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I step away from the window before she spots me. This moment belongs to her alone. I won't take that from her.
When I finally go back inside I'll be the same controlled, dangerous man she's come to know. I won't mention her tears or the way they've carved open a chasm inside me.
I'll push forward with our plans. I'll make calls. Set things in motion. Create a path through this darkness that leads to Antonio and Raymond's destruction.
Because watching Melania break has sealed their fate more certainly than any contract or vendetta ever could.
They're already dead men walking.
I stare at the laptop screen, my eyes burning from six straight hours of concentration. The progress bar finally reaches 100%, and my heart leaps as the first set of files unlocks.
"Got it," I whisper to myself, fingers flying across the keyboard.
I start copying the files to a secure partition I've created. Names, dates, locations— evidence of Raymond and my father's crimes—begin transferring over. Each filename represents a life destroyed, a person treated like nothing more than spare parts. Not all of them but we have something for now.
The first batch includes medical records. Blood types. Tissue compatibility charts. My stomach turns as I scroll through the data.
I'm so absorbed that I almost miss it—a tiny flicker in the code window I've kept open. The same anomaly I noticed before. A pattern that shouldn't be there.
My blood turns to ice.
I check the network traffic monitor. There it is—an outgoing ping. Microscopic. Nearly invisible.
But definitely there.
"Alessio!" I jump to my feet so fast the chair topples backward. "We need to leave. Now!"
Alessio's by the window, gun already in hand before I finish speaking. His body transforms from relaxed to lethal in an instant.
"What happened?" His voice is calm, but his eyes are scanning everything.
"The same anomaly in the code. Raymond's tracker activated again" I grab the laptop, yanking the power cord from the wall. "The copy is still running, I can't stop it without corrupting everything."
Alessio doesn't waste time with questions. He shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs the car keys, and checks his weapons.
"How long until they track us here?"
"Minutes. Maybe less." I clutch the laptop to my chest, the screen still showing the progress bar: 68% complete.
"We need to get to the car." He commands, moving toward the door.
I follow him, my heart a jackhammer against my chest. The copy needs to finish or we fail completely.
Alessio opens the warehouse door a crack, scanning the surroundings before pushing it wider.
"Stay behind me," he says, in that deadly quiet tone that means danger is close.
The laptop in my arms continues its work, the progress bar creeping forward as we move through the doorway toward our only escape.
We reach the Audi without incident. No alarms blaring. No screeching tires in the distance. The eerie quiet feels more threatening than chaos would.
"Get in," Alessio commands, taking a final survey of the perimeter.
I slide into the passenger seat, still clutching the laptop. The transfer continues its agonizing crawl: 75%. Alessio drops into the driver's seat, gun still in hand. He jams the key into the ignition and the engine purrs to life.
The tires squeal against pavement as we accelerate away from the warehouse. Alessio drives with one hand on the wheel, the other holding his weapon against his thigh. His eyes constantly flick to the rearview mirror.
"How much time?" he asks, voice tight as he takes a sharp turn that makes my stomach lurch.