I arch a brow at him. Rafael rarely gets this worked up about anything. Whatever this is, it’s worth hearing.
When we enter my office, the man waiting for me stands out immediately. One look at him, and I’ve got him pegged as a farmer. Everything about him gives it away: his calloused hands, the rough, worn clothes, sun-scorched skin, and the faint smell of livestock hanging in the air.
He stands when I enter, shoulders slumped like the world’s crushing him.
I drop into my chair, leaning back slightly, and flick a hand toward him. “Go on. Talk.”
“Mr. Bruni,” the man begins. “My name is Uberto Augusti. I knew your late father, Don Federico. In my youth, I swore an oath of loyalty to him.”
I rest my forearm on the desk and tilt my head slightly.
“I’m guessing you’re here because you want something. And in exchange, you’ve got information for me. Am I right?”
His face grows even more grim. If he was young when my father was alive, life has aged him far beyond his years. The weight of whatever brought him here clings to him like a shadow.
He nods, slow and ashamed. “That’s right, Mr. Bruni.”
“What do you want?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a photo, hesitating as his eyes dart nervously to mine. I gesture to Rafael, and he comes forward, takes the photo, and hands it to me.
It’s a picture of a teenage girl. She’s holding a small white lamb, her black hair framing a soft, innocent face. She’s standing near a riverbank, her smile faint but gentle, untouched.
“This is my daughter. Luna.”
He pauses, struggling to draw in a deep breath before continuing. “She’s only fourteen. She disappeared three days ago.”
I’ve already got the whole picture. Still, I ask, “Why come to me? Shouldn’t you be talking to the police?”
“Everyone knows what happens when a girl goes missing in our village, or the towns nearby. We all know where they end up.”
He swallows hard, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. “Where they’ve taken my daughter… it’s beyond the police’s reach, Mr. Bruni. I’m certain she’s in your uncle’s hands. Giuseppe.”
So, I was right. My dumbass uncle thinks his human trafficking operation is some kind of well-guarded secret. But in reality, even a backwoods farmer knows exactly what kind of filth he’s running.
Time to get to the point.
“All right,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “What have you got for me?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I know where Sophie is.”
The name hits me like a jolt. My posture straightens, and my ears tune in sharply. I glance at Rafael, who’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Sophie?” I ask Uberto. “Gianni’s adopted daughter?”
“Yes, Mr. Bruni.”
“She’s dead.”
“She is. But not in Italy. And not years ago, like you’ve been told. She died two years ago in a car accident in Chicago. Before that, she married, and she gave birth to a daughter. A girl named Emily. A girl with her mother’s eyes.”
I exhale slowly, lean back in the chair, and speak in my firmest voice.
“How do you know?”
“The man who smuggled her out of the country was my brother. No one else knows. Sophie’s uncle, the one who planned it, and my brother, they’ve both been dead for years.”
Sophie, Gianni’s adopted daughter.
