“Talk to me, boss.”
“They took her,” I say. “I want the video pulled from every camera in the building. I want Luigi on a fucking hook, alive. I want Chiara questioned. I want?—”
“I’m already on it. Do you want me to call in Sal?”
I pause. Bringing in Sal means using old methods, the kind that solve problems with force. “No,” I say. “Not yet. We do this clean.”
“Got it,” Enzo says. “Do you want me at the penthouse?”
“I need you everywhere. But start here.”
He hangs up. I text Carina’s mother, who answers instantly: Send her to me. I’ll prepare.
My next call is to the doorman, who answers, for once in his life, on the first ring.
“Yes, Mr. Morrone?”
“Who came through the lobby in the last hour?”
A shuffle of paper. “Um, only two people, sir. Luigi, your security, and a delivery for Miss Stuyvesant. No package, just a message. I sent him up. He had ID.”
I grit my teeth. “You have the name?”
He shuffles. “Let me check. Yes, it was—” He hesitates. “Matthews. Samuel Matthews.”
I write it down, my grip tight on the pen. “What did he look like?”
“Tall, sir. Pale. Maybe late forties? Had a badge. Very polite.”
Enzo calls in. I answer, tense and ready for anything, but his calm voice makes me pause.
“Alessio,” he says. “I have the footage. He’s not Russian. He’s not mob. I know the face.”
I step away from Carina, my heart pounding. “Who?”
“He’s with the Feds. Or, he was. He’s a retirement ghost. But I think he’s freelance now. My guess? She was targeted. Not for you, but for her. For her father. Or for leverage.”
Remembering her pressed against me last night, her hair brushing my cheek, makes my eyes blur for a moment.
I say, “Get me everything on Matthews. I want every detail, even his mother’s maiden name. And then make sure he can’t hide.”
Enzo’s voice is ice. “Already started.”
The line closes. I turn back to Carina, who’s in the foyer with a small suitcase and a cigarette behind her ear. She stands a little off-balance, eyes steady. “You’ll find her,” she says, sounding certain as she enters the elevator, half-angel, half-devil, entirely Morrone.
When I’m alone, I take a moment at the window. The city below looks like a map of chances and risks. I stare at the skyline and make a promise to myself: I won’t let anyone take what’s mine.
I call one number after another, working through my contacts until sunrise lights up my office.
By nightfall, I will have her.
Anyone who tries to keep her from me will regret ever knowing my name.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LUCY
You forget how loud the world actually is until someone turns off the city.