Page 32 of Until It Ends

Ipulled up in the yard, but there aren't an attendants out front to take the key from me, which is strange. The phone in my pocket buzzes incessantly, and I glance at it, frustrated that Giorgio keeps calling. Since when does my father's second-in-command ever call me.

Before I can even step out of the car, Giorgio comes rushing outside, his face pale and eyes wide with shock. "Dante, thank God you're here," he says, his voice trembling.

"What happened?" I demand, my concern turning into anxiety. I notice there's blood on his clothes, and my heart starts to race. Suddenly I get this very bad premonition. "Where's my father?"

"That's what I was calling you about. Where were you?" Giorgio says, his words choked. "Your father...he's..."

I don't wait for him to say more. I surge past Giorgio and run into the house, my mind racing with fear and dread. I can hear Giorgio and the other men trying to keep up with me, but nothing matters in this moment except getting to my father.

I take the stairs two at a time, praying that I'm not already too late. When I reach the top, I burst into my father's office, and the sight that meets my eyes is nothing short of horrifying.

My father is slumped over in his wheelchair, blood trickling down from his head. Panic grips me, and I rush to his side, my hands trembling as I try to assess the situation.

It's too late. He's already dead.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who did this?"

I lean him back and press down on his chest repeatedly, knowing that's not going to bring him back. The verdict is final, but I can't accept it. Tears well in my eyes as I try to get his heart pumping again. He's cold too the touch. So fold.

"We found him like this. It was thirty minutes or something." Giorgio replies, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"How the fuck?" I shove Giorgio so hard, he slams to the floor backward.

They were supposed to be protecting him.

I look around the office, my mind trying to piece together what happened. There's broken glass on the floor, and I can deduce that someone shot at him through the window. A sniper.

A cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach, and it feels like my whole world is crumbling around me. I'm wheezing. Hyperventilating. This can't be happening.

"No," I whisper, my voice breaking.

Giorgio and the others try to console me, but their words are lost on me. I am consumed by grief and anger, desperate to find the person responsible for this heinous act.

On my father's desk, I notice that his laptop is open, an email displayed on the screen. The email address catches my attention: FU111bastard@ email.com It's a taunt, a sick message from the person who did this to my father.

'I finished what she started. Balls in your court,' the email reads.

The rage within me intensifies, and I feel a fire burning through my veins. Whoever did this will pay, and they will pay dearly.

"I'm going to find them," I say, my voice cold and determined. "And when I do, there will be no mercy."

Something rips from me. Something that I've never ever felt. Before the first sobs escape my lips, I race out of my father's office and lock my self into another room to get it all out.

My father is dead.

Thirty-Three

Valeria

The night in the shed feels like an eternity. Fear, exhaustion, and uncertainty weigh heavily on my heart. The smelly shelter offers little comfort, and every sound outside sends shivers down my spine. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts—thoughts of escape, thoughts of survival, and thoughts of the life growing inside me.

I keep having flashbacks of the time when I was homeless, sometimes living out on the streets to escape the mob's wrath.

As the first light of dawn begins to break through the cracks in the walls, I hear the unmistakable sound of tires crunching on gravel. My heart leaps to my throat, and I crawl toward the cracks to get a glimpse of what's happening outside.

At first, I thought it was a mistake when I see the same van pull up and stop in front of me. When I see Rocco step out, my heart sinks. He reaches into the back and drags Dante out. Dante looks battered and bruised as if he's been going through the ringer. My heart races as I watch helplessly, part of me wanting to do something, while the other knows it's impossible because I'm tied up.

My wrists and ankles are also raw from all the pulling I've done and I'm nearly dehydrated after not having had any food or water.

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