40. Hunting Shadows

CHAPTER 40

Hunting Shadows

WREN

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but I’m already awake, my fingers moving with purpose across the keyboard. The multiple screens in front of me show a piece of the puzzle I’m determined to solve. I have no intention of being at the dance studio at six. Let her wait, let her heart pound with each creak of the floorboards, each whisper of movement. Her fear is sweeter from a distance.

"What else are you hiding, pretty Ballerina?" The question falls from my lips, as I delve into another database. Most would need specialized software or insider connections to access records like these. I have both. Money opens a lot of doors; the Carlisle name opens the rest.

The Operation Rossi Crown files I unearthed last week were just the beginning—a framework of the story. I crave more, the details buried beneath layers of federal bureaucracy. Each algorithm I set digs deeper, breaking another barrier, reaching places that would bring serious trouble if traced back to me. The thrill of it only adds to the need thrumming in my veins.

My phone buzzes with a text from Monty.

Monty: Where are you? School starts in 20.

I ignore it, focusing instead on the newest data pouring in. The FBI’s celebrated takedown wasn’t as clean as they’d claimed. Buried deep in classified files are hints of internal investigations—questions about the methods, concerns about unauthorized witness protection.

A hit catches my eye. Surveillance logs from weeks before the raid. Agent Charleston, attending private family gatherings. Not just collecting evidence but becoming part of Victor Rossi’s circle. He wasn’t just close. He was trusted, close enough to watch his daughter toddle around the living room, close enough to fall for the boss's wife.

The operation spanned five years. Five long years. Enough time for alliances to blur, for the cover to become a second skin. Enough time for Annetta Rossi to make a choice. Decide to escape, a decision that would save her daughter from the world her father ruled.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?” My fingers pause over the keys, a smile tugging at my lips. I can almost picture her, a little girl in a dress too big for her, unaware of the storm brewing around her family. Innocence, wrapped in a delicate veil, protected by the man who was supposed to bring her world crashing down.

The phone buzzes again.

Nico: Your girl keeps looking for you. Starting to panic.

Good. Let her wonder. Let her anxiety take root and grow. Fear is an aphrodisiac, and it’s better when I’m not even there to stoke it.

Back to the files. I find internal memos. Ones that never made it into the official reports. Concerns about Charleston getting too close, whispers about his objectivity, and then ... silence. The night of the raid, everything goes dark. Someone buried the truth, something that wasn’t meant to see daylight. A cover-up that reeks of desperation.

I switch my focus, chasing the financial trails. Each movement of cash, each bill paid since their arrival in Silverlake Rapids. No credit cards, no bank accounts, just cash. It speaks volumes. They weren’t just invisible. They were ghosts, crafted by someone who knew exactly how to stay off the radar. Every detail carefully scrubbed, a new name, a new life. Everything about her existence meticulously planned and executed.

"Oh, Ballerina." My eyes move to the surveillance feed showing her empty room. The room is still, untouched, the bed neatly made. "What kind of web did your parents weave for you?"

More texts light up my phone, feeding a dark satisfaction deep within me.

Monty: She keeps touching her neck where you bit her.

Nico: Nearly jumped out of her skin when someone dropped a book.

Monty: Looks like she might cry.

I switch to another screen, diving deeper. Travel records, financial manipulation, coded messages. A private plane, registered to a shell company, touched down at a small airstrip sixteen years ago. Three passengers—a man, a woman, a child. No names. But the timing fits perfectly with the collapse of the Rossi empire.

Money tells its own stories. Large sums moved through offshore accounts, just before James and Maria appeared in Silverlake. Someone high up helped them. A puppet master pulling strings, not just to protect a successful operation but to shield something personal. Something messy. Something dangerous.

Something that could destroy careers if it ever came to light.

The more I dig, the clearer it becomes. This wasn’t just an operation. This was love tangled with betrayal. A federal agent, a mafia princess, a child they would do anything to protect. A secret hidden so deeply that only a fool or someone obsessed would try to find it.

My phone lights up again.

Nico: She's leaving school. Looks terrified.

Perfect. Let her run. Let her scurry back to that safe little hole she calls home, wondering if I’m following her. Wondering if I’m just out of sight, ready to pounce. The image forms in my mind. Her rushing through the school gates, eyes darting, wide with panic. I can almost hear her breath hitching, see her hands trembling as she grips her bag strap tighter, her knuckles pale.

I lean back, satisfaction thrumming in my veins. This is better than any photograph, almost better than watching her dance. Each secret I uncover, each truth, draws me closer to her.

She isn’t just some passing amusement.

When was she ever that?

Never. She’s a mystery. One that I need to solve, to understand fully. It isn’t just about her being invisible. It’s about her being untouchable, protected by ghosts of a past that could still ruin her.

I stand, the chair creaking as I push it back. The glow from the screens makes my reflection in the window look almost inhuman, a shadowy figure with too many secrets and too much desire. My reflection stares back, the darkness of my eyes mirrored in the empty window.

The house is quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy, expectant. My parents aren’t home—they never are. They prefer their parties, their events, their perfect social lives. I don’t miss them. This silence is better. It gives me space to think, to plan.

I walk to the window, pushing it open. The cold October air hits me. I can imagine her now, in her small apartment, pulling the curtains shut, trying to pretend that I’m not out here somewhere. I wonder if she’s scared of the dark. If she thinks shadows hide monsters.

"Run home, pretty Ballerina." My voice is a whisper, lost to the breeze. "Pull your curtains tight. Pretend you’re safe."

Because I own her now. Not just her fear, or her unwilling desire, but every lie that’s ever surrounded her. Every secret they used to make Isabella Rossi disappear. Every truth they buried to keep her hidden.

I close the window, the cool metal frame pressing against my palms. My breath fogs the glass momentarily before vanishing, leaving only my reflection. I picture her face. Those wide, dark eyes staring up at me, the way her lips parted when I leaned in too close, that intoxicating blend of fear and curiosity.

She’ll soon learn that the darkness isn’t just something outside her window. It’s something inside her now, something that will keep growing until there’s no turning back. Because the truth about her past, about who she really is, isn’t just a story to tell.

It’s a weapon, and I’m going to wield it.

A new message lights up my phone. I glance down at it, a smile already forming.

Monty: What do you want us to do now?

I type my response slowly, savoring each word.

Me: Nothing. Let her stew.

My plan has shifted from those first few days. It’s no longer about fear or control. It’s about knowledge. Let her wonder what every move means, until she can’t think about anything else. It's only a matter of time before the need for answers consumes her. And when it does? I’ll be the only one who can provide them.

I put the phone into my pocket and look back at the screens, each one glowing with the secrets I’ve unearthed.

Her secrets are my secrets now.