The drive back to the estate was short. Too short.
My mind stayed sharp, my jaw locked so tight it ached. Matteo’s knuckles were white on the wheel, eyes locked on the road, the tires chewing up the dark asphalt like teeth.
In the back, Marco breathed shallow and broken. His face bloodied, wrists bound.
He hadn’t spoken a word since I told him what would happen.
He didn’t need to.
I’d already sentenced him.
But all of that-all of it — slid to the back of my skull as Matteo’s words circled louder.
Elena’s gone.
Gone.
From my estate.
From my house.
By the time we rolled through the Moretti gates, my chest burned like steel pressed against bone.
Two men opened the heavy doors before I even stepped out. Their faces were pale, stiff with fear.
Good.
They should be scared.
“Where
