Page 86 of Beautifully Broken
“Tony’s right,” Daddy says, standing too, his voice calm but resolute. “We’re not letting you wander off on your own, Sasha. If this is what you need, we’re in. All of us.”
I look at Nonno, expecting resistance, a logical argument about risks and boundaries. But he surprises me, his lips curving into a small, determined smile. “You’re not the only one with a knack for solving puzzles, piccolina. I’ve spent decades analyzing patterns, piecing together clues to help my clients. If you’re set on this, I’m with you. We’ll be careful, but we’ll help.”
My heart swells, a mix of gratitude and love for these men who’d follow me into the unknown. “You don’t have to—”
“We want to,” Daddy interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re ours, Sasha. We take care of each other. That’s the deal.”
I blink back tears, nodding. “Okay. Thank you. All of you.”
“Alright, then,” Uncle Tony says, clapping his hands together. “Where do we start, boss?”
I take a deep breath, my instincts kicking in. “Back at the airport. We talk to the father, see basic info—her name, her description, where she was last seen. Then we ask around, check security footage if they’ll let us, look for witnesses. Santorini’s small, so someone had to see something.”
Nonno nods, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call the car rental company, make sure we have the SUV for mobility. Gene, check the villa’s security, make sure we have a safe base to come back to. Anthony, grab some water and snacks; we might be out for a while.”
“On it, Pops,” Uncle Tony says, already heading for the kitchen.
Daddy kisses my forehead. “We’ve got this, sweetheart. Together.”
***
The airport is still buzzing when we return, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the terminal. The crowd has thinned, but the distraught fatheris still there, sitting on a bench near the baggage claim, his face buried in his hands. A police officer stands nearby, taking notes, while a small group of onlookers lingers, whispering.
I approach cautiously, my heart pounding. “Excuse me, sir?” I say in English, hoping he understands. “I’m Sasha. I heard about your daughter. Can I ask you a few questions? We want to help.”
He looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. He’s middle-aged, with thinning hair and a crumpled suit, the picture of a man unraveling. “You … help?” he says, his German accent thick. “Police say they look, but no one finds my Lena. She’s twenty-two, my only girl. She landed, called me from baggage claim, said she’d meet me outside. Then … nothing. Her phone … off.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice catching. “What’s her name? Lena? Can you tell me what she looks like, what she was wearing?”
“Lena Hoffman,” he says, pulling out his phone to show me a photo. She’s beautiful; blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a wide smile. “She wore jeans, white shirt, green jacket. She had a blue backpack. Please, if you know anything…”
“We’ll do our best,” I promise, memorizing the details. “Did she say anything else? Anyone she was meeting, anywhere she might have gone?”
He shakes his head. “No. She was excited—her first trip here. She said she’d wait by the exit. Then … gone.”
Daddy rests a hand on my shoulder, his voice low. “Sasha, we’ll start bythe exits. Tony, check the taxi stand. See if any drivers saw a girl matching her description. Dad, maybe ask the airport staff about security footage?”
“Got it,” Uncle Tony says, striding off with purpose.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Nonno adds, heading toward the information desk.
I turn back to Mr. Hoffman. “We’ll look for her, I promise. Stay here in case she comes back. If you hear anything, call the police, and us.” I scribble my WhatsApp number on a scrap of paper and hand it to him.
He nods, tears welling up. “Thank you. Please, bring my Lena back.”
We fan out, my heart racing as I scan the exits. The area is chaotic—tourists with suitcases, families reuniting, drivers holding signs. I ask a few people if they’ve seen a blonde girl in a green jacket, but no one has. My mind flashes back to Mia—her laughter, her fear, the way I’d failed her. I shake it off, focusing on Lena.
Uncle Tony returns, shaking his head. “No luck with the taxi drivers. One guy thought he saw a girl in a green jacket get into a black van with tinted windows, no plates he could see, about an hour ago, but he wasn’t sure.”
“A van?” My stomach twists; this feels like a bad crime drama now. “That’s not good. People don’t just vanish from airports without a trace. Someone took her.”
Nonno joins us, his expression grim. “The staff wouldn’t let me see footage, privacy rules, but they confirmed a security camera caught a blonde woman in a green jacket near the east exit around 2:00 PM. She was with two men, looked like they were in a hurry. The police are reviewing it now.”
“Two men and a van,” I mutter, my journalist brain piecing it together. “This feels planned. Santorini’s small. Where would they take her? Not far, not with tourists and police everywhere.”
Daddy frowns, thinking. “The island’s got villas, hotels, remote spots. A van could blend in, especially in the tourist areas. But a secluded villa would be perfect; private, out of sight.”
“Like ours,” I say, a chill running through me. “We need to check the area near our place. If they’re hiding her, it’d be somewhere quiet, away from the main towns.”
