Page 38 of Hunter

“That’s what he said,” she murmurs, offering me a faint smile.

“When’s your first appointment?” I ask, trying to distract myself with another sip of water to wash away the bitter taste of the whiskey. If she wasn’t here, I’d be calling the manager to demand something drinkable instead of this crap.

“I don’t have one yet. His assistant will call me tomorrow to set it up.”

“Don’t hesitate. Schedule it as soon as you can,” I tell her. “If we need to leave earlier, we will.” She nods then asks if we can change the subject. I comply without hesitation, and we continue our dinner mostly in silence, only small talk breaking the stillness. She spends most of the time staring out the window, lost in thought. It’s not the evening I had envisioned, but I remind myself to be patient. One step at a time. So much has happened in the last few days, the last few months, even, and I can’t expect her to just snap back to how things were, not like this.

As we walk back to our room, she tells me, almost in a whisper, that when she feels ready, she wants to know who took her. Her voice trembles, but her eyes hold a quiet determination that twists something deep inside me. I stay silent, my throat tightening as shame and frustration churn in my chest. I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth—that I don’t know who’s responsible, and I’m no closer to an answer than I was when this all started.

The frustration gnaws at me, relentless and consuming. Earlier today, Luca called with another dead end. The location where Sophia was held—our one tangible lead—was professionally cleaned, leaving behind no traces, no clues. It wasas if whoever did this vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a void for me to chase.

The weight of that call is still crushing me, and now, hearing her speak of wanting answers, I feel like I’m failing her all over again. She deserves to know. She deserves justice. But what do I tell her when I have nothing? The helplessness is suffocating.

That person could be planning something right now, and I’d be powerless to stop it. My grip on her hand tightens involuntarily, and she glances up at me, her brow furrowed in concern. I force myself to relax, to offer her a reassuring squeeze, but inside, I’m unraveling. I’ve sworn to protect her, yet with every passing day, the distance between me and the truth feels insurmountable.

All I can do is keep up the precautions—extra security for my business, my home, for Sophia and me. But it doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough.

After we reach the room, it doesn’t take long for Sophia to fall asleep. Her breathing evens out, and the faint rise and fall of her chest should bring me some comfort, but it doesn’t, not when my head is a storm of dead ends and unanswered questions.

Needing some air, I step outside, letting the cool breeze brush against my face. I pause, staring up at the night sky, its vastness only amplifying the emptiness I feel. A silent plea rises within me, desperate and raw. Just give me something. Anything. A clue. A sign. Point me in the right direction. The man who asked Sophia for the luggage was who he said he was. A bellhop. I checked the information I requested from my IT guy earlier, and there was nothing suspicious from the footage he sent me, nothing in the man’s background check.

Luca and I have been chasing shadows. His men hauled off the bodies we found, combing through every detail, but nothing connects. No gang ties. No organization. Just a group of nobodies—random people with no discernible link. It doesn’tmake sense. Every lead we follow collapses like a house of cards, leaving us right back where we started. Every piece of information feels deliberately scrubbed, leaving nothing but questions in its wake.

Sophia’s soft whimpering from inside the room pulls me out of my thoughts. I glance at the sky one last time, releasing a shaky breath. Whoever you are, I will find you. I don’t care how long it takes.

I step back into the room, the faint light casting shadows across the walls. Sophia is tangled in the sheets, her brow furrowed, caught in the throes of a nightmare. My chest tightens as I move to her side, gently pulling her into my arms. Her body is tense, trembling slightly, but as I hold her closer, her breathing steadies, and the tension in her frame melts away.

She’s safe now. At least for the moment, she’s safe.

I stay there, cradling her, my chin resting lightly on her head. The weight of exhaustion finally drags me under, and with Sophia in my arms, I allow myself to drift into the deep, restless sleep I’ve been chasing for days.

SIXTEEN

MAXIM

Laughter—joyous, carefree laughter—echoes through the air as the beautiful woman who consumed my dark heart breaks through the water, rising from the slide. She had woken up to a call from her therapist’s assistant, which led to a video consultation. The moment she hung up, I could see it: a small weight lifting off her shoulders. The darkness still lingers in her eyes, but it’s lighter now. I can tell she’s making progress.

She’ll be seeing him twice a week once we’re back. And if she has a bad day, he promised to be just a call away. As much as I want to be the one she leans on, I know I can’t be everything. Still, I can’t help but feel this creeping jealousy over Bobby. He may be her therapist and an old friend, but the way he drops everything for her, the way he’s always there—it rubs me the wrong way.

For now, though, all that matters is that she’s enjoying herself. She’s laughing and smiling, has been all morning, moving from the pool to the ocean, sunbathing, taking the slide into the water. Watching her let go like this brings me a sense of peace I didn’t realize I needed.

I try to focus on the work Andrei sent me—bank statements from the Antonellis. There wasa large deposit into his accountjust before Sophia was kidnapped, and I’m trying to trace any connections. So far, I’ve found that this account has sent him money four times this year—on the day Andrei was shot, the day the warehouse burned, and the day Sophia was taken. The last transaction, though, has no clear match.

I’ve passed the information along to my tech guy, Jerry. He’s supposed to dig into the numbers and track down the source. He also gave me access to Marcos’ email account, which I’m planning to sift through next. I can feel the answers are just beyond my reach. Everything’s there. I can almost taste it, but I can’t seem to get close enough to pull back the curtain.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of water hitting my computer pulls me from my thoughts. I look up to find Sophia hovering above me, her eyes—those deep, soulful eyes—locked on mine. Her wet hair drips onto the table, and for a moment, I just watch her, appreciating her presence. She’s wearing a full-body swimsuit that covers her scars on her stomach and the leg. She told me earlier how hard it was for her to see the marks on her body. I was an idiot for only packing two-piece swimsuits, the ones she used to wear, but I had one of my men buy her a couple of one-pieces so she could enjoy herself without hesitation.

“Are you planning on working all day?” Her voice is flirtatious, teasing, pulling me away from the darkness swirling in my head. She grabs my laptop and places it on the round table. I raise an eyebrow, surprised by the tone of her words.

I lean forward, placing my hands on the arms of the chair, and close the space between us. Our foreheads almost touch. “Guess not,” I murmur with a chuckle, a wicked smile playing on my lips. I know exactly where this is heading.

I shouldn’t follow her. I should shut this down and tell her now isn’t the right time. But I’m weak when it comes to her—weak to the way she looks at me, weak to the way she makes me feel.

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