NO TRACE II

NO TRACE II

Martina's POV

They were really confused.

The rustling of leaves suddenly turned everyone's head. Guns went up. Triggers twitched into fingers.

And every single one of them was trained on me.

I hesitated for half a second, paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. I'd followed them up to this point, hiding in the shadows of the blacked-out vans. No one had noticed me, not even when I walked around from the caravan to approach on foot, going the longer, more cautious way. I knew the roads. I knew the trees. I knew Silvio's fleet of cars sufficiently well to choose the most mundane, the most uninteresting one—the dark grey Fiat that probably hadn't left its parking space in years. I'd parked far in the background and crawled through thickets and brambles, ruining my jeans and probably scraping my face, just to glimpse the river. See him.

But the instant I trod on a thin branch, I was discovered.

Knight cursed softly, letting fall his gun first. "Martina?"

I nodded, air stuck in my chest. "I had to be here."

He didn't speak any further. Neither did Leonardo. But they did look frustrated, taut. Isabella pushed past a shocked recruit and reached me, taking my wrist.

"Martina, you're crazy. Do you know that?"

I faced her with all the passion in my heart. "I love him, Isabella. I love Silvio. I won't let anything happen to him."

Something flickered behind her eyes, then softened. Isabella let go of my wrist and stepped beside me. She didn’t try to send me back.

She knew better.

Suddenly, the distant thup-thup-thup of helicopter blades shattered the silence. All of us looked up in unison.

Knight gave a single, sharp nod. Leonardo mirrored it, and in a breath, the scene transformed.

The men vanished.

Into bushes. Behind the trees. Under the slope in the hill near the river. It was like watching a well-oiled machine dissolve into fumes. They dissolved into the dark, moving in perfect, trained unison.

I knelt once more, holding the little knife Knight had given me when I insisted on coming. Isabella crept in close beside me.

"This is madness," she whispered. "You shouldn't have come here."

"And yet, I am here."

The helicopter descended, the wind screaming past us, leaves and dust swirling up. I grunted against the blast, focused on every movement. The side door creaked open by a fraction, and two emerged—tall, angular, all-black tactical gear. No visible insignia adorned their uniforms. Just guns, vests, and resolve.

They were talking.

I couldn't make out the words against the wind and screeching blades, but I saw the motion. One of them indicated his ear. The other was looking out over the terrain. They were waiting for something—or someone.

My heart was racing.

I couldn't find Silvio. Where in the hell was the son of a bitch?

But I didn't have time to think otherwise because the next command went swiftly.

Leonardo burst out of the bushes like a demon unleashed, and in a single beautiful, awful movement, he whipped a knife straight for the closest man's throat. The blade sank deep.

The man collapsed like a sack of meat, his body jerking wildly, blood spouting from his throat in a great spray across the gravel.

The second guard reached for his comm.

He never got the chance.

Knight was. One second he wasn't, and the next he was. A blur of movement—faster than thought—and then his arm was wrapped around the man's neck, a knife against his throat so close I could see the red stripe spread out in a second.

Knight closed in, his voice soft, calm, lethal. "We have you now, sir."

The man trembled.

Leonardo stepped closer, extracting the comm device from the man's vest. "Speak."

The guard's mouth was open, but the words wouldn't come out. Knight rotated his wrist a little tighter, and the man gagged out, "He's not here. He's—he's already been transferred."

"Transferred where?" Knight barked, his voice as cold as a blade to cut steel.

"I don't know, I swear. They didn't say. Only coordinates. We were told to wait here. Guard the area. Nothing else.".

Leonardo growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "This was a fucking decoy."

"No," I said in a low, but steady voice. "It wasn't. They brought him here. I'm certain of it. That's his belt, over there." I pointed towards the scrub Leonardo had indicated to them earlier. "He was here. They moved him swiftly."

Knight slowly nodded, allowing the guard to slip into unconsciousness from the chokehold. "Leonardo, check the flight records. They didn't land recently. Find out what kind of chopper that is and where they might have flown off to next."

Leonardo pulled out his device, plugging it into a small scanner he inserted into the helicopter's external port. I could watch lines of code flash across the screen as he worked.

I crept closer to the riverbank. My chest was sore as if my ribs caved inward. My stomach revolted. There was no struggle. But there was a trail—scuffed boots in the earth, a handprint in mud. I crouched down, tracing my fingers across the print.

"Silvio…"
I breathed.

Isabella reached me. "We'll get him back."

My eyes became foggy for a moment. I blinked it away.

"He's not my husband," I said to her. "He's… He's my person. The only person who's ever really ever looked at me."

I swear, Isabella, if anyone hurts him, I will burn them to ashes.

She looked at me with something approaching approval."

"You really are one of us now."

A soft beep from Leonardo's scanner broke the tension.

"Got it," he yelled. "Private heli. Flight log says they're registered to a shell corp in Wellington Morgan's network. Lifted off again twenty-three minutes ago, headed south-southeast. Short cut."

Knight stood up from his chair. "That points towards the docks."

Leonardo nodded gravely. "Most likely to ship him out by sea. Maybe even get him to international waters."

"They want him out of here."

"Out and quiet," Leonardo agreed.

Knight cursed, pulling out his comm. "Full team. Load up. Now. We head to the docks. We cut them off before they get to water."

I followed them in the direction of the van on autopilot.

"Martina," Knight said menacingly again.

"I'm not left behind."

He didn't argue this time.

We climbed inside the vehicle, the engine already revving on. Isabella sat beside me, reloading her gun with crisp detachment.

I sat with my knife gripped tightly in my hand.

"Wait, Silvio," I panted. "I'm coming."

And if I get my hands on the son of a bitch who touched your hair—God have mercy on him.

Because I won't.