The words sink in, and suddenly, I feel something unravel inside me.
Since the wedding, I've felt completely isolated, trapped in a marriage everyone knows is a disaster, pretending to be happy while dying inside, and pushing away the one person who might actually understand.
But Romeo is here. Standing beside me and refusing to let me fall apart, refusing to let Dante sacrifice me to get Giulia back.
"Thank you." The words come out rough, and they feel inadequate, but they’re all I have right now.
"Don't thank me yet." Romeo's expression is grim. "We still have to get her out alive."
"We will." I don't know if I believe it or if it's even possible. But I have to try. The alternative—a world where Giulia and our baby don't come home—is unthinkable.
Dante's phone rings. He answers, listens, then looks at me. "Surveillance confirms Alessandro is at the warehouse. He's not hiding. He wants us to know where she is."
"He's taunting us." Romeo’s jaw tightens. "Showing us he's in control."
"Then we take that control back." I'm already moving toward the door. "I want eyes on that warehouse. I want to know how many men he has, what kind of security, and every possible entry point."
"Luca—" Dante's voice stops me. "Don't do anything reckless. We got one chance at this. If we move too soon, if we make a mistake, Giulia dies."
"I know." I meet his eyes. "But if we wait too long, she dies anyway. Alessandro isn't going to keep her alive indefinitely. Whatever he's planning, it has a timeline. And I'm not going to sit here and wait for him to execute it."
Dante nods slowly. "Then we move fast. Romeo, coordinate with surveillance. Luca, start planning extraction scenarios. Everyone else, prepare for full mobilization. If this turns into a war, I want us ready."
The room erupts into activity. I should be focused, thinking tactically. Instead, all I can think about is this morning—Giulia in the kitchen, and the way she touched my arm when I told her to be safe. The way she said, "You too," like she was worried about me.
Like she cared.
"Luca." Romeo's voice pulls me back. "I need you focused. Can you do that?"
Can I? Can I think tactically when every instinct is screaming at me to get in my car and drive to that warehouse, and tear it apart with my bare hands until I find her?
"Yes." I force myself to push everything else away for a moment. "I can do that."
Romeo doesn't look convinced, but he nods. "Good. Because we're going to need you at your best for this. Giulia's going to need you at your best."
Giulia. My wife. The woman I've been punishing for weeks because I was too angry to see past my own hurt. The woman carrying my child… and the woman that, despite everything, I still love to the point of desperation.
And I’m going to bring her home.
26
GIULIA
The car ride feels endless. I'm sandwiched between two of Alessandro's men in the back seat, their bodies pressing against mine from both sides with deliberate, suffocating closeness that makes it hard to breathe. The one on my left smells like cigarettes and gun oil, and the one on my right is wearing cologne so strong it makes my stomach turn. Alessandro sits in the front passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at me with a satisfied, gleaming expression on his face.
My hand hasn't left my stomach since we got in the car, pressed against the small curve that's barely visible beneath my dress, as if I can somehow shield the baby from what's happening through sheer force of will.Stay calm. You have to stay calm. Panic won't help. Panic will only make things worse.
But the terror makes each breath feel like I'm drowning. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat and all the way down to my fingertips, in the pulse point at my wrist where one of the men has his hand wrapped around my arm—not tight enough to bruise, but firm enough that I know escape is impossible.
The city passes by outside the windows—lights and buildings and people going about their normal Friday night. A couple walks hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, laughing about something. A group of young women in short dresses piles into a taxi, probably heading to a club. A man walks his dog, pausing to let the animal sniff a fire hydrant. Everything is so devastatingly normal.
I think about screaming, trying to get someone's attention at a stoplight, throwing myself against the window, doing something—anything—to alert the oblivious world outside that I need help. But the gun is still there, hidden beneath Alessandro's jacket, but close enough that I can see the outline of it when he shifts in his seat, and his men are watching me with cold, professional eyes that tell me they've done this before. They know exactly how to handle someone who tries to run. The one on my right has his hand resting casually on his own weapon, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the grip like he's hoping I'll give him an excuse to use it.
So I stay quiet and still, and try to breathe through the nausea that's threatening to overwhelm me.
Luca will come. He'll figure it out. He'll find me.
But Luca is across the city, dealing with whatever operation my father planned for tonight. He has no idea I'm gone. No idea Alessandro has me. By the time Romeo realizes I'm missing, by the time they find my security detail unconscious in that bathroom, by the time anyone even thinks to look for me, it might be too late.
