Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT SOPHIA FOUND HER VOICE
Pier 323 had been abandoned for six years.
Officially.
Unofficially, someone had restored power to the eastern warehouse.
Marco found the electricity draw.
I found the rage.
Juliana’s last request echoed in my head.
Do not become the man your enemies expect you to become.
That was difficult advice to follow when your six-year-old daughter had been kidnapped.
We arrived shortly after midnight.
Emma stayed in the armored SUV with two guards.
At least that was the plan.
Marco and I entered through the river side.
The warehouse smelled of rust and cold water.
We found Teresa first.
She was tied inside an office.
Alive.
“Where’s Sophia?”
“They moved her.”
“Who?”
“Bellini. Anthony. Two other men.”
“Anthony hurt her?”
Teresa shook her head violently.
“No. He kept arguing with Bellini. He told Sophia not to be scared.”
Good.
That meant we still had an ally inside.
Then gunfire cracked from the far end of the building.
We moved.
Marco took the upper walkway.
I followed a service corridor.
At the end, I saw Anthony.
He stood outside a steel door.
Blood covered one side of his face.
When he saw me, he immediately lowered his gun.
“You took your time.”
I nearly hit him.
Instead I grabbed his shoulders.
“Where is she?”
“Inside.”
“Bellini?”
“Gone.”
“What?”
“He figured out I signaled you. Left ten minutes ago.”
“With Sophia?”
Anthony shook his head.
“No. He couldn’t move her.”
My heart froze.
“What happened?”
“Fever. She collapsed.”
I shoved through the door.
Sophia lay on a cot.
Her skin looked gray.
Emma was already beside her.
I stared at her.
“How did you—”
“I stopped waiting in the SUV.”
Of course she had.
Sophia’s eyes fluttered.
Emma checked her temperature.
“104.2.”
“Hospital.”
“Immediately.”
Anthony handed Emma a vial.
“This is what Bellini gave her.”
Emma examined the label.
“Did he inject it?”
“No. He was preparing to. I stopped him.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Emma put it into a sealed bag.
Sophia suddenly started shaking.
I lifted her.
Her head fell against my chest.
“Sophia.”
No response.
“Sophia, look at Daddy.”
Her eyelashes moved.
I carried her toward the exit.
The entire world narrowed to the weight of my daughter in my arms.
We were halfway outside when a rifle shot shattered the glass above us.
Marco pushed us behind a concrete barrier.
“Sniper!”
Anthony fired toward a rooftop.
Emma crouched beside me.
Sophia began struggling to breathe.
“Lorenzo, we have to move.”
Another shot struck the wall.
I pulled off my coat and covered Sophia’s body.
Marco shouted something through his radio.
A vehicle roared around the corner.
Our armored SUV.
It stopped between us and the roof.
We ran.
Minutes later, we were racing toward Manhattan.
Emma worked on Sophia in the back seat.
Oxygen.
Cooling packs.
Medication.
My daughter’s small fingers searched blindly until they found mine.
I held on.
“Stay with me.”
Her lips moved.
No sound.
“What?”
She tried again.
I leaned closer.
“Daddy.”
Everything stopped.
For two years, I had imagined the first word Sophia might speak.
I thought it might be Mommy.
Maybe water.
Maybe no.
I never expected my name.
“Daddy.”
It was barely louder than air.
I pressed her hand against my face.
“I’m here.”
Her eyes opened.
Then closed again.
“Emma?”
“I’m here too,” Emma said.
Sophia’s mouth moved.
“Sing.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
So in the back of an armored SUV racing through New York after midnight, with armed vehicles surrounding us and my daughter burning with fever, Emma sang Juliana’s lullaby.
And Sophia whispered pieces of it with her.
I cried.
I didn’t care who saw.
At the hospital, independent oncologists took over.
Not Bellini’s people.
Not Cedar House.
Doctors Emma selected from Memorial Cancer Institute, people whose names had never appeared in Juliana’s files.
Sophia had a severe infection made worse by chemotherapy-induced immune suppression.
But the vial Bellini carried contained something far more disturbing.
A concentrated sedative combined with an immune-modulating compound.
Not enough information existed yet to determine exactly what he planned.
The physicians contacted law enforcement.
That created complications.
My world and law enforcement had a complicated relationship.
But Juliana’s files were bigger than me.
They involved children.
Families.
Hospitals.
I gave the evidence to a federal prosecutor through my attorney.
Marco stared at me when I made the call.
“You realize what’s on those drives?”
“My family’s finances too.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“You could burn half your empire.”
I looked through the glass at Sophia sleeping inside the isolation room.
“Then let it burn.”
Anthony sat nearby with twelve stitches in his head.
He had spent the last two years pretending to cooperate with Bellini while secretly trying to recover Juliana’s evidence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Because Juliana told me not to unless I had proof.”
“She trusted you more than me.”
Anthony looked at me sadly.
“She loved you more than anyone. That was the problem. She knew exactly what you would do if you learned Bellini had threatened her.”
I had no answer.
Emma walked toward us.
“The doctors want to speak with you.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“Sophia’s genetic marker.”
We entered a consultation room.
Three oncologists waited.
One pushed a folder toward me.
“We reviewed the original records Mrs. Pellegrini preserved.”
“And?”
“There may be a treatment option Sophia was never offered.”
Hope was dangerous.
I had learned that.
“What option?”
“A newer targeted immunotherapy protocol. Sophia’s marker and current disease profile may make her eligible.”
“Will it save her?”
The doctor didn’t lie.
“We cannot promise that.”
“Then what can you promise?”
“That the data Bellini gave you was incomplete. Your daughter has more options than you were told.”
My eyes closed.
For months, I had been preparing to lose her.
Perhaps someone had wanted me to.
Then a nurse rushed into the room.
“Mr. Pellegrini?”
I stood.
“What?”
“There’s a problem.”
We ran toward Sophia’s room.
The bed was empty.
The window remained locked.
The monitors had been disconnected.
On the pillow sat Juliana’s gold cross.
And beneath it, a note.
YOU SHOULD HAVE GIVEN ME THE DRIVES.
May you like
Bellini had reached inside a secured hospital.
And he had taken my daughter again.
