Page 61 of Veil of the Past
In the end, nothing works. Helen and her minion brutalize me in this dingy warehouse, and I know, deep done in my bones, that I’ll never recover. No matter how much I scream or beg, it won’t stop.
It. Won’t. Stop.
31
ROMIRO
Emiliano stands beside me, his face a hard mask of determination, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, ready for anything. The tension between us is palpable, like a live wire sparking in the cold night air. He glances at me, his eyes narrowing as he assesses our surroundings.
“We’ve got to be smart about this, Romiro,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the nearby city sounds. “This isn’t just about finding them; it’s about getting them out alive. We can’t rush in and blow our chances.”
I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily in my chest. Emiliano has always been the pragmatic one, the one to think three steps ahead, to plan for every possible outcome. I, on the other hand, have always been driven by impulse, by the raw need to act, to do something, anything. But he’s right. This isn't just about charging in with guns blazing. This is about finding the people we care about and bringing them home—safely.
Matteo, the youngest among us, is huddled over his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he tries to make sense of the data. He’s a genius with computers, and we’re all depending on him to crack this, to pull a miracle out of thin air.
“Okay, I’m triangulating the signal now,” Matteo mutters, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Give me a second… Just a second…”
I watch him, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I can feel the anger, the fear, the frustration building inside me like a storm, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. I keep seeing Alessia’s face in my mind, the fear in her eyes, the helplessness. I can’t let that be the last image I have of her. I won’t.
Nicolo is pacing back and forth, his face tense, his jaw clenched. “We need more than this,” he says. “We can’t rely on just one weak signal. We need more data, more information. We’re flying blind here.”
Matteo doesn’t look up, his focus unwavering. “I know, I know,” he says quickly. “But this is all we have. I’m doing everything I can to enhance the signal, to pull more from the cell towers…”
“Then work faster!” I cut in, my voice sharp, my patience clearly wearing thin. “Every minute we waste here is a minute they’re getting farther away.”
Emiliano holds up a hand, a signal for silence. “Let him work,” he orders, his voice steady but firm. “We don’t have time for second-guessing. Matteo, you’ve got this. Keep going.”
I can see the tension in Matteo’s shoulders, the strain in his eyes. He nods, his fingers moving even faster, his focus so intense, it’s almost painful to watch. “Almost there…” he murmurs. “Just a bit more…”
Emiliano turns to me, his expression grim. “If this doesn’t pan out,” he says quietly, “we’re going to need to try something else. We can't sit around hoping for a miracle.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know,” I reply, my voice low. “But we’re running out of options, Eli. If we can’t find them through this…”
He doesn’t let me finish. “We’ll find them,” he says with a fierce certainty that I almost believe.
“Got it,” Matteo mutters, his voice maintaining the same bored tone it always has. He spins the laptop around so we can see the screen. “There’s a secondary signal. Weak, but it’s there. Looks like the phone was turned back on for just a moment. Just enough to give us a ping.”
He points to the map on the screen, a small red dot blinking slowly as it moves. “It's heading towards the docks,” he continues. “The east side, near the old shipping yards.”
Nicolo’s eyes narrow, and he steps closer to the laptop. “That makes sense,” he mutters. “The docks are quiet this time of night. Plenty of places to hide. And if Helen’s trying to move them quickly, she’ll want to get them to a place where she can get them out of the city fast. There are warehouses nearby.”
“Then that’s where we go,” I say, my voice stern and cold. “We don’t wait. We don’t hesitate.”
Emiliano nods, his expression firm. “Agreed. Matteo, keep tracking that signal. We’ll need it to guide us in.”
We move quickly, rushing back to the cars. I’m in the driver’s seat again, with Emiliano next to me, and Nicolo in the back. Matteo stays with his laptop in the back seat, his fingers still moving, still working. He’s our lifeline, our only connection to where the girls might be.
As I drive, the city blurs around us, the lights and sounds fading into the background. My focus is laser-sharp, my thoughts racing. I keep seeing that picture in my mind, the girls helpless. I feel a rage building inside me, a fire that threatens to consume me. This is my fault. I should have seen this coming. I should have protected them.
Emiliano must sense my turmoil because he glances over at me, his expression softer than usual. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer at first, my jaw clenched. Finally, I manage to nod. “I will be,” I say. “Once we get them back.”
He nods, a small, grim smile touching his lips. “We will,” he says simply. “One way or another.”
The drive to the docks is tense, every second dragging by like an eternity. I keep my foot pressed hard on the gas, pushing the car to its limits. We don’t have time to waste. Not now. Not ever. The city whizzes past us as we drive faster.
Finally, we reach the docks, the dark shapes of the shipping containers looming in the darkness. I park the car, and we slip out, moving quickly but quietly. The air is heavy with the smell of salt and oil, the distant sound of water slapping against the sides of the docked boats.
