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ALESSIO

The jet touches down, wheels screeching against the tarmac like a final warning. Manhattan glows ahead, all steel and shadow, pulsing like a heart that never slows.

When I descend the stairs, the driver opens the door to the car waiting for me, and I slide into the back seat, my muscles tight, my jaw locked.

I should feel relief. The retraction went live an hour ago. Every news outlet that had run Eva’s story now has a big, bold correction splashed across their sites. Unsubstantiated. Retraction. Apology.

But it’s not enough. Not when she still hasn’t answered me.

I scroll through my messages, recalling the last voicemail I left Sophie on the flight back from Chicago. The one I poured everything into.

She must have heard it by now, right? And still? Nothing. No text. No call.

The city swallows us as the car merges into traffic.

I lean my head back against the leather seat, replaying everything from the last twenty-four hours. Confronting Eva. Watching her dragged out of Clive & Associates like the venomous snake she is. Slamming my fist into Cash Carson’s jaw with a satisfaction I’ll carry for life.

But none of it matters if Sophie won’t talk to me.

My phone pings.

I lift it instinctively, thinking it's her.

But it's another article.

Breaking: Article Retracted – No Bratva Ties Confirmed Between Marchetti Family and International Crime Syndicates.

They got the message. Loud and clear.

I text her again.

Still no response.

I tap out a final message before pocketing my phone.

I’m back in the city. I need to see you. Please.

My hand curls into a fist on my knee.

I’m not here to party. I’m not here to fix optics.

I’m here for Sophie.

And this time I’m not leaving without her.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent, tension thick in the air.

My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Valentino.

Valentino: Nice work in Chicago. She had it coming.

Dad’s message follows seconds later.

Dad: Handled like a true Marchetti.

I don’t reply. I can’t. Not when my mind is still caught in the storm.

The headlines swirl in my head like smoke.

Colluding with the Bratva. Vanished father-to-be. Unfit for love or fatherhood.

My jaw clenches tighter with every word.

I fought back. I cleared my name. But the damage? It might be tearing up Sophie, and I can't do a damn thing about it.

All I want is a chance to undo the hurt.

Just before we reach the apartment, my phone rings.

Nikolai.

I answer on the second buzz. “Hey, it's been a minute.”

His voice is low. Controlled. “We found something. Something about your stalker. And it's definitely not one of ours.”

I sit up straighter. “Then who?”

A beat of silence.

“Natalia. Bratva princess. Mikhail Orlov’s daughter. The one you hooked up with a few months back.”

My stomach drops.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. She’s disappeared. Went off the radar a few months back. And she left a mess behind. Her father says she’s acting alone, but she’s dangerous. And by that I mean she's psychotic.”

I stare out the window, memories blurring as they race in my head.

The vodka-fueled nights. The flirty games. The red flags I ignored because I thought she was just another wild heiress trying to piss off daddy.

But this? This isn’t some tantrum. This is vengeance against me. And now it’s not just about clearing my name. It’s about keeping Sophie safe. No matter what it takes.

My brain clicks through recent conversations like a reel on fire.

“Natalia…” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

I bolt upright. “Wait…Sophie mentioned a name. Someone from her yoga class.”

For a second, the air in the car goes still, like even the city holds its breath.

I unlock my phone and scroll, fingers flying.

There it is. A text from Sophie.

Nati brought cucumber water again. I might be in love with her fridge.

“Nati.” My stomach turns.

“Nikolai, what if she’s with her? What if that’s…”

Nikolai curses low. “You think—”

“I don’t know. But if she is, then Sophie could be in serious fucking danger.”

I hang up and dial Sophie. Straight to voicemail. I try again. And again. Nothing.

My hands start to shake.

I press the call button yet again and whisper, “Come on, dolcezza . Pick up.”

Nikolai calls me back. “We’ve had eyes on Sophie like you requested. She checked in with one of my men this morning. She should be at the yoga studio. I'm sending your driver the location now. I’ll get my men there ASAP. But you’re closer.”

“Copy that.” Then I bark to the driver, “Change of plans, head to address Nikolai just sent you. Step on it.”

My blood’s rushing so fast I can barely breathe. My pulse thunders in my ears as the car cuts across traffic.

We’ll reach the studio in under ten minutes. My stomach drops, tightening like a fist.

What if she's not here? What if I failed her?

Fuck .

I have to find her. My stomach lurches.

Please let me be wrong. Please let her be safe.

But deep down, I know. My worst fear is already in motion. And I’m running out of time.