I paced the living room, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, trying to calm the frustration—and the lingering worry—that had been gnawing at me for hours. Lorenzo had finally answered his phone. Finally. After fourteen missed calls.
I wasn't the kind of person to panic easily, but after everything we had been through, every nerve in my body had been on high alert when he had gone off the grid. The worst scenarios had already played out in my mind before he finally called back, his voice rough, exhausted. But even through my irritation, I had heard it—something was different. Something had changed. And now, as I heard the rumble of his car pulling into the driveway, my heart clenched, though I wasn't sure if it was out of frustration or relief. I turned just as the front door swung open. Lorenzo stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He looked… drained. The usual sharpness in his eyes was dulled, like he was carrying something far heavier than what he had left with last night. His suit was slightly dishevelled, his tie gone, and in his hand—clutched tightly—was a small leather-bound book.
A journal
I didn't have to ask whose it was. I could already tell.
Something twisted in my chest as I watched him cross the room and collapse onto the couch, dropping the journal onto the coffee table between us.
He let out a slow breath and then, finally, looked at me.
"She knew."
His voice was hoarse, almost hollow.
I frowned. "Who?"
"My mother."
I inhaled sharply, my entire body
going still.
Lorenzo leaned forward, rubbing a
hand over his face before gesturing to the journal.
"She knew they were going to kill me," he said, his voice rough with restrained emotion. "She overheard them talking. She tried to protect me… and they killed her for it."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
My gaze dropped to the journal, my fingers twitching with the urge to pick it up, to read it myself. But I didn't.
Because I could already see the toll
it had taken on him.
His mother had died years ago, but this? This was like losing her all over again. I swallowed the lump in my throat and sat down beside him, our knees almost touching. "Lorenzo…"
He shook his head once, cutting me off. "I walked away from the syndicate thinking it was my own decision. But they let me leave because they had already taken the most important thing from me."
There was a sharp, bitter edge to his voice. A new kind of anger. One I recognized.
One I had felt every day since Sofia had disappeared.
I reached forward, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then placed my hand on his forearm.
His muscles tensed beneath my touch. but he didn't pull away.
I didn't say anything. There was nothing I could say that would make this pain disappear.
So instead, I squeezed gently, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone in this.
That I understood.
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, we just sat there in silence.
Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, straightening. "We have to move."
I nodded, pulling my hand back as he reached for the journal again.
We spent the next hour going through everything—the clues we had so far, the bracelet we had found at the warehouse, the message in Sofia's pendant, and now, the journal.
Everything pointed to one thing.
The coordinates.
The next lead.
The problem?
We had no idea what we were walking into.
By the time we finished piecing everything together, the sky had darkened.
I leaned back, my mind racing. "So, what now?"
Lorenzo closed the journal and met my gaze. "Now, we go to the coordinates."
It sounded simple. But nothing about this had been simple. I nodded slowly. "When?"
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. Not because he was afraid—but because this was different.
This wasn't just another abandoned warehouse.
This wasn't just another clue.
This was leading us somewhere.
And whatever was waiting for us there…
We weren't ready for it.
But we were going anyway.
Lorenzo stood, his expression set, determined. "Tomorrow morning. We go together."
I swallowed hard and nodded. Tomorrow. Everything would change tomorrow. And somehow, I knew—deep in my gut—We weren't just going to find another clue. We were going to find the truth. And I wasn't sure if either of us were ready for it.
(Lorenzo's POV)
The warehouse loomed ahead, a dark, decaying skeleton of rust and rot. The air was thick with the scent of damp metal and something fouler—blood. It clung to the walls, soaked into the very bones of this place, a silent warning that whatever lay inside wouldn't be easy to walk away from.
Reina moved beside me, tense, her grip on the gun impossibly tight. The weight of what we were about to do was pressing down on her, threatening to suffocate her. I could see it in her sharp breaths, the way her eyes flicked toward the warehouse door.
We weren't walking into a mission.
We were walking into war.
And then we saw her.
Sofia.
Slumped in a rusted chair,
blindfolded, wrists and ankles tied. Her head lolled to the side, her body
motionless, except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was alive.
Barely.
Reina sucked in a sharp breath beside
me. "Sofia," she whispered, voice cracking.
Before we could move—
A slow clap echoed through
the warehouse.
Luke Or rather—his twin. duke
His smirk was carved deep into his face as he stepped out of the shadows, twirling a pistol lazily in his hand. "Well, well," he mused, "if it isn't our favourite guests of honour."
I didn't move. Neither did Reina. We weren't stupid.
Duke tilted his head, amused by our silence. "No threats? No witty remarks?" His grin widened.
"You're making this too easy."
Then, in one smooth motion, he
pulled his gun—
And pressed it against Sofia's temple.
Reina stiffened beside me.
Every muscle in her body screamed to move.
"Put your guns down," Duke ordered, his voice light, almost playful. "Or I'll see what colour her brains are." I clenched my jaw.
Reina didn't move.
And she collapsed onto one knee, a
sharp cry of pain escaping her lips.
Duke's smirk was unwavering, but his grip on the gun tightened.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" His voice was calm, taunting, almost bored. He glanced at Reina, his gaze sharp. "That little reckless voice in your head, telling you to take the shot. You really think you're faster than me?"
Reina didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Her fingers twitched near the trigger, barely a movement—but enough.
Duke's eyes flicked down.
And then she moved.
Not to run.
To fire.
The shot cracked through the air—a flash of gunfire, sharp and deadly—but Duke was already moving. He dropped low, the bullet grazing his shoulder as he twisted out of the way.
"Fucking hell, Reina!" I snarled, reaching for her, but it was too late.
BANG.
Duke's gun fired a second later.
A sharp gasp—not his.
Reina flinched violently, a raw sound escaping her lips as she staggered backward. Her body hit mine, the force of it nearly knocking her off balance.
Blood.
Dark. Too much of it.
I caught her before she could collapse, my arms locking around her as her
gun slipped from her grasp, clattering against the cold concrete.
A fucking mistake.
I saw the pain tighten her features, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like
she was forcing herself not to make a sound.
"Damn," Duke muttered, rolling his shoulder where her bullet had barely
clipped him. "Almost had me, sweetheart."
Reina's breath was ragged, her body trembling against mine.
But her eyes—fierce, unwavering, deadly—were locked onto Duke.
"You should've aimed for the head," he taunted.
Reina inhaled sharply, her fingers digging into my arm as she tried to steady herself, but her leg buckled beneath her.
I barely kept my voice steady. "If she aimed for the head, you'd be dead right now."
Duke just grinned.
Behind him, movement.
My grip on Reina tightened as I took in our options.
They weren't good.
She was bleeding out. The guards outside couldn't get in without exposing us. We were outnumbered—and Duke? That bastard was still grinning, as if he had already won.
Reina's breathing hitched. She was fading.
We had to get out. Now
I wanted to kill him.
Rip him apart with my bare hands.
But I couldn't. Not yet.
Sofia was still here.
And Duke wasn't alone.
I felt them before I saw them—more, movement in the shadows. Two men stepped forward, dressed in dark clothing, guns at their sides.
They weren't gang members.
They were something worse.
Spies. Watchdogs.
Men who had been watching our every
move.
"Who the fuck are they?" I muttered.
Duke smirked. "Oh, these two?"
They keep tabs on people like you. Got a little boring spying, though, so they decided to join in on the fun."
One of them chuckled. "Was hoping you'd be more impressive, Lorenzo." His voice was smooth, unimpressed. "But so far? Disappointing."
Reina trembled against me, her breath hitching in pain. "We have to get out of here," she whispered. I knew that.
But how?
We were trapped.
Until—
A sudden boom from outside
shook the walls.
Backup.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed Reina, pulling her up. She groaned, her body weak, but I didn't fucking care.
"You're not dying here," I hissed.
She struggled against me. "Sofia—"
"We can't!" My voice was raw. "Not now!"
Gunfire exploded around us.
Bullets whizzed past, splintering metal and concrete.
One grazed my arm, burning through
my skin, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
I threw my gun up, firing blindly as I moved. Another boom shook the ground. Our security team swarmed the warehouse.
Reina was barely conscious, blood loss draining her strength.
And Sofia was still inside.
I didn't think. I acted.
Scooping Reina into my arms, I carried her out in bridal style, her body pressing into mine.
She was burning up, her breath shallow, but she was still awake.
"Lorenzo," she mumbled.
"You're fine," I gritted out. "Just hold on."
Gunfire.
Shouting.
We barely made it out before the building exploded behind us.
The heat scorched my back, the force nearly knocking me forward, but I held on to her.
We had made it out.
But Sofia—
Sofia was still inside.
With Duke.
And that fact destroyed me.
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