Lorenzo's house was too quiet.
It was not a silence that wrapped you in a feeling of peace and tranquillity, but the other kind, one that left you with a feeling of unease, as if you were being watched and listened to with great attention. It was as if there were ghostly inhabitants living behind the walls, whispering secrets that only the shadows, veiled in darkness, could ever understand and hear. It was a silence that did not agree with you.
I was not afraid.
I ought to have.
I should have been vulnerable, in the wrong place.
But for whatever reason, I wasn't.
Perhaps because he was present here.
I flat-out hated the thought of having to admit that reality, even to myself in private and not to anyone else. But the hard reality was that I was safer and more secure in Lorenzo's home than I had been in the walls of my own apartment over the last few weeks. In fact, I was much safer there than I had been when I was at Hudson Security. And I was safer than I ever was when I had any number of bodyguards around.
And I had no idea what to do with that.
Lorenzo was beside me; his eyebrows furrowed in apparent frustration as he sifted through the different photos of Sofia's bracelet carefully. The room we were in was dimly lit, and the soft and gentle light of the screens threw interesting shadows across his sharp and chiselled face.
My goal was to focus my mind on the different clues that were given to me.
But my mind kept wandering away.
To the way he had clenched his jaw tightly when he was angry. To the way he breathed sharply, almost with a desperation, when he was focused. To the way he had invested himself in this case—not out of sympathy for her, not out of a sense of duty, but because he was driven by a deep sense of anger.
Angry at the gang.
Angry at what they had done to Sofia.
I was overcome with a powerful sense of anger against what they had done to me.
I had hoped for sympathy, perhaps a little clinical professionalism. But never this.
Never the fire in his eyes whenever we discovered a new lead.
Never the edge in his voice when we were talking about those who had taken my sister.
There has never been an era like this, characterized by such unwavering determination to set everything ablaze and leave nothing but embers.
He was actually part of their group at some time or another.
And yet, despite everything that had happened, I found myself trusting him more than I trusted anyone else in my life.
When did that occur?
I was abruptly brought out of my reverie and daydreams when the piercing ring of his phone pierced the silence.
At first, he decided to ignore it altogether.
Then it rang once more.
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not responding?"
He clenched his teeth. "No.".
The phone fell silent, but only for an instant before ringing again.
I gave him a look. "It's obviously important."
He quietly muttered a nearly inaudible remark under his breath to anyone in the vicinity. But once he finally made up his mind to answer the phone, his entire demeanour went through an amazing change.
His frame froze, his fingers tightening their grip on the telephone.
His face—typically serene, completely inscrutable, and always exhibiting an air of command—began to break.
I watched, curious.
Then he replied, reassuringly saying, "I'll be there."
The moment he hung up the phone and finished the call, I realized that I did not even need to ask the question.
I had already realized that the subject in question was all about his family.
He told me that his father had received some news about his mother.
Something of considerable value.
I just wanted to ask him so much more. I just could not help but question him more, asking him why he was there, and it looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
But I did not.
Because I understood.
For at the same instant that he said the word father, my own mind started racing out of control.
My own parents.
I hadn't heard from them in weeks. Months.
I had missed birthdays. Family get-togethers. My mother's phone calls had decreased. My father's messages, short. They did not understand why I was pushing them away.
And I could not notify them.
Not at a time when Sofia was already in a vulnerable and weakened state.
Not when I knew they would leave all behind to come look for me if they had any notion what I was doing.
They had already lost one of their daughters in a tragic manner.
I did not want to allow them to lose another.
But tonight, as I sit here in this peaceful and tranquil home, watching Lorenzo wrestle with the inner demons that plague him in his own home, I had a strong urge to grab the telephone and call them.
Despite that, I was left incapable of disclosing to them the real truth of the matter.
Even if the only intention was just to hear the sound of their voices.
I reached for my phone—then paused.
I wasn't ready.
Not yet. I changed my attention to the bracelet.
I had completely forgotten something very important earlier—I was absolutely sure about it.
Lorenzo had departed after the phone call, but I stayed behind, searching deeper. Raking the surface repeatedly.
Sofia had lovingly carved the initials S+L on the inside of the surface. This was definite evidence that she had left it especially for me.
She knew I'd get it.
Think, Reina.
I focused intently on the delicate engravings, intently examining each inch of the glistening metal surface. My enthusiasm and anticipation were evident as I made tiny adjustments to the light, intently examining it from an array of vastly different angles.
And at that moment, my gaze fell on it.
So weak that it is hardly noticeable, nearly imperceptible.
A number of extremely light scratches, which are obviously too exact to have been caused by chance.
Not a message. Not initials.
Coordinates.
A sharp breath escaped my lips.
I took a little time to double-check the numbers, slowly tracing them out on a detailed map. My heart rate actually increased when I finally spotted the precise location marked on the map.
A port. A shipping dock.
Not very far from where we found the warehouse.
Sofia had indeed been there.
Recently.
I exhaled, trying to balance myself. This was not finished. We were nearer. So much nearer.
I was not able to pinpoint the exact time when it occurred, but somewhere down the line, this particular case had transcended being merely a case.
It was personal.
It is not only because of Sofia.
It is not all because of my own contribution or work.
But thanks to Lorenzo.
Because I had witnessed his fury. His resolve. His unwavering desire to put an end to the men who had abducted my sister.
I saw him recklessly throw away critical meetings, let down critical stakeholders who were counting on him, and risk the very foundation of his whole business empire for the sake of this.
For us.
For my own experience.
His reasons for doing this were more than just providing a helping hand.
He was doing this specific act because he was eager to burn them all.
Because he cared.
I let out a breath, pressing my fingers against my temple. I was thinking too much.
I was slowly releasing my defences and becoming more receptive.
I was letting him in.
I collapsed into the plush cushions of the sofa, and finally, a wave of fatigue washed over me.
I said to myself that I would close my eyes for just a moment.
I would do everything in the morning. I did not even realize the instant when I slowly drifted off into a heavy sleep.
✨ Hey loves! ✨
I'm publishing my book on Amazon soon as an eBook & print! Before that, I'd love your reviews & suggestions
DM me on Insta 👉 https://www.instagram.com/a_dream._.soul/
Thank you for reading, this novel means everything to me 💖
Love you all ❤️🔥❤️🔥