<b>98.1 </b>


    PART III


    Gianni


    “What’s in the crate?”


    Roger’s voice barely registers over the pounding in my chest. My hands clutch the edge <b>of </b>the box, and I stare at what’s inside.”


    Words fail me.


    My mind shuts down<b>, </b>unable to process the scene before me.


    I can only grasp fragmented images, piece by piece.


    Green eyes that once sparked with danger and contempt now stare nkly, empty and lifeless. A bullet hole is centered between them. I force myself to look away from Amalia’s face and down to the child in her arms–<b>my </b>daughter, our daughter. Her head rests against her mother’s bloody shoulder, as if Amalia had gently rocked her to sleep.


    It’s a horrific mockery of motherhood, the kind of cruelty only a truly depraved person could create. Amalia sits with her back against the inside of the crate, her head tilted back, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. A thin trail of blood runs from the wound in her forehead, down her nose, and dries there.


    I’ve seen horrors in my life–scenes that have haunted me for days, stealing my sleep. The aftermath of greed- fueled violence, explosions, gunfights, death. But this? This is beyondprehension.


    I can’t ept it. Something within me refuses to believe what I’m seeing, even as precious seconds tick by. I’m frozen, unable to move or breathe. It’s real, no matter how much I wish it weren’t. Amalia is gone. Reality hits when Roger shakes me and reaches into the crate. The flood of information overwhelms me, crashing in from all sides.


    Tatiana.


    They might have taken her too.


    bruises


    Roger’s choked cry echoes in my ears. “No!!” He pulls Tatiana’s limp body into his arms. Her skin is role, a dried streak of blood trailing from her temple, matted hair covering a wound on the side of her head. The on her arms reveal the violence she endured. I have no doubt she fought back.


    “No, Tatiana, wake up. Please, wake up.” I finally manage to move, taking her legs and helping Roger lift her over the crate’s edge, lowering her to the floor.


    I kneel beside them<b>, </b>pressing my ear to her chest, desperate for any sign of life. Time slows to a crawl, and memories sh before my eyes, vivid and fresh as if they happened just yesterday.


    Her first steps, toddling across the floor with her chubby arms reaching for me. She knew I would catch her, hold her when she fell.


    Her first dance recital, wearing angel wings and glitter in her hair. The way she smiled at me that day, as if I meant the world to her.


    That glitter stuck to her skin for days afterward.


    The one year for Halloween when she insisted on dressing as a pirate even though all the little girls her age wanted to be princesses.


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    My daughter wanted me to ck out her teeth and draw stubble on her cheeks, and I did it. I did it even though I had a hundred other things to handle. I did it because even then, I was all she had and because she captured my heart the second we locked eyes for the first time, and as her daddy, it was my job. I would have done anything for her.


    Her chest is barely moving, but I hear the soft intake of air in and out of her lungs. That’s all I need to know to keep me motivated.


    “She’s breathing,” I announce, and the touch of my fingers to the inside of her wrist reveals a shuddering pulse. All the air leaves my lungs, the pressure in my head making me light–headed. Relief floods my veins. She has a pulse, but that doesn’t mean anything. “We need to get her to the hospital now.”


    I couldn’t keep her safe, could I? The one thing she needed most, it was beyond me. I let her down. Failed her. What kind of father was I if I couldn’t even protect my own daughter?


    Roger’s gaze collides with mine, eyes wild, his features frantic. cing his trembling hands on both sides of her face, he peers down at her. There isn’t so much as a fluttering of her eyelids to show she feels his touch. My thoughts are everywhere, my mind an endless fishbowl. There’s something missing. Something that bangs like a gong, vibrating at the back of my skull.


    Caterina.


    “Where’s Caterina?” I yell into the vast space. My head swings back and forth, my eyes searching in vain for her The sick fucks who did this cleaned out the warehouse, taking everything besides the bloody crate and the bodies of a few of my men who are now being gathered, together, and dragged across the floor.


    “What the fuck are you doing?” I bellow, making them all stand at attention. “Where is Caterina?”


    Their expressions all mirror confusion. “We did a perimeter check, Sir. There’s no one else here, at least that’s alive.”


    My heart sinks into my stomach. Lower and lower, it falls until I swear it feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.


    “Find her!! Look again!! I want you to search every inch of the property,” I order, my voice frantic, my mind racing.


    Roger meets my gaze. “She’s not here. If she were, they would’ve told you by now.”


    “She has to be. Where else could she be?” I can’t breathe. I can barely speak. First Tatiana. Now Caterina


    It’s not possible. They didn’t take her.


    “Find her!” I’m nearly shrieking, and I know, even in the haze of frenzied horror that I’m eloser to losing my grip than I ever have been. The room spins around me, and I try to breathe, but it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any oxygen into my lungs.


    Where is she? Where did they take her?


    “Boss, I know you’re worried about Caterina, but we need to get Tatiana to the hospitalnow. Someone hit her in the head. She could have… swelling or something worse.”


    I wheel around, prepared to tear his head off, only to find Roger gently gathering Tatiana into his arms, cradling her the way she was cradled in her dead mother’s arms.Amalia. She’s dead. Still, the reminder doesn’t allow me to feel anything. I’m numb, cold from the inside out. Think, think. There’s a storm raging in my head that I need to calm. I can’t afford to lose my grip on reality when my daughter needs me.They all need me.


    Rationally I know he is right. Tatiana might have sustained injuries that we cannot see. “Get her in the car,” I


    98.1


    order Roger before shouting to the men. “I want the entire area searched for any signs of Caterina before you dispose of the bodies.”


    “Save their phones,” Roger calls out. “Bring them to me at the hospital.”


    In my heart, I know they won’t find anything. There won’t be a trace of my little bird. If this was about killing her, they would have left her here for me to find. It’s what I would have done in their position, whoever they are. If I wanted to break a man down, if I wanted to strip him bare and hit him where it hurts, I’d have killed the only two things he loved more than his empire, money or life.


    If this was about proving a point, they’d both be dead. This wasn’t that. No, they took her somewhere else, somewhere hidden and the mess they left here was a hint at what’s toe if I don’t y along with their game. I know the tactic, have even done it myself a time or two, but I’d never involved innocent lives.


    Stepping outside, finally free of the coppery stench of blood hanging heavily in the warehouse, I clear my head and steady my resolve. There is no time for breaking down, no time for ming myself, or asking what I could have done better. That cer, once I have Caterina back, once I know Tatiana is okay.


    First, I need to focus my attention on my daughter, who is now being loaded into the back seat of the car. I slide in on the other side, cradling her head in myp while Roger jumps behind the wheel.


    “Wake up, sweetheart,” I murmur, stroking her cheek with a shaking hand. “Come back to me. Please. I can’t lose you<i>.</i><i>” </i>


    “I’ll fucking kill them all,” Roger grunts, cutting the wheel tires squealing as we make a sharp right. The car nearly fishtails, but he manages to maintain control, weaving in and out of traffic once we hit the main road.


    “Try not to kill us first,” I bark over the ring of horns, holding her firmly to keep her from sliding off the seat. He doesn’t say a word, but he also doesn’t slow down either


    Fuck around and find out.Those words are burned into my brain, taunting me. I know I said I’d try not to think about how this is my fault, but it’s hard when you’re holding your daughter’s lifeless body in your arms, and you know she wouldn’t be here in this situation if it wasn’t for the man you are, for the dark and dangerous life you live. Somehow, I had overlooked the threat. I allowed her to go off alone–I never should have, no matter how much she ranted and raved about me being overprotective. Making up excuses in my mind, I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving her space to breathe, to heal.


    Yes, look how she’s healed.


    Today’s Bonus.Offer