Page 60 of Beautifully Broken

He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate.

He’s middle-aged, with thinning hair and a crumpled suit, the picture of a man unraveling.

“You … help?” he says, his German accent thick.

“Police say they look, but no one finds my Lena. She’s twenty-two, my only girl.

She landed, called me from baggage claim, said she’d meet me outside. Then … nothing. Her phone … off.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice catching. “What’s her name? Lena? Can you tell me what she looks like, what she was wearing?”

“Lena Hoffman,” he says, pulling out his phone to show me a photo. She’s beautiful; blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a wide smile. “She wore jeans, white shirt, green jacket. She had a blue backpack. Please, if you know anything…”

“We’ll do our best,” I promise, memorizing the details. “Did she say anything else? Anyone she was meeting, anywhere she might have gone?”

He shakes his head. “No. She was excited—her first trip here. She said she’d wait by the exit. Then … gone.”

Daddy rests a hand on my shoulder, his voice low. “Sasha, we’ll start by the exits. Tony, check the taxi stand. See if any drivers saw a girl matching her description. Dad, maybe ask the airport staff about security footage?”

“Got it,” Uncle Tony says, striding off with purpose.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Nonno adds, heading toward the information desk.

I turn back to Mr. Hoffman. “We’ll look for her, I promise. Stay here in case she comes back. If you hear anything, call the police, and us.” I scribble my WhatsApp number on a scrap of paper and hand it to him.

He nods, tears welling up. “Thank you. Please, bring my Lena back.”

We fan out, my heart racing as I scan the exits.

The area is chaotic—tourists with suitcases, families reuniting, drivers holding signs.

I ask a few people if they’ve seen a blonde girl in a green jacket, but no one has.

My mind flashes back to Mia—her laughter, her fear, the way I’d failed her. I shake it off, focusing on Lena.

Uncle Tony returns, shaking his head. “No luck with the taxi drivers. One guy thought he saw a girl in a green jacket get into a black van with tinted windows, no plates he could see, about an hour ago, but he wasn’t sure.”

“A van?” My stomach twists; this feels like a bad crime drama now. “That’s not good. People don’t just vanish from airports without a trace. Someone took her.”

Nonno joins us, his expression grim. “The staff wouldn’t let me see footage, privacy rules, but they confirmed a security camera caught a blonde woman in a green jacket near the east exit around 2:00 PM. She was with two men, looked like they were in a hurry. The police are reviewing it now.”

“Two men and a van,” I mutter, my journalist brain piecing it together. “This feels planned. Santorini’s small. Where would they take her? Not far, not with tourists and police everywhere.”

Daddy frowns, thinking. “The island’s got villas, hotels, remote spots. A van could blend in, especially in the tourist areas. But a secluded villa would be perfect; private, out of sight.”

“Like ours,” I say, a chill running through me. “We need to check the area near our place. If they’re hiding her, it’d be somewhere quiet, away from the main towns.”

“Agreed,” Nonno says. “Let’s get back to the car. We’ll drive the roads near the villa, look for anything suspicious; vans, activity, anything out of place.”

The SUV bumps along the narrow, winding roads of Santorini, the sun dipping low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

I sit in the passenger seat, Daddy driving, while Uncle Tony and Nonno scan the surroundings.

The cliffs are dotted with villas, some lit up, others dark, their white walls glowing orange in the twilight.

My eyes search for any sign, a black van, a flash of green, a cry for help.

“Slow down,” I say as we near a cluster of villas a half-mile from ours. One catches my eye, set back from the road, partially hidden by olive trees, with a black van parked crookedly in the drive. The windows are dark, curtains drawn, but a faint light flickers inside .

“That’s suspicious,” Uncle Tony says, leaning forward. “No one parks like that unless they’re in a rush.”

“Trying to hurry and get a victim out of the van and inside,” Nonno adds, his voice calm but tense. “Sasha, we need to be smart. If she’s in there, we can’t just barge in. We don’t know who’s inside or what they’re capable of.”

“I know,” I say, my hands trembling with adrenaline. “We call the police, but we can’t wait for them to get here. If she’s in danger right now, every second counts. We scope it out quietly. If we hear or see anything, we act.”

I know for a fact my men can hold their own; we’ve done it before.

Daddy parks a safe distance away, hidden by a curve in the road. “Sasha, stay close to me. Tony, you and Dad check the perimeter. We listen, we look, but we don’t engage unless we have to. Got it?”

“Got it,” Uncle Tony says, already slipping out of the car, his construction-honed strength making him move with surprising stealth.

Nonno nods, his green eyes sharp. “Stay safe, piccolina. We’ll signal if we find anything.”

I follow Daddy, my heart pounding as we creep toward the villa, staying low behind bushes and stone walls. The air is warm, scented with wild herbs, then a faint sound comes from the house: a muffled cry, sharp and desperate, then silence.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper, gripping Daddy’s arm.

He nods, his jaw tight. “Yeah. Stay here. I’ll check the window.”

“No way,” I hiss, following him. “We’re in this together.”

He sighs, knowing he can’t argue with me.

We edge closer, crouching beneath a window. The curtains are thick, but a sliver of light escapes, and I hear it again; a woman’s voice, choked, pleading.

“Please, let me go! My father—”

“Shut up!” a man’s voice snaps, harsh and accented. A slap rings out, followed by a whimper. My blood runs cold, memories of Trevor flooding back—his hands, his threats, my terror. I shove them down, focusing on Lena.

Daddy’s eyes meet mine, urgent. “She’s in there. We need to move fast.”

Uncle Tony and Nonno rejoin us, breathing hard. “Two men inside, maybe three,” Uncle Tony whispers. “Back door’s unlocked, but there’s a guy smoking out front. Looks rough—big, probably armed. ”

“We can’t wait,” I say, my voice shaking but determined. “She’s in danger right now. We take the smoker out quietly, get inside, get her out. Then we call the police.”

“Sasha, this is risky,” Nonno warns, but his tone isn’t stopping me; it’s assessing. “If we do this, we need a plan. Anthony, you’re the muscle here. Can you handle the guy out front?”

“Piece of cake,” Uncle Tony says, cracking his knuckles. “Give me ten seconds.”

“Gene, you and I go for the back door,” Nonno continues. “Sasha, you stay behind us. Look for Lena, but don’t take chances. We get her, we get out, we call the police.”

I nod, adrenaline surging. “Let’s do it.”

Uncle Tony moves like a shadow, slipping toward the front. We hear a muffled grunt, a thud, then silence. Uncle Tony reappears, nodding.

“He’s out. Tied him up with his own belt. Go.”

We creep to the back door, Daddy easing it open. The villa’s interior is dim, cluttered, with furniture overturned, a glass broken on the floor. My heart pounds as we move through a narrow hall, the sounds of struggle growing louder.

A man’s voice growls, “You’ll fetch a good price, girl. Stop fighting.”

Rage and fear collide in my chest. We round a corner, and there she is, Lena, blonde hair disheveled, wrists bound, a bruise blooming on her cheek. Two men loom over her, one holding a rope, the other a phone, barking orders in a language I don’t understand.

Daddy and Nonno move like lightning. Daddy tackles the man with the rope, pinning him to the ground with a strength I rarely see from my gentle partner. Nonno grabs a lamp, smashing it over the second man’s head, sending him sprawling. That I expect from him; he’s always been tougher than he looks.

We got lucky. These men had no reason to think they were so close to discovery. Compared with others, they are sloppy.

I rush to Lena, dropping to my knees, my hands shaking as I untie her wrists.

“It’s okay, Lena,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the chaos. “I’m Sasha. We’re here to get you out. ”

Her blue eyes, wide with terror, meet mine. “They… They were going to sell me,” she chokes out, tears streaming down her face.

Yeah. I remember what that was like, too. Or in my case, rent me.

“Not anymore,” I say fiercely, helping her up. “Can you walk?”

She nods, clutching my arm. Daddy and Nonno have the two men subdued, using belts and cords to tie their hands.

Uncle Tony bursts in, breathless. “Front’s clear, but we need to move. These jagoffs might have friends.”

“Call the police,” I tell him, supporting Lena as we head for the door. “Tell them we’ve got her, and the kidnappers are here.”

Uncle Tony pulls out his phone, dialing as we hurry back to the SUV.

Lena’s shaking, but she’s alive, leaning against me as we pile into the car. Daddy drives, peeling away just as distant sirens wail, growing closer.

“Lena, you’re safe now,” I say, holding her hand. “Your dad’s waiting for you. We’re taking you back to him.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I thought no one would come.”

“Someone always comes,” I say, the words catching in my throat. I think of Tessa, of how I wish someone had come for her, and I squeeze Lena’s hand tighter. “We did.”

The police meet us a mile down the road, lights flashing. We pull over, and I help Lena out, staying with her as she clings to me. Officers swarm the villa, and within minutes, they’ve got the three men in cuffs, hard-faced, snarling, but powerless now.

Mr. Hoffman arrives, running from a police car, his face crumpling with relief as he pulls Lena into his arms.

“Lena, mein Schatz!” he sobs, holding her tight. “I thought I lost you.”