I don’t respond. I already know.
I step over a broken branch, moving faster now, the forest swallowing the sound of my footsteps. My grip tightens around the gun at my side. If she’s hurt, she won’t have gotten far.
Unless someone got to her first.
The thought sends a violent surge of rage through me, hot and unrelenting. If the Lombardis found her—if they put their hands on her—I’ll tear them apart, one by one.
Another drop of blood. Another few feet deeper into the trees.
She’s close.
I push forward, my breath steady but sharp, every muscle in my body coiled tight. The path narrows, the trees closing in like ribs caging something fragile, something easily broken.
Then—nothing.
The blood trail stops.
I halt so suddenly that Rico nearly collides with my back.
"What the fuck?" he mutters, scanning the ground.
I turn in a slow circle, my heart hammering. The droplets disappear, vanishing like they were never there. No footprints. No disturbed leaves. Just an empty stretch of forest bathed in shadows.
Panic claws at the edges of my mind, but I shove it down, forcing myself to think. She was bleeding. She was moving. And then—what? She was dragged? She collapsed?
Where are you? Where are you, Sofia?
28
MARCO
Istand at the edge of the clearing, my jaw locked so tight it aches, my fists clenched at my sides. The forest is dense, silent except for the faint rustle of wind through the trees, the occasional snap of a branch underfoot as my men move through the underbrush. The scent of damp earth and pine lingers in the cold air, but beneath it, I swear I can still smell her—Sofia, the faint trace of her perfume, something warm and familiar that sends a sharp pain through my ribs.
She was here. She should still be here.
Instead, there’s nothing. No footprints leading forward, no sign of struggle, no indication of where the fuck she’s gone. Just the trees swallowing the last traces of her like a goddamn illusion.
Panic edges in, slow and insidious.
I shove it down. I can’t afford to panic.
Adriano and Rico fan out beside me, their guns raised, their faces grim. The other men move through the clearing in a tight formation, scanning every inch of the ground, sweeping the area with sharp, methodical movements.
"She’s hurt," I say, my voice tight with strain. "She wouldn’t get far on her own."
Rico nods. "She’s not alone, then."
The words settle in my gut like lead.
If the Lombardis got to her first?—
A low crackle comes through the radio at my belt.
Static, then a voice, urgent. "Movement spotted, seventy yards north. Someone’s there."
The breath leaves my lungs in a slow, controlled exhale.
Sofia.
