Just yesterday, Leo confirmed what Elena had already suspected. Her father had been innocent all along. None of his fingerprints were anywhere near the money that paid for Matteo’s death. The paper trail all but pointed to Enzo directly.
For him to vanish now right after that confirmation and right as a bounty surfaces on my son’s head isn’t coincidence. It can’t be. With him, everything is a strategy.
I lower my hand slowly, my jaw tightening as the pieces all begin to align into an ugly picture.
I haven’t had direct contact with my father’s inner circle in quite some time. Not since before I brought Elena and Luca back from New York. Distance at that time had been intentional, necessary, as I’d brought the woman I’d been in love with for close to two decades back into my life and with her, a son I never knew existed.
At the time, I hadn’t wanted their input. I already knew what would be said the moment any of them, especially Enzo, found out Elena was back in my life.
Since that time, we’ve spoken in brief conversations over the past few weeks. Routine check-ins, updates on negotiations, anda few contacts angling to renegotiate contracts. None of those conversations were anything that had raised alarms in my head.
Nothing thatshouldhave, at least.
But now I’m re-evaluating everything.
I exhale slowly, the air leaving my lungs until there’s a dull ache pulling tight in my chest. I welcome it. Pain is grounding. It keeps me from doing something rash before I have all the pieces in front of me.
“I’m assuming you’ve already looked through the regular channels to contact him?” I ask.
“Yes,” Bianchi replies without hesitation. “According to his housemaid, he’s been gone for close to two weeks. No one has seen or heard from him since.”
Two weeks.
That gnaws at me far more than I want it to.
It’s one thing to ignore me. Dangerous, but survivable, if he’s able to talk his way out of this mess. It’s another thing entirely to vanish so thoroughly that even the people who frequent your daily life have nothing to offer in terms of your whereabouts.
Enzo doesn’t do strange disappearances. As far as I’m aware, he isn’t tangled up with anyone romantically. He has no lover to run to and no children to hide behind. There is no reason to quietly uproot his life unless he’s terrified of the consequences of what he’s done or he’s very carefully planned this.
Neither option is comforting.
“I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Bianchi says after another long stretch of silence from me.
He’s right. It isn’t. But I also know better than to mistake honesty for incompetence. Bianchi, Romano, and Sarto don’t miss things lightly. If they haven’t found a trail yet, it’s because someone went to considerable lengths to erase it or because Enzo himself has a head start.
Either way, we’re operating blindly.
I despise blind spots.
“Are all three of you home?” I ask.
“Romano is. Sarto and I are still out in the field.”
I nod, more to myself than anyone else, staring down the length of the hallway as if answers might materialize out of the shadows. “When all three of you get here, meet me in my study. We’ll discuss next steps and figure out where we go from here.”
“Will do.”
I end the call without another word and lower the phone slowly, letting my arm hang at my side as the silence closes back in around me. For a moment, I just stand there and stare are nothing as my thoughts spiral.
Luca’s face flashes through my mind unbidden. The memory of him is instant and unwelcome—his small body crushed against one of the Bellanti enforcers as the wind from the open window whipped at his hair. The sound of his voice as he cried for Elena, begging her not to let them take him as his too small hands reached for her, physically pains me.
Afterward, when both Bellanti enforcers lay dead on the floor at their feet, I remember how easily he’d fit against my chest. The way he clung to me, the way his breathing slowly steadied oncehe realized he was safe. That he was still here. Thatshewas still here…
It crushes me.
The thought of anyone outside this estate knowing he’s mine twists something vicious in my gut.
It’s a problem. A dangerous one.
