"I'm... I'm over in Brooklyn, car broke down, phone's dying... Can you come get me?" Her voice carried a sob, sounding genuinely panicked. "I'll send you my location. Just come alone, I don't want to bother too many people..."
"Wait there, I'm coming right now."
I hung up, hurriedly changed clothes, and grabbed the car keys. Running into Elsa as I came downstairs.
"Miss Adrian, you're going out?" she asked, a bit of surprise in her eyes—since the shooting, I rarely went out alone.
"My sister's in some trouble. I'm picking her up. I'll be back soon."
"Should we tell Mr. Visconti? Or have the driver take you?"
"No need, I can manage." I cut her off, mind only on getting to Sophie quickly. "Won't take long, about an hour."
Elsa hesitated, finally nodded. "Be careful then."
I drove out of the manor, following Sophie's location toward Brooklyn. Along the way, I called Sophie several more times. The first time, no answer. The second time, it rang a few times before being hung up. The third time went straight to voicemail.
Unease started rising in my chest.
Maybe her phone died, I told myself. Maybe she found another way.
The location ended at an abandoned industrial area, surrounded by rusted metal warehouses and weed-choked empty lots. I parked the car on the roadside, got out, and looked around.
Nobody. No Sophie, no broken-down car, nothing.
Wind blew through the abandoned factory buildings, carrying the smell of rust and dampness. I pulled out my phone, about to call Sophie again.
No signal bars.
No signal.
My heart sank sharply. Instinct told me to turn back.
"Olivia."
That voice came from behind, familiar and elegant, but carrying a certain malice.
I turned around.
Bianca emerged from a warehouse shadow, wearing a dark coat, hair blown messy by the wind, but her expression eerily calm, even carrying a trace of a smile. Two men followed behind her, standing silently in the distance like emotionless statues.
"Bianca," I said, voice steadier than I expected. "Where's Sophie?"
"Your sister?" She laughed lightly, slowly walking toward me. "Don't worry, she's fine. Preparing for her honeymoon trip. I just borrowed her voice."
I clenched my phone, knuckles white. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" She repeated, tilting her head to look at me, as if she'd heard a very interesting question. "Olivia, what do you think I want?"
She didn't wait for my answer, kept walking toward me. I instinctively stepped back, my back hitting the cold car door. Nowhere left to go.
"You know," she stopped two steps in front of me, looking me up and down, gaze sliding from my face down my body, then back to my face, with a predator's calm appraisal. "Sometimes I really wonder what makes you better than me."
Her voice trembled, but her eyes never left my face.
"Then you came back," she said, voice dropping, so low it squeezed from her throat. "You came back with a bastard. He didn't even have to do anything. Just stand there, and Ezio ran over like a dog on a leash. He brought you back to the manor, treated your kid like his own, he even—" her voice suddenly turned shrill, "he even threw me out for you."
I watched her warily, didn't speak rashly.
