Silent Devotion

MATTEO

The house is a disaster.

My men are slowly regaining consciousness, groaning as they struggle to sit up. Blood stains the floor, mixing with shattered glass and debris. Some of my men have minor injuries—cuts, bruises—but others, like Nala, are in worse condition.

She sits against the wall, her face pale, her jaw clenched as she tries to hide the pain from her obviously broken leg.

"Don't move," Enzo tells her sternly, crouching beside her. "You'll make it worse."

Nala scoffs, sweat glistening on her forehead. She doesn't reply, just exhales sharply, trying to breathe through the pain.

Across the room, Bianca sits on the couch, her usually perfect hair a mess, dried blood on her temple. She's shaken but alert, her eyes darting between Enzo and me as she tries to piece together her memories.

"I remember hearing the alarm," she says, voice hoarse. "Then smoke—lots of smoke. We tried to get Alessia out, but then..." She winces, pressing her fingers to her temple as if forcing herself to remember. "Someone hit me from behind. I don't know how many of them there were, but they were fast."

I don't say anything. I just tighten my grip on the locket in my hand.

Alessia's locket.

The only thing left behind.

I run my thumb over the delicate metal, my jaw tightening.

I try to open it, curiosity gnawing at me. What's inside? A picture? A secret? Something that could tell me more about her?

But before I can pry it open—

My phone rings.

The second I see the name on the screen, my blood turns to ice.

Vincent Ricci.

I answer, pressing the phone to my ear. "If you touched her—"

Vincent's laughter is soft and mocking. "Always so aggressive, Matteo. Has no one ever taught you patience?"

"Where is she?"

"Tsk, tsk. You haven't even learned how to be cautious before taking certain steps. Just like your father."

I go completely still. The way he mentioned my father like he knows something I don't, it ticked something in me.

Vincent chuckles, as if pleased with my silence. "Hit a nerve, did I?"

I grit my teeth. "Say his name again and I'll rip your tongue out."

"Ah, there's that temper." He sighs dramatically. "You see, Matteo, this whole mess could have been avoided if you had just done the right thing. I told you before, return the girl to me."

My grip on the phone tightens. "You didn't take her." It's not a question.

"No, we didn't," Vincent confirms, amusement lacing his words. "This was just a warning. A little reminder that you're playing with fire. So be a good boy and return what belongs to me."

I see red.

Before I can reply, Vincent hangs up.

"Bastard!" I roar, hurling my phone against the wall.

The impact shatters it into pieces, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging inside me.

Vincent didn't take her.

But if it wasn't him—then who did?

"Boss!"

One of my men stumbles into the room, breathing heavily. "We—we found something."

I turn sharply. "Where?"

"The basement." He swallows. "There's... there's blood...a lot."

My stomach drops.

I don't waste a second.

I run.

Through the destroyed hallways, down the cold stone steps, my heart slamming against my ribs.

When I reach the basement, the sight nearly stops my breath.

There, sprawled on the floor, covered in dirt and blood—

Alessia.

Unconscious.

Her small frame looks so fragile, too still, too pale.

A strangled sound escapes my throat as I drop to my knees beside her.

I press my fingers to her neck. A pulse—weak, but there.

"Get the doctor! Now!" I hear Enzo bark at my men.

I don't realize my hands are shaking until I brush her blood-matted hair away from her face.

She's still breathing.

But barely.

And I swear—the Ricci will pay.