Too Much To Carry

Too Much To Carry
Enzo’s POV

The door closed behind Dante with a violent slam, loud enough to rattle the glass on the shelves. The broken chair he kicked earlier still lay on its side near the wall. Matteo stood frozen for a moment, staring at the door as if he needed one more second to keep himself from breaking something else. His jaw was set. His eyes were dark. He muttered a few sharp words under his breath before he finally walked out too.

The office became painfully quiet once the door clicked shut. Smoke from the earlier chaos still floated in the air. It mixed with the scent of burnt wood and the bitter smell of spilled whiskey. I stood there alone, staring at nothing, feeling everything.

I lowered myself into the chair slowly. My shoulders felt heavier than they ever had. I dragged both hands through my hair and let out a long breath that barely eased anything. The tension in my chest stayed exactly where it was.

“Fuck,” I whispered. It came out low, rough, like my voice had been scraped against concrete.

Everything felt wrong. The air. The entire house. My own body. Even the silence felt like a weight pressing down on me. Dante was too angry to think straight. Matteo was one second away from losing control completely. That left me. The one who had to keep a clear head. The one who had to pull everything together.

My hands were shaking slightly. I forced them still on the desk.

I had not slept since yesterday. Every time I blinked, I saw her face. I saw the moment she was pulled from us. I saw the panic in her eyes, even if she had tried to hide it. When I let myself think for too long, I imagined what the Russians might be doing to her right now. The thought dug into my stomach and twisted until breathing became a fight.

Aria always rubbed her hands together when she was cold. She would blow warm air into her palms like a child trying to warm up tiny fingers. Sometimes I would take her hands in mine just to stop her from freezing. She always smiled a little when I did. Just a small curve of her lips, barely there. But it made my chest warm every time.

I would give everything to see that small smile again.

The house felt wrong without her in it. She used to sit in the hallway and talk with Chiara for hours. She brought softness into every room without trying. She kept the brothers steady even when they pretended they did not need her. In less than a day without her, everything had fallen apart. The walls felt colder. Every sound felt sharp. Every silence felt dangerous.

I leaned forward and pulled the map across the table. I traced the marked routes again, repeating the same facts.

The Russians blew up our boats right after they escaped. They wanted to make sure we could not follow them. Patrol reports said they switched from a larger boat to a small speedboat after the explosion. That meant they were already far ahead, probably close to the border.

I slammed my palm on the table. The maps shook, but nothing inside me changed.

Nathan came to my mind again. Nathan was a reckless idiot, but he was not capable of organizing an attack this clean and this coordinated. He lost too many men. He did not have the brains for it. The Russians had to be behind everything. Nathan never had clearance to enter the basement where Valentina was kept. Yet that area was blown up too, and Valentina had been dying long before that.

The Russians covered every trace. They left nothing behind for us to find. No evidence. No chance. No mistakes.

A sharp knock on the door cut through my thoughts. I lifted my head fast.

“Enter.”

David stepped inside. One of my most trusted men. His face was tense, but steady. He carried a tablet in one hand and a damaged security drive in the other.

“Boss,” he said. “This is what we managed to recover.”

I stood up as he placed the tablet on the desk. His voice was calm as he explained that the fire and explosion destroyed almost all the security footage. But he and his team had recovered one fragment from the north corridor. The same place Matteo hid Aria in the secret compartment before the attack.

I tapped the screen. The footage opened.

It was shaky and full of static. Smoke drifted across the view like fog. Matteo appeared on the screen, guiding Aria toward the hidden wall. She moved quickly but her head kept turning back. I felt my chest clench just seeing her image again.

Then something in the far corner caught my eye. A figure. Standing completely still. Watching them. Waiting.

The face was too blurry to recognize.

“Hold on,” David said. He pulled another device from his pocket. “We enhanced the still frame.”

He handed it to me.

The image sharpened. The face came into focus, but I did not know him. A young man. Nervous. Unsteady. Trying too hard to blend into the background.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“New worker,” David replied. “Joined a few weeks ago. Only did simple tasks. Deliveries. Cleaning rotations. Had no access to restricted areas. He did not draw attention.”

No one suspected him. No one questioned him. He was always present, always nearby, always watching.

My mouth tightened.

It clicked in my head all at once. Nathan needed someone on the inside. Someone who moved quietly. Someone who stood in the corners and blended in with the walls. The Russians needed confirmation of Aria’s location. Someone had to see Matteo hide her.

This man watched her. This man sent the signal. This man was the missing thread.

I stared at the enhanced picture for a long moment. My jaw locked. My voice came out calm and cold.

“Bring him in.”

The room felt colder when I said it. Or maybe that was just me.

Because the weight I was carrying was becoming too much for one person to hold.