Page 36

It began with a knock on the door.

Not the penthouse entrance not even the private elevator but the interior bedroom door where Isolde had just woken from a light, trembling sleep.

She opened it cautiously.

No one stood there.

Just a small matte-black case. Sleek. Unmarked.

And Dante's name carved into the lid.

She stared at it. Cold climbed her spine.

The moment she stepped back, Dante appeared silent as a shadow, shirt half-buttoned, dark slacks clinging to his hips, veins tight in his forearms.

His eyes scanned the case. He didn't speak.

He simply picked it up and walked to the lounge.

They gathered in front of the wall-mounted screen, Dante's inner circle tense behind him-Alex, two of his elite guards, and Isolde wrapped in his coat, silent and shaking.

Dante didn't speak.

He inserted the drive into the encrypted port.

The screen flickered.

Then-

Snowy static.

A click.

Then a feed began.

Live.

And what they saw stole the breath from the room.

A girl.

Tied to a chair in the center of a concrete room. Bare feet.

Wrists lashed to iron arms. She wore a familiar outfit: a café apron, a soft blue sweater.

Isolde's uniform.

Her hair had been dyed to match Isolde's natural tone.

She was thin. Fragile. Pale.

And her face God-her face looked so close to Isolde's that Dante stiffened instantly.

But it wasn't her.

Not quite.

Isolde stepped forward, her breath caught in her throat.

"Who is-?"

Then the screen glitched.

And the girl lifted her head.

Bruised. Bloody. Crying.

And she said, in Isolde's exact voice "Help me, Dante. Please..."

Isolde gasped.

Her knees nearly gave out.

"No-no, I didn't-"

Alex froze and ex0lained calmly. "It's not real...it's made by a professional voice artist I checked."

They had twisted her voice.

Turned it into a weapon.

Dante stepped forward.

One hand on the edge of the screen, jaw locked, expression unreadable.

Then-

Roza appeared.

She stepped into frame, wearing crimson gloves, her raven-black hair tied in a high twist, a robe slinking off one shoulder.

She looked elegant. Powerful. Utterly composed.

She held a knife.

And she was smiling. "You always did like your women soft," she purred. "I found this one in Kiev. Close enough, no?"

She brushed the knife across the girl's cheek.

The girl whimpered.

Roza looked into the camera. "Do you remember what I told you, Dante? That I'd make her bleed?"

Then she turned to the girl.

And began to carve.

The screen filled with the girl's screams-muted just below the threshold of sanity.

Not Isolde's, but close enough to make her collapse to the floor, hands over her ears, eyes wide and hollow.

Dante didn't move.

Not at first.

Then-he tore the screen off the wall with a roar so deep it shook the glass.

The black case shattered under his foot. The drive snapped in two.

"FIND HER!" he barked at Alex. "NOW."

Blood vessels burst in his eyes.

His voice cracked.

He paced like a caged animal, one hand tearing at his collar, the other crushing a whiskey glass in his palm until blood dripped between his fingers.