Chapter3

The car tore through the rain-slicked highway. An encrypted terminal, mounted on the center console, live-streamed a nightmare from the open sea. The harsh red countdown ticked away relentlessly: 05:12… 05:11…

Leo could barely even sob anymore. His tiny shoulders heaved. Gale-force winds whipped his thin pajamas tight against his frail body, and with every violent sway, he dangled one inch closer to the swarming sharks below.

Rocco gripped the steering wheel, veins bulging on his forearms.

"Madam, it's a Force 8 gale out there. Taking a civilian speedboat into those waters is suicide. We have no escort, no fire support—"

"Do I have a choice?" I kept my eyes locked straight ahead. "My son doesn't."

Rocco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the rest of his protests. After ten years of loyalty, he knew better than anyone: beneath my quiet endurance lay a fierce, reckless resolve to do whatever it takes.

My phone buzzed. A text from Dante lit up the screen: [I’ve calmed Bianca down. Heading out soon. Stay put and behave. Don’t do anything stupid to provoke the kidnappers.]

The absurdity of those words cut to the bone.

I didn't reply.

The car skidded into the old marina. Torrential rain hammered the decaying pier, while pitch-black waves surged and smashed against the jagged rocks. My father’s old speedboat sat quietly at the dock—a battered, unarmed civilian craft.

My father’s old crew stood waiting by the water.

"Miss, the engine is warmed up. Ready to cast off on your command."

I shoved the car door open, the driving rain instantly soaking me to the bone. "Everyone stays ashore. You aren't coming to die with me."

"Miss—!"

"Numbers won't help. They only want Dante. If I go alone, there might still be a chance."

Rocco took a step forward. "I'm coming with you."

I shook my head. "Stay here. If anything changes, patch it through to me immediately."

He clenched his fists, finally giving a solemn, heavy nod. "Madam. Please. Bring the young master back alive."

I didn't answer. I just turned and stepped onto the deck.

I cast off. The speedboat tore through the churning black swells, speeding deeper into the open sea.

04:37.

The sharks were growing frantic. A great white breached, its snapping jaws missing the hem of Leo's pajamas by inches. His fractured cries broke through the static: "Mommy... I'm scared..."

My heart seized. "Don't be afraid, baby. Mommy's here. I'm coming to get you right now."

As if finally recognizing my voice, the limp, exhausted little boy on the screen managed to lift his red, swollen eyes and nodded fiercely at the camera.

I didn't know what Dante was doing right then. But I could guess where he was—the safe house. The one with the plush wool rugs, the crackling fireplace, and the crystal decanters of whiskey. When he draped a blanket over Bianca, it would be a gentle gesture. When he handed her a glass, it would be just the right temperature.

I had seen his tenderness toward her. More than he ever showed me. More than he ever showed our son.

"Check the comms at the safe house," I told Rocco over the link.

"Madam?"

"Check the last time that phone was active on the family frequency."

On the screen, Rocco looked down at his console for a few seconds. When he looked back up, his expression was grim. "An hour ago. After that, all incoming calls were muted."

An hour ago. Exactly when Bianca had taken his phone.

The gale grew fiercer. I had the throttle pushed all the way forward.

Right then, the kidnapper's hoarse, icy voice suddenly crackled through the silent, one-way channel.

"Where is Dante?"

I stared straight into the camera. "He's on his way."

A two-second silence. Then, a dark, raspy chuckle. "The Mafia Don doesn't even give a damn about his own flesh and blood. You've got more balls than he does."

The speedboat slammed hard against the crest of a wave. I steadied the wheel, my eyes glued to the screen, where Leo's figure was now just a shrinking, pale speck.

Leo was still there. He was still alive.

"I'll take his place."

"Let Leo go, and I'll stay. You can do whatever you want with me."

The one-way channel went dead quiet. The kidnapper didn't respond.

Three seconds. Five seconds. The speedboat launched over another massive swell, and the voice crackled back to life over the speakers:

"You came alone?"

"Alone."

"Does he know you're here?"

"He doesn't care."

Through the darkness, the jagged silhouette of a cargo crane finally began to take shape.

The line was silent for a second.

Then he spoke.

"You can come within one kilometer. I make no other promises."

I froze. He hadn't accepted the trade.

I shoved the throttle to the absolute limit. The speedboat's engine let out a guttural roar against the storm, tearing toward the ship.

Countdown: 02:18.