Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN ON THE PHONE
The industrial district by the river had been abandoned long enough for weeds to split the pavement.
That was where the trace ended.
Three warehouses.
An old textile plant.
A condemned shipping office.
And almost forty places where someone could disappear without being seen.
Marco stood beside me outside Isabella’s childhood home, phone pressed to his ear while our men spread across the neighborhood.
“Nothing yet,” he said.
I stared at the message on the kitchen table.
YOU LEFT HER ALONE. SO WE TOOK HER.
Every time I read it, the same thought returned.
They knew.
Not simply that Isabella had left the mansion.
They knew why.
They knew I refused to drive her.
They knew she came back.
They knew I never called.
Only people close to us could know that much.
“Who had access to the house last night?” I asked.
Marco hesitated.
“Security. Staff. Me.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You hesitated.”
His jaw tightened.
“Because there’s something you need to know.”
Before he could continue, my phone buzzed.
A photograph.
Isabella.
Alive.
Sitting on a metal chair somewhere dark.
No visible injuries.
Her hands were free.
That detail caught me.
She was not tied down.
Behind her was a concrete wall marked with an old red number.
Then another message arrived.
UNKNOWN:
She spent years asking you to listen.
Now you’re going to listen to me.
I immediately called.
The woman answered.
“Where is she?”
“Still beginning with threats, Luca?”
“If you touch my wife—”
“She stopped being safe the moment you decided your pride mattered more than her.”
My grip tightened.
“You were watching my house.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“Who are you?”
A soft laugh.
“You really don’t remember the people your family destroyed.”
Then Isabella’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Luca?”
Everything inside me stopped.
“Bella.”
“Listen to me.”
The woman said something away from the phone.
Isabella continued quickly.
“Don’t come here angry.”
“What?”
“Don’t do what you always do.”
The line crackled.
“I need you to think.”
Then the woman returned.
“You heard her.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“What do you want?”
“Tomorrow you bring me the Rossi ledger.”
Marco’s face changed.
He knew that name.
I did too.
The black ledger my father kept before his death.
A record of every payment, alliance, betrayal, and favor that built the Rossi organization.
It had been missing for nine years.
“I don’t have it.”
The woman whispered:
“Your wife found it.”
The line disconnected.
I slowly looked at Marco.
He would not meet my eyes.
“What does Isabella know about the ledger?”
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Marco.”
He finally looked at me.
“More than you ever knew.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
May you like
His answer hit harder than the kidnapping.
“Because I helped her look for it.”
