Chapter 16 The call
The van rumbled over uneven roads for what felt like hours. My wrists throbbed from the zip ties, raw and bleeding where I’d twisted against them. The Rossi man—Scarface, I’d started calling him in my head—sat opposite me, silent now, checking his phone every few minutes. No threats. No questions. Just watching me like I was cargo.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Didn’t beg.
I stared at the metal floor and let my mind go numb.
Sophia’s words kept looping: He told me every detail… He’s tolerating you because of your father… You’re just convenient.
I wanted to believe they were lies. But the photo. The date. The way Dante hadn’t corrected her. The way he’d stood there while she called me little sister.
It fit too perfectly.
The van slowed. Stopped. Doors opened. Cold air rushed in.
Scarface grabbed my arm, hauled me out. A small warehouse—abandoned, brick walls tagged with old graffiti, snow piled against the loading dock. They dragged me inside, shoved me into a small office room with a single chair and a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.
They cut the ankle ties. Left the wrists bound. Locked the door.
I sat on the cold concrete floor, back against the wall.
And waited.
No one came for a long time.
My phone was gone—taken in the struggle. No way to call. No way to know if Dante even knew I was missing yet.
I closed my eyes.
Tried not to think about him.
Failed.
His face kept appearing behind my lids—storm-gray eyes, the way they softened when he kissed me, the way they darkened when he came inside me. The way he’d whispered I love you like it was the first time he’d ever said it to anyone.
Lies.
All of it.
I hugged my knees tighter.
Hours passed. Or minutes. Time lost meaning in the dim room.
Then—footsteps outside.
The door opened.
Not Scarface.
Another man—older, Rossi family ring on his finger, expensive coat over a suit. He looked at me like I was a problem to solve.
“Antonio’s daughter,” he said. Voice calm. Almost polite. “You look just like him.”
I didn’t answer.
He crouched in front of me. “We’re not going to hurt you. Not yet. We just need Dante to come to us. You’re the bait.”
Bait.
Of course.
I stared past him at the wall.
He sighed. “You don’t have to talk. But when he calls—and he will—tell him we want a meeting. Neutral ground. Tomorrow night. He comes alone, or we start sending pieces of you home.”
He stood. Left.
The door locked again.
I didn’t move.
My mind drifted back to the estate. To Dante.
He’d be tearing the city apart by now. Guards mobilized. Phones ringing. Marco barking orders. Dante—furious, frantic, blaming himself.
Good.
Let him feel it.
Let him know what it’s like to lose something you thought you owned.
My phone—wait. They’d taken it. But Dante would call the estate line. Maria would answer. She’d tell him I was gone.
He’d know.
And he’d call.
He always called.
The bulb flickered overhead.
I waited.
My body ached—cold seeping through my clothes, wrists burning. But the pain in my chest was worse.
I hated him.
I loved him.
I hated that I loved him.
The door opened again.
Scarface this time. He held my phone—screen cracked but still working.
“Boss says you talk to him. Now.”
He crouched. Held the phone to my ear. Dialed.
It rang once.
Dante answered on the first ring.
“Liliana?” His voice was raw. Broken. “Baby, where are you?”
I didn’t speak.
“Liliana—talk to me. Please.”
Scarface pressed the phone harder against my ear.
Dante’s breathing was ragged. “I know you’re with them. I know they took you. Marco found the gate open. Your footprints in the snow. Tell me you’re okay. Just say something.”
Silence.
“Liliana…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. For everything. For Sophia. For not telling her the truth. For letting you think—fuck, for letting you think you were anything less than mine. I was trying to protect you. Keep you out of the business. But I fucked up. I know I did.”
I closed my eyes. Tears slipped free.
“Please,” he whispered. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come. I’ll trade myself. Just don’t let them hurt you.”
Scarface spoke then. “She’s alive. For now. You want her back? Tomorrow night. Old docks. Warehouse 17. Alone. No men. No guns. Or we start cutting.”
Dante’s voice turned lethal. “If you touch her, I will burn your entire family to the ground.”
Scarface laughed. “Big words. See you tomorrow, Moretti.”
He ended the call. Pocketed the phone.
I stared at the floor.
Scarface left.
The bulb flickered again.
I curled tighter into myself.
Dante would come.
He’d walk into a trap.
For me.
The girl he called little sister to the world.
The girl he’d fucked and discarded in the same breath.
I should hate him enough to let him die.
But I didn’t.
I loved him too much.
And that was the worst part.
I pressed my forehead to my knees.
Whispered into the dark.
“Please don’t come.”
But I knew he would.
Because Dante Moretti always kept his promises.
Even the ones that would kill him.