Chapter 194: What truth?

Chapter 194: What truth?
Leonardo

Fury churned in my chest like a storm I couldn’t tame. The fact that Aurora couldn’t tell me about Eleanora hurt more than I wanted to admit. She hadn’t trusted me with something that important—hadn’t trusted me enough. And now, she was gone. Vanished. No trace, no answers, nothing but a gnawing dread eating away at me.

I’d had Salvatore track her phone and car the second I called and she wasn’t picking up. The trail had led to a small café tucked in the middle of Rome, one of those quiet places where people disappeared into the crowd and left nothing behind but a coffee-stained receipt. That was where the signal had died, like someone had crushed the phone to dust or tossed it into the Tiber.

Eleanora’s phone would have been the next logical step, but we’d cut ties a long time ago. I didn’t even have access to her Apple ID. Not that I ever did.

I had men combing through every possible place Dario could be hiding, every warehouse, every safe house, every shadow in the city. I’d had someone check the prison to confirm if he was still locked up. And of course, he wasn’t. It didn’t surprise me. I’d been played—by Eleanora, of all people.

Hours bled into nearly a full day. Twenty-four hours of nothing. No leads, no sightings, no goddamn answers. I pushed harder, pressed my men to the edge, but still nothing.

Then, finally, my phone buzzed—a location from an unknown number. My men traced it in seconds.

Eleanora.

“I’m going,” I said before anyone could breathe a word.

“Boss, wait,” Salvatore’s voice cut through the air, low and firm. “This could be some kind of trap.”

“I don’t fucking care,” I bit out, already on my feet. “I need to find her.”

Salvatore’s jaw tightened. “Fine. I’m coming with you—and we’re bringing heavy reinforcements.”

I didn’t argue. For once, I didn’t have it in me. Whatever waited at that address, I knew I’d need all the backup I could get.

Within minutes, Salvatore was on the phone, arranging men and transport, his clipped Italian orders slicing through the air as I stood there, the unknown location pulsing on my screen like a countdown.

Hold on, Aurora. Just hold on.

The pin on the screen mocked me with every passing second. Turin. Not Rome. Seven hours away by road.

I wanted to take the jet, but my pilot’s voice over the phone had been firm. “The weather’s bad, Signore. Another five hours at least, maybe twelve if it worsens.”

I didn’t have five hours. I didn’t have five minutes.

“Prepare the cars,” I’d ordered, already storming out.

Beside me, Salvatore raised an eyebrow as the convoy lined up. “We’re driving to Turin?”

“Shut your trap,” I muttered, sliding behind the wheel.

The engine roared to life, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in my chest. The road stretched endlessly before us, headlights cutting through the darkness like blades. My grip on the steering wheel was bone-white.

Every mile felt like a lifetime. Anxiety gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Why the hell would Eleonora send me her location? Was it a setup? A desperate plea? I didn’t care. All that mattered was Aurora.

For all I knew, she could be bleeding out somewhere, starving, terrified—and I was wasting time thinking.

By the time we finally reached the address, dawn had just begun to break, washing the edges of the sky in pale grey. The place loomed ahead, a hulking shadow of rusted steel and cracked glass: Il Vecchio Deposito, one of those forgotten warehouses where the air reeked of oil and old secrets.

My men fanned out instantly, weapons raised, faces set.

“Deal with them,” I ordered, voice sharp as glass. “I’m going to find Dario.”

Chaos erupted behind me—gunfire snapping through the air, the heavy thud of fists meeting flesh. I didn’t look back. I pushed deeper into the maze of corridors, each step pounding with the same thought: Aurora.

I kicked through door after door, empty rooms swallowing my curses. Dario was nowhere.

“Damn it!” My fist slammed into the wall, the impact jolting up my arm.

Then—soft, stuttering, barely audible—“Le… Leonardo?”

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

The voice came again, ragged but achingly familiar. “Is that… you?”

I didn’t think. I moved, following the sound down a narrow hallway to a heavy metal door. Locked.

“Open this,” I barked.

Two of my men rushed forward, rifles slung over their shoulders as they battered at the frame. The metal shrieked in protest before giving way, crashing inward.

I stepped into the dim room, and my heart twisted.

Aurora.

She was curled in the corner, frail and trembling, her once-vivid red hair a tangled mess. Her wrists were bound behind her back, angry welts marking her skin. Her wide, glassy eyes met mine—and something in my chest nearly gave out.

I rushed across the room, the clatter of my boots on concrete echoing in my ears. Aurora wasn’t alone.

Another figure was slumped beside her, wrists bound, dark hair falling over a familiar face—Eleanora.

For a heartbeat, I faltered. Wait… was she also kidnapped?

No. No way. She had to be in on this. She’d sold Aurora out—why the hell would she be tied up next to her?

My eyes darted to the corner: half-empty plates of stale food, a cracked bottle of water rolling on its side. The air reeked of damp and neglect.

Then a choked sob tore through the haze. Aurora. Shoulders shaking, tears streaking her face.

I dropped to my knees beside Aurora, cupping her face in both hands. Her skin was ice-cold, and it made something twist painfully inside me.

She broke then, sobbing against my palms. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“Aurora,” I said, my voice breaking around her name. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head slowly, tears still spilling.

“Then why are you crying? Are you in pain? Talk to me. Please. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t tell you the truth.”

A hard knot formed in my chest. “What truth?”