Chapter 38

*Elio’s POV*

Panic isn't something I’m used to feeling, but tonight it’s all-consuming. Every second that ticks by without finding Grace feels like a punch to my gut. The fear I’ve been pushing down claws its way to the surface, tightening its grip around my chest. I can’t breathe properly, can’t think straight. All I know is that I have to find her. I *have* to.

I’ve never been this frantic before. Normally, I’m calm, collected, always in control. But Grace… she’s different. She’s not just some pawn in this game—she’s everything. And I didn’t even realize how much she meant to me until now, when the thought of losing her feels like the worst kind of hell.

I pace the length of my office, my hands tugging through my hair as I wait for any kind of update. Matteo is out there with the others, searching every possible place we think Moretti might have taken her, but so far, nothing. It’s like she vanished into thin air, and the not knowing is driving me insane.

My phone buzzes on the desk, and I snatch it up, hoping it’s Matteo with good news. But it’s another dead end.

"Fuck!" I slam the phone down onto the desk, the force of it reverberating through my bones. I can feel the tension building inside me, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles are white. I’m losing control, and I can’t afford that. Not now.

Grace’s face flashes in my mind—her soft eyes, her hesitant smile, the way she looked at me with trust, even when I didn’t deserve it. And then there’s that kiss. The kiss I never should’ve let happen. The kiss that changed everything.

She’s out there, alone, scared, and in danger because of me. Because I wasn’t careful enough. I should have kept her close, should have protected her better, but I let my guard down. And now Moretti has her.

I feel like a failure.

The weight of it all presses down on me, a constant reminder that I might be too late. What if she’s already…? No. I can’t go there. I can’t think like that. She’s alive. She has to be.

The door to my office swings open, and Matteo strides in, his expression grim but determined. He’s been running all over the city with our men, scouring every inch of Moretti’s territory, every place we know he operates from. He’s as exhausted as I am, but he’s not giving up either.

“We didn’t find anything,” Matteo says, his voice rough with frustration. “No trace of her at any of the locations.”

“Dammit.” I rub my hands over my face, the exhaustion settling in. I haven’t slept since she disappeared, and I won’t until she’s back with me, safe. But my body is wearing down. Every muscle aches, my eyes burn from lack of sleep, but none of it matters. Not until she’s found.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “We’re missing something. We’ve searched everywhere we can think of, but there’s got to be something we haven’t considered.”

Matteo watches me for a moment, as if trying to gauge how close I am to breaking down. I can tell he’s worried, not just about Grace but about me too. I don’t break—not in front of anyone. But tonight, I’m on the edge.

“You’re right,” Matteo says, his voice softer now. “There’s one place we haven’t looked yet. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only lead we’ve got left.”

I snap my gaze to him, hope flickering in my chest for the first time in hours. “Where?”

“There’s an old factory on the outskirts of the city, near the river. It’s been abandoned for years, but Moretti used to use it for storage back in the day. No one’s checked it out in a long time, not even our guys.”

“Why the hell didn’t you mention this sooner?” I snarl, my anger flaring up. But it’s not Matteo’s fault. I’m just desperate.

He holds up his hands in defense. “It’s a long shot, Elio. The place has been dead for years, but if Moretti’s trying to keep her somewhere off the radar, it makes sense.”

I don’t waste another second. I grab my gun from the desk drawer, shoving it into my holster as I storm out of the office. Matteo is right on my heels, already barking orders into his phone for the rest of the team to meet us there.

The drive to the factory feels like an eternity. Every red light, every slow-moving car in front of us is like torture. My mind is racing, going over every possible scenario, every outcome. If Moretti hurts her—if he so much as touches a hair on her head—I’ll kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Matteo doesn’t say a word from the passenger seat, but I can feel his tension too. He’s worried, just like I am. We’re running out of time.

When we finally arrive at the factory, the place is as desolate and grim as I imagined. The building looms over us, dark and decaying, a relic from a time long past. The windows are shattered, the doors rusted and barely hanging on their hinges. It looks like the kind of place where nightmares are born.

But if Grace is inside, it’s my nightmare.

We don’t waste any time. Matteo motions for the rest of the men to spread out, and we move in, guns drawn, ready for anything. The air is thick with tension, every creak of the building making my heart race. My pulse pounds in my ears as we push through the main entrance, sweeping every corner, every shadowy nook and cranny.

Nothing. The place is empty—at least, it seems that way.

But then I hear it. A faint sound, like something scraping against the floor. I freeze, signaling for Matteo to stop. We both listen intently, and there it is again—this time, louder. It’s coming from the far side of the building.

My heart leaps into my throat, and without another word, I rush toward the sound, my gun ready. I can hear Matteo close behind me, but all I can focus on is getting to her. I have to find her.

We reach a door that’s slightly ajar, and I push it open slowly, the hinges creaking in protest. Inside, the room is dimly lit, but I can see a figure slumped against the wall.

It’s her. It’s Grace.

She’s tied up, her wrists red and raw from the ropes, her face pale but alive. Relief floods through me, almost making my knees buckle. She’s alive.

“Grace,” I breathe, rushing to her side.

Her eyes flutter open, and when she sees me, there’s a flicker of something—relief, maybe, or disbelief. “Elio,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

I untie her wrists, my hands shaking with a mix of rage and relief. I’ve never been this close to losing control before, but the thought of what could have happened to her, what Moretti *could* have done—it’s too much. I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as if she might disappear if I let go.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter against her hair, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

But I’ll make sure Moretti pays for this.

And next time, I won’t let anyone get close to her. Ever again.