Chapter 44. Back to Square One

The crystal decanter shattered against the marble floor. Amber liquor spread like blood beneath the desk.

Maurizio Benedetti stood behind it, motionless except for the faint tremor in his hand. His men lined the far wall, heads bowed, too afraid to speak.

It had been twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours since the church had gone up in smoke and gunfire. Since his son’s bride had vanished—stolen from the altar like a ghost.

And still, nothing.

“No trace,” one of the men stammered. “We searched all of Moroni’s known locations. The docks, the warehouse in Piacenza, the apartment above the bar on Via Cavour. Everything was cleared out days ago.”

Maurizio’s gaze shifted slowly toward him. “And his villa?”

“Quiet. Curtains drawn. No heat signatures. He’s gone.”

Maurizio’s jaw flexed, the sound of his breath steady but sharp. “So the bastard planned it.”

He turned toward the window. The reflection that looked back at him in the glass wa