Valeria I grabbed Lorenzo’s hand—carefully, so careful not to press on the fresh bruises or pull at the bandages—and dragged him a few steps away from the open front door, around the corner of the house where the old lemon tree blocked us from view. My heart hammered so hard I felt it in my throat. Every second out here felt like a risk, like the driver’s eyes might follow us, like Dante’s reach might already be stretching across the city.“I’m working on it,” I whispered, voice tight and urgent. “I’ve been keeping him updated on everything. And I’m not stopping until we get him back.”Lorenzo’s good eye searched my face. His voice came out hoarse. “What if Dante finds out?”“He won’t.”He shook his head slowly, wincing. “You sound so certain, Val. But what if he does? What if he already suspects something? You saw how he looked at me in that room. How he dragged Marco in like evidence. What if—”“It doesn’t matter,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. The words burned on the way out.
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