"Who." The word comes out broken. Shattered. "WHO FUCKING HAS HER?"
I'm already moving, wheeling toward the door with a force that sends Valentino stumbling back. The ring is clutched in my fist. Her blood is on my skin.
I will find whoever did this.
And I will tear them apart with my bare hands.
I'm through the gym door before Valentino can stop me. The wheels of my chair slam against the hardwood as I push myself faster than I've ever moved.
"BRUNO!" Valentino's footsteps pound behind me. "Wait—we need to think?—"
"Think?" I spin the chair around so fast I nearly tip it. "Someone has my wife. Someone has my pregnant wife. There is nothing to think about."
I pull out my phone. My hands shake so badly I almost drop it. I find Carlo's number—Antonella's guard, the man I assigned to protect her—and hit call.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
"Pick up," I snarl at the phone. "Pick up, you useless piece of shit."
Voicemail.
I call again.
Voicemail.
"FUCK!"
I hurl the phone at the wall. It shatters against the plaster.
This is my fault.
The thought slices through me like a blade. I knew the orphanage was a risk. I knew letting her go there, again and again, exposed her. But she loved it. She loved helping those kids, loved having something that was hers, and I couldn't bear to take that from her.
Not after everything else I'd already taken.
And now that she's pregnant?—
I should have stopped her. Should have insisted. Should have locked her in the compound and dealt with her anger because at least she would be safe. At least she would be here.
But I didn't want to make her sad.
I didn't want to see that light in her eyes dim.
And now some bastard has her. Some fucking coward took my wife to get to me, and I don't even know who they are.
"Bruno." Valentino catches up to me, barely winded despite sprinting down the corridor. "We need to be smart about this."
"Smart?" I laugh, and the sound is ugly. Broken. "Smart would have been keeping her locked up."
I start moving again, pushing toward Pietro's office. Every second I waste is a second she's with them. A second they could be hurting her. Hurting our baby.
The thought makes me want to vomit.
I burst through Pietro's door without knocking.