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ROMIRO

E miliano stands beside me, his face a hard mask of determination, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, ready for anything. The tension between us is palpable, like a live wire sparking in the cold night air. He glances at me, his eyes narrowing as he assesses our surroundings.

“We’ve got to be smart about this, Romiro,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the nearby city sounds. “This isn’t just about finding them; it’s about getting them out alive. We can’t rush in and blow our chances.”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily in my chest. Emiliano has always been the pragmatic one, the one to think three steps ahead, to plan for every possible outcome. I, on the other hand, have always been driven by impulse, by the raw need to act, to do something, anything. But he’s right. This isn't just about charging in with guns blazing. This is about finding the people we care about and bringing them home—safely.

Matteo, the youngest among us, is huddled over his laptop, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he tries to make sense of the data. He’s a genius with computers, and we’re all depending on him to crack this, to pull a miracle out of thin air.

“Okay, I’m triangulating the signal now,” Matteo mutters, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Give me a second… Just a second…”

I watch him, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I can feel the anger, the fear, the frustration building inside me like a storm, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. I keep seeing Alessia’s face in my mind, the fear in her eyes, the helplessness. I can’t let that be the last image I have of her. I won’t.

Nicolo is pacing back and forth, his face tense, his jaw clenched. “We need more than this,” he says. “We can’t rely on just one weak signal. We need more data, more information. We’re flying blind here.”

Matteo doesn’t look up, his focus unwavering. “I know, I know,” he says quickly. “But this is all we have. I’m doing everything I can to enhance the signal, to pull more from the cell towers…”

“Then work faster!” I cut in, my voice sharp, my patience clearly wearing thin. “Every minute we waste here is a minute they’re getting farther away.”

Emiliano holds up a hand, a signal for silence. “Let him work,” he orders, his voice steady but firm. “We don’t have time for second-guessing. Matteo, you’ve got this. Keep going.”

I can see the tension in Matteo’s shoulders, the strain in his eyes. He nods, his fingers moving even faster, his focus so intense, it’s almost painful to watch. “Almost there…” he murmurs. “Just a bit more…”

Emiliano turns to me, his expression grim. “If this doesn’t pan out,” he says quietly, “we’re going to need to try something else. We can't sit around hoping for a miracle.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I know,” I reply, my voice low. “But we’re running out of options, Eli. If we can’t find them through this…”

He doesn’t let me finish. “We’ll find them,” he says with a fierce certainty that I almost believe.

“Got it,” Matteo mutters, his voice maintaining the same bored tone it always has. He spins the laptop around so we can see the screen. “There’s a secondary signal. Weak, but it’s there. Looks like the phone was turned back on for just a moment. Just enough to give us a ping.”

He points to the map on the screen, a small red dot blinking slowly as it moves. “It's heading towards the docks,” he continues. “The east side, near the old shipping yards.”

Nicolo’s eyes narrow, and he steps closer to the laptop. “That makes sense,” he mutters. “The docks are quiet this time of night. Plenty of places to hide. And if Helen’s trying to move them quickly, she’ll want to get them to a place where she can get them out of the city fast. There are warehouses nearby.”

“Then that’s where we go,” I say, my voice stern and cold. “We don’t wait. We don’t hesitate.”

Emiliano nods, his expression firm. “Agreed. Matteo, keep tracking that signal. We’ll need it to guide us in.”

We move quickly, rushing back to the cars. I’m in the driver’s seat again, with Emiliano next to me, and Nicolo in the back. Matteo stays with his laptop in the back seat, his fingers still moving, still working. He’s our lifeline, our only connection to where the girls might be.

As I drive, the city blurs around us, the lights and sounds fading into the background. My focus is laser-sharp, my thoughts racing. I keep seeing that picture in my mind, the girls helpless. I feel a rage building inside me, a fire that threatens to consume me. This is my fault. I should have seen this coming. I should have protected them.

Emiliano must sense my turmoil because he glances over at me, his expression softer than usual. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

I don’t answer at first, my jaw clenched. Finally, I manage to nod. “I will be,” I say. “Once we get them back.”

He nods, a small, grim smile touching his lips. “We will,” he says simply. “One way or another.”

The drive to the docks is tense, every second dragging by like an eternity. I keep my foot pressed hard on the gas, pushing the car to its limits. We don’t have time to waste. Not now. Not ever. The city whizzes past us as we drive faster.

Finally, we reach the docks, the dark shapes of the shipping containers looming in the darkness. I park the car, and we slip out, moving quickly but quietly. The air is heavy with the smell of salt and oil, the distant sound of water slapping against the sides of the docked boats.

Matteo points toward the east side, where the red dot is blinking on his phone screen. “Over there,” he whispers. “That’s where the signal is strongest.”

We move closer, our footsteps silent on the cracked concrete. My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline courses through my veins. Every sense is heightened, every muscle tense. I know this could be a trap, that Helen could be waiting for us. But we don’t have a choice. We have to go in.

We reach the edge of the docks, slipping between the shadows. There’s a small cluster of buildings ahead, dark and silent, where the windows blacked out. My hand tightens around the handle of my gun, my heart racing.

Emiliano moves ahead, his gun drawn, his eyes scanning the area. He signals us forward, and we creep closer, our breaths coming in short, quick bursts. We reach a large metal door, and I press my ear against it, listening for any sound from within.

Nothing. Just silence.

Nicolo moves to the side, his back against the wall, his gun ready. “On three,” he whispers. “We go in.”

I nod. “One… Two… Three…”

We burst through the door, guns raised, ready for anything. The room is dark, the air cold, the walls lined with old shipping equipment. I can see a faint light in the back, flickering, and we move toward it, our footsteps silent.

Matteo is right behind us, his laptop still in his hands, his eyes focused on the screen. “The signal is right here,” he mutters. “We’re close…”

Three men emerge from the back, their guns raised. Gunfire cracks through the warehouse, echoing off rusted steel beams and concrete walls. I take cover behind a stack of crates, my grip steady on the pistol as I fire off two quick shots. One of them drops, clutching his stomach, a strangled curse spilling from his lips. The other two scramble for cover, but Emiliano flanks left, unloading his clip, forcing them into the open. A bullet whizzes past my ear, close enough to burn. I don’t flinch. Instead, I rise, take aim, and put one between the bastard’s eyes. He crumples, dead before he hits the ground. The last man standing knows he’s fucked. He backs toward the exit, shaking, weapon loose in his grip. “Drop it,” I order, stepping forward, my gun locked on him. He hesitates. Wrong move. A shot rings out—Nicolo’s this time—and he collapses, blood pooling beneath him. The warehouse falls silent, save for the distant crash of waves against the docks.

Suddenly, a voice crackles through a hidden speaker in the corner, cold and mocking. “Well done, boys,” Helen’s voice echoes through the room, sending a chill down my spine. “You found the place. But did you really think it would be that easy?”

I feel a surge of rage, my hand tightening on my gun. “Where are they?” I shout into the darkness. “Where are the girls?”

Helen laughs, the sound high and cruel. “Oh, you’ll find them soon enough,” she taunts. “But first, you’ll have to play my game. Let’s see how smart you really are, Romiro. Let’s see how much you care.”

The speaker cuts off, and the room is plunged into silence once more. I feel the rage rising inside me, threatening to boil over. Emiliano grabs my arm, his grip tight. “Stay calm,” he says, his voice low and steady. “We have to think this through.”

I nod, trying to steady my breathing, trying to focus. “Alright,” I say. “What’s our next move?”

Matteo glances at the laptop, his eyes narrowed. “The signal is still here,” he mutters. “But it’s bouncing around. She’s using multiple devices to throw us off.”

Nicolo steps forward, his expression determined. “Then we split up,” he says. “We cover more ground that way,but stay in contact. No one goes rogue.”

I turn to Matteo, my mind racing. “Can you keep tracking the signal?” I ask him.

He nods, his fingers moving over the keyboard. “I’ll do my best,” he says. “But it’s going to be tough. She’s good. Really good.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Then we need to be better,” I say. “We don’t have time to waste.”

We split up, moving through the darkened building with our senses on high alert. I can feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, my mind racing with possibilities. I know Helen is watching, waiting for us to make a mistake. But I won’t give her the satisfaction. I won’t let her win.

Not this time. Not ever again.

Suddenly, Matteo’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “I’ve got something.” he whispers. “There’s a room on the north side. The signal is strongest there. It’s probably a setup, but it’s our best shot.”

I nod, signaling Emiliano and Nicolo. “North side,” I whisper. “Let’s move.”

We make our way through the building, slipping through the shadows, our footsteps silent on the cold concrete. My thoughts racing. I know we’re close. I can feel it.

We reach the door, and I press my ear against it, listening. I hear faint sounds from within—movement, muffled voices. I glance at Emiliano, who nods, his gun ready.

I push the door open slowly, peering inside. The room is dark, but I can see shapes moving, figures. I step inside, my gun raised.

“Alessia?” I whisper, my voice low, desperate.

A figure steps forward, and I feel a surge of hope. Then, I see the face. Helen. Smiling, taunting, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Hello, son,” she purrs. “Welcome to the party.”