Page 199 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
I closed my eyes and rested my head against the chair back.
Darkness wrapped around me like a thick cocoon.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ezio
My fingers were already on the car keys when I hung up.
"Miss Adrian said she was picking up her sister. About an hour." Elsa's voice still rang in my ear. "It's been almost two hours now. Her phone's not going through..."
I hung up before she finished.
Sophie had called Mark an hour ago about their honeymoon itinerary. Mark was a business associate—not close, but close enough for me to confirm Sophie's location.
At least for the past three hours, she'd been with Mark the whole time. She never went to Brooklyn.
This was a setup.
I dialed a number while starting the engine. The car shot out of the manor's underground garage, tires shrieking against the pavement.
"Track two locations. Sophie Adrian and Olivia's last phone signals."
"Two minutes."
I floored it, merging onto the main road. My hands gripped the wheel, but my mind was full of her face this morning—the light in hereyes when she said, "Come home early." The kids running through the hallway. Sunlight on the dining room tablecloth.
That was two hours ago.
The call came through. "Sophie's at her Manhattan apartment. Safe. Miss Adrian's last signal was in Brooklyn, south of Flatbush Avenue. Abandoned industrial district."
"Send coordinates. Get a team ready, three blocks out. Don't approach."
"Copy."
Forty minutes. I made it in eighteen.
The industrial zone was more desolate than I'd imagined. Rusted warehouses, shattered windows, weeds pushing through cracked concrete. The air reeked of rust and damp.
I slowed down, scanning every building.
Then I saw her car.
White sedan. Middle of an empty lot. Driver's door hanging open.
I stopped and walked over. Empty. Her phone on the passenger seat—screen cracked. I picked it up and pressed the power button. It flickered once and died.
I straightened up. My legs almost buckled. My fingertips were numb.
Get it together, Ezio. Not the time to lose your shit.
I took a deep breath and looked around. Wind tunneled between the warehouses, carrying the smell of rust. A dozen warehouses in this district, but only one had fresh tire tracks leading to the door.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number. Photo attached—Olivia tied to a chair, eyes closed, rope around her wrists.
"Come alone. Walk east. Third warehouse. No backup. You know the consequences."
