Chapter 2 - THE HIDDEN HOSTAGE
The rain beat against the arched glass windows of my private study like a swarm of needles.
I stood in the center of the room, staring at the little girl sitting on my leather sofa. She was holding a warm mug of hot chocolate with both of her tiny hands, her knees tucked under her cotton dress.
Her name was Mia. She was six years old, the daughter of my head housekeeper. And in twelve hours, she had completely shattered the reality I had spent three years building with Isabella.
"Mia," I said softly, dropping down to one knee so I was at eye level with her. My hand, which had signed death warrants for cartel lieutenants without flinching, was trembling. "What else did you hear in the garden?"
Mia took a small sip from her mug, her dark eyes looking into mine with complete innocence. "The man on her phone was loud, Mr. Aleandro. I could hear his voice through the speaker. He told Miss Isabella that if she didn't put the little black box in your office by midnight, he would send her a finger in a box."
My chest seized. Cold adrenaline flooded my veins.
"A finger?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Did he say whose finger?"
Mia nodded, her lower lip trembling. "He said, 'Your little sister's fingers are very small, Isabella. It would be a shame if she couldn't play the piano anymore.'"
Sofia.
The name slammed into my brain like a freight train.
Sofia was Isabella’s eight-year-old sister. A quiet child with soft curls who loved drawing in my garden whenever she visited the estate. Three weeks ago, Isabella told me Sofia had been sent to a private boarding school in Switzerland to prepare for her music studies.
It was a lie.
Sofia had never boarded a flight to Geneva.
Isabella hadn't been planning my downfall. She was being tortured. She was standing in the dark, caught between the man she loved and the child who shared her blood, forced to sell my soul to buy her sister’s life.
I stood up slowly, the blood roaring in my ears so loudly I could barely hear the rain outside.
"Mia," I whispered, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small gold coin—my family's crest engraved on the surface. "You did a very brave thing today. Go back to your mother in the kitchen. Do not speak a word of this to anyone. Not even the guards."
"Is Miss Isabella going to be okay?" Mia asked, looking up at me with wide eyes.
May you like
I looked toward the heavy oak stairs leading up to the third floor, where the woman I loved was locked behind a steel-reinforced door under the watch of four armed guards.
"She is going to be fine," I said, my voice hardening into pure steel. "Because I am going to tear New York apart until I find her sister."
