildings, shipping containers, and dead-end streets. The kind of place where people disappear and bodies turn up weeks later in the river.
"How many buildings?" My voice comes out steady. Controlled. The opposite of what's happening inside my chest.
"Dozens." Liam pulls up a satellite image. "Most are abandoned. Some are still operational—shipping companies, storage facilities. A few are owned by shell corporations we haven't been able to trace."
Pietro leans over the desk, studying the map. "We can't search them all. Not fast enough."
"Then we narrow it down." I wheel closer to the screen. "Cross-reference with known associates of anyone who has a grudge against this family. Check property records, rental agreements, utility bills—anything that shows recent activity in buildings that should be empty."
Nico appears in the doorway. "Carlo's dead."
