Page 15 of Silent Night With Luca

Marina nods quickly. “I am sure. No sign of her.”

I mutter a thanks and walk away, my frustration reaching its boiling point. It’s already 8:00, and I’ve been looking everywhere I can think of. If she’s not here, at the café, or anywhere else around town… then where the hell did she go?

I pull out my phone,my fingers moving quickly across the screen as I send a text to the head of security at the lodge. I don’t explain anything in the message. I don’t need everyone in the family knowing what’s going on—not yet. The last thing I need is Adrian or Elio breathing down my neck before I have all the answers.

Can you meet me in the command office? Need to check something on the security footage.

A few seconds pass, and the reply comes in.

On my way. Be there in 5.

I tuck the phone back into my pocket, pacing the length of the hallway, my mind running in circles. The fact that no one’s seen her, not even Marina, only makes me more suspicious. Something feels wrong. Normally, Fiamma would gloat if she slipped past me, but the silence… it’s unsettling.

Five minutes feel like an eternity, but finally, the head of security, Vin, arrives, his face as serious as ever. He’s a no-nonsense kind of guy, and I appreciate that about him.

“Luca,” he greets me with a firm handshake and a nod. “What’s going on?”

I motion for him to follow me down the hall toward the command office. “I need to see the security footage from last night and this morning.”

“Are you wondering about the power outage? Please I can tell you there were no bad actors there. Unless you want to blame mother nature.”

That isn’t a bad thought, considering now she is gone. “No, that isn’t it. I want to see when Fiamma left.”

Vin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask any more questions. He knows better than to press for details. “Alright,” he says, unlocking the door to the small office tucked away at the back of the lodge.

Once inside, the low hum of monitors fills the room, and Vin takes a seat in front of the screens. He starts pulling up footage, his fingers moving expertly across the keyboard.

“What am I looking for?” he asks, glancing back at me.

“Fiamma,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Check the exit doors on either side of her hall-entry door as well as her back patio door. I need to know when she left and which way she went. It was late last night or early—before sunrise.”

He nods and clicks through the feeds, the screens flickering as he cycles through the cameras positioned around the lodge. I stand behind him, my arms crossed, watching the footage closely. The timestamp reads 5:30 AM, then 6:00, and nothing. No sign of her.

It’s not until he switches to the rear exit camera that something catches my attention.

“There,” I say, stepping closer to the screen.

The footage is grainy, but unmistakable. At just before 7:00 AM, a man wearing a black ball cap knocks on her door, and she opens it, he grabs her, a hand covering her mouth. They exit out of the back door at the end of the hall to a waiting blacked-out SUV. They pull her out of the camera’s view, and the door quietly closes behind them.

My blood runs cold.

“How the fuck did this guy get in here?” I ask, seething.

Vin looks back at me, his scrutiny narrowing. “Who the hell was that?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

I clench my fists, my jaw tightening as the pieces start falling into place. Fiamma didn’t sneak out. She was taken.

The streetsof Winter Haven are alive with Christmas cheer. Strings of lights twinkle above the narrow roads, and holiday music drifts from every corner. It feels like the entire town is wrapped in a warm blanket of celebration. But I’m not feeling it. I’ve got Fiamma on my mind, and every minute that passes without her here just makes the knot in my chest tighten.

I haven’t told Adrian or Elio yet. After how pissed Adrian was last time, I’m not about to ruin everyone’s holiday unless I absolutely have to. If I need the big guns, I’ll call them. For now, I’ve got Sal.

I spot Sal’s hulking frame through the frosted glass of the coffee shop door. He’s hard to miss, even in a town full of brawny lumberjack types. As I push inside, the warmth and smell of espresso hit me like a wall.

Sal rises from his seat, all six-foot-six of him unfolding like some kind of mountain. His shaved head gleams under the shop’s twinkling lights, and the tattoos peeking out from his collar tell stories I’m not sure I want to know.

“Luca,” he grunts, extending a meaty hand. His grip could crush boulders, but I return it without flinching. That’s how you show respect in our world.

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