Chapter 4
1325 Words
Cassandra
Evening — Private Estate, Rome
There was blood on my gloves.
Not mine, of course. I never made that mistake.
I peeled them off slowly, methodically, and dropped them into the biohazard bin beside the medical table. The man tied to the chair in front of me hadn’t lasted long—too much fear, not enough spine. They always talked eventually. And when they didn’t, well… that was fine too.
Information has a way of bleeding out.
Luca stood by the door, arms folded, eyes on me. “Was it necessary?”
I glanced at him. “He would’ve talked eventually, yes. But eventually wastes time.”
Luca sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did he give anything useful?”
“He gave a name,” I said, washing my hands. “Or rather, a nickname. The girls called him Il Sarto.”
Luca froze. “The Tailor?”
I nodded. “He’s back. And worse—he’s working underground again. Eastern Europe connections. Same branding, same trafficking patterns. This girl is just one of many.”
Luca’s jaw tensed. “Dante needs to know.”
“He already does,” I replied, grabbing a fresh coat. “And he won’t take it well.”
No. He would take it personally.
Because Il Sarto wasn’t just a name from the past. He was a ghost with unfinished business.
---
Elena
Same Evening — Hospital Room 207
The girl still hadn’t spoken again.
But she didn’t need to. Her silence said more than words. Her small hand clutched mine, even in sleep, like letting go would mean vanishing back into the dark place she came from.
I brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and tried to smile.
The hallway light flickered again—third time tonight. I made a mental note to report it.
But something about it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I checked the room window. Nothing outside. Just the city pressing in, quiet and vast.
Still, the unease grew.
That’s when I noticed something on the floor just beneath the door. A piece of folded paper.
I glanced toward the hallway.
Empty.
I picked it up and unfolded it slowly.
Three words, printed in tight, precise handwriting:
He knows already.
I stared at the message, throat tight. Then spun, checking the girl. Still asleep.
No sound. No alarm.
Who left this? When? And who was “he”?
The paper trembled in my grip.
I folded it and tucked it into my coat. I’d ask Giulia if anyone strange had come by. I’d check the cameras myself if I had to.
But deep down, I already knew—
We were being watched.
---
Cassandra
Later That Night — Black Car, En Route to Drop Site
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. I sat with my phone in one hand, my tablet in the other, eyes scanning through encrypted messages.
The Tailor’s name kept surfacing.
He hadn’t operated in Rome for three years. Last time, it ended in fire and bodies. And Dante had made sure of that.
If he was back now, targeting children again...
This wasn’t just about the girl anymore.
It was about him.
I sent a quick message to our international contact. I needed names. Dates. Hideouts. Anything that could lead us to the center.
The girl was a thread.
And if we pulled hard enough, the whole operation might unravel.
---
Elena
Very Late — Staff Lounge, Hospital
I stepped into the dim lounge, hoping for five minutes of peace. Coffee. Silence. Maybe just a minute to cry if I needed to.
Instead, I found something else.
A file.
Left on the table. No name. Just the hospital logo and the number 207 written in black ink.
My room.
I opened it.
Inside were photos.
Of her.
Before the hospital. Dirty, frightened, hiding behind crates in what looked like a shipping yard.
The last photo made my heart stop.
It was taken from behind glass.
A surgical table.
And the girl wasn’t alone in the frame.
She was lying down. Unconscious.
And behind her, partially blurred but still unmistakable...
A man in a white coat.
Smiling.
My hand flew to my mouth.
The file slipped from my fingers.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Fast. Close.
I backed up, heart racing—
And the lounge door handle turned.
---
Elena
Rooftop, Minutes Later
The night air clung to me like a second skin—cool, crisp, and carrying the scent of distant rain. I stood at the edge of the rooftop, hands gripping the rusted railing. Below, Rome stretched out in glittering patterns of amber and silver. The city moved, unaware.
How could a place so full of life feel so hollow?
I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.
I should have gone home hours ago.
The girl was stable. Quiet. Sleeping again. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave her side for long. And when I did, like now, I felt like I’d abandoned her.
What if he came for her?
Whoever he was.
The one who had hurt her.
The one she feared.
And the one—my stomach turned—who might be watching me right now.
I turned sharply, scanning the rooftop. Shadows. Vents. Antennas. But no one.
Still, the feeling lingered.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears hit my lips. Salty. Cold.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered into the night.
I had dealt with trauma before. Injured patients. Abused women. Runaways.
But this… this felt like something else. Like I was standing at the edge of something much darker, much deeper. A story I didn’t understand, only that I was already inside it.
And there was no way out.
---
Elsewhere — Cassandra
The screen flickered with grainy rooftop footage. She was alone. Again.
“She’s spiraling,” Luca muttered behind her.
Cassandra didn’t answer. Her fingers were steepled beneath her chin, eyes narrowed on Elena’s silhouette.
“She’s emotional. Unstable.”
“No,” Cassandra said softly. “She’s dangerous.”
Luca frowned. “She hasn’t done anything—”
“Not yet,” Cassandra snapped. “But she’s not the type to walk away. She’s forming attachments. She’s asking questions.”
“She’s a nurse.”
“She’s a variable,” Cassandra said sharply. “And I don’t like variables.”
She stood, heels clicking as she approached the tinted glass wall that overlooked the city.
“I want everything on her. Where she lives. Who she talks to. If she even breathes wrong, I want to know.”
“And Dante?”
“He’s protecting her.”
“That’s not a surprise.”
Cassandra’s jaw tensed.
“No,” she said quietly. “It’s not. But it’s a problem.”
---
Elena
Moments Later — Hallway Outside Room 207
I stepped off the elevator and froze.
My floor was too quiet.
The lights flickered once overhead. A bulb hummed. No nurses. No movement.
Just the distant, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor inside Room 207.
I rushed down the hall, heart pounding.
The door was open.
Wide.
That wasn’t right.
I pushed inside—
The bed was empty.
The IV line dangled off the side like a snapped thread.
No alarms. No alerts.
Nothing but her teddy bear on the pillow.
Still warm.
Someone had taken her.
And I’d left her alone.
A chill burst through me, and for a
heartbeat I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Then a whisper came from behind me. Not from a mouth, but from the depths of memory:
“He’s watching.”
I turned, slowly.
The hallway behind me was no longer empty.
A man stood at the far end.
Not Dante.
Not staff.
And not a stranger.
I knew that face.
Only I didn’t know from where.
He smiled.
And then the lights went out.
- Writer
