64. Disrupted Steps

CHAPTER 64

Disrupted Steps

WREN

Banging on the front door rips me from sleep. I squint at my phone—3:14 A.M.

What the fuck?

Sleep finally dragged me under like a black wave after hours of searching, of dissecting every possible angle of her message. My body feels like lead, my mind wrung dry. The pounding on the door starts again, like someone is using their fists as hammers.

“Jesus Christ.” I throw back the covers, and grab the nearest pair of sweats, anger bubbling up through my exhaustion. If this is Monty or Nico with some bullshit prank, they’re about to regret their life choices.

The floor under my feet is freezing as I stumble downstairs, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. The pounding continues, louder, more insistent.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m coming!” My voice is rough, and the words are punctuated by another round of blows. “Stop trying to break my fucking door down.”

I wrench the door open, ready to tear into whoever decided this hour was acceptable. And then I see him.

Agent Miller. Flanked by four men in dark suits, their faces hard under the porch light.

Adrenaline spikes through me, shredding the last fog of sleep.

Something is wrong.

Before I can react, they shove past me, the edge of one agent’s shoulder slamming into mine as they spread out. Footsteps thunder up the stairs, doors slam open, drawers pull out and crash shut. They move like a storm tearing through my house, a display of chaos disguised as efficiency.

“What the fuck is this?” I snarl, spinning to face Miller as his men invade my space. “Search warrants don’t usually come with a knock. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes burn with something I haven’t seen before. He strides forward, grabbing my shoulder hard enough to knock me back a step.

“Where is she?”

The words erase my confusion.

They’ve lost her.

I shove his hand off me, closing the space between us. “Keep your fucking hands off me. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Carlisle. Ileana Moreno is gone. And you’re going to tell me where she went.”

The corner of my mouth twitches into something that isn’t quite a smile.

My clever little ballerina has slipped their net .

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Upstairs is clear,” one of the agents calls down, followed by the sound of another drawer slamming shut. “No sign anyone else has been here. Kid is disturbed though. Lots of photographs of the missing girl.”

Miller’s gaze darkens.

I shrug. “Taking pictures of my girlfriend is not a crime last I checked. Or are we arresting people for being romantic now?”

His jaw tightens, a vein in his temple popping as he works to keep his temper in check. Around us, his men tear through my house like they’re going to find her hiding under a couch cushion.

“This isn’t a joke, Carlisle.” Miller’s voice drops, roughened by something that sounds a hell of a lot like fear. “If we don’t find her?—”

Something clicks. His fear isn’t about her safety. It’s about something else. I study his face, catching the telltale twitch in his eyes, the tension pulling at the edges of his mouth. He isn’t just worried. He’s scared , and not in the way someone fears for a missing girl .

“What exactly are you afraid of?”

The shift in his expression is subtle, but I’m watching for it.

“What kind of threat justifies this kind of response?” I push, taking a step closer. “Four agents in the middle of the night? Searching my house like it’s a fucking war zone?”

“Operation Rossi Crown—” Miller snaps before catching himself, his face flushing.

I arch a brow. “Victor Rossi is dead. His empire in ashes. So what does an eighteen-year-old girl have to do with any of it?”

His eyes shift, a tiny movement, but enough to confirm I’m close to something.

“Stop pretending this is about her safety. This is about you . About whatever you’re hiding. About how Ileana and her mother ended up in federal custody in the first place.”

“Stop.” But there’s a crack in his facade, and I’ve seen it now.

“You don’t understand the complexities?—”

“Then explain them.” I take a step closer, my height dwarfing his. “Because from where I’m standing, there is no active threat that justifies kicking down doors in the middle of the night.”

He hesitates, the silence stretching between us, charged and brittle.

“She needs to be contained.” The slip is small, but I don’t miss it.

“ Contained ?” I echo. “Not protected, but contained.”

His neck flushes, color rising over his collar. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No.” My smile is slow and deliberate. “I’m listening very carefully. And you’re scared. Not of her disappearing. Not of her getting hurt. You’re scared of what happens when she talks. When she finally gets free of you. That’s it, isn’t it? There’s something about that operation. Something you’re hiding.”

“Enough.” His voice is strained.

“What are you going to do?” I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Arrest me? For what? Talking to a legal adult who chose to leave your protection?”

“She’s vulnerable.” He tries to cover his tracks, but it sounds weak. “No phone, no cards, no money.”

“All your rules. All your restrictions.” I ignore him, the full picture forming in my mind. “It never was about protecting her and her mother, was it? It was about controlling them. Isolating them.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” But his words are empty now, weak.

“That’s the difference between us. I know exactly who she is. And you’re terrified of it.”

The truth hangs between us, and for the first time, Miller doesn’t have anything to say.

“You can’t force her back. She’s eighteen. Legal. The only power you ever had was built on lies, and now it’s gone. You’ve lost her.”

His face hardens, but I don’t care.

“We’ll be watching you.”

I grin. “Good luck with that.”

Miller stands there for a second longer, before turning on his heel, barking orders at his men to clear out. The noise fades as they leave.

I wait until the door shuts, until the rumble of their cars fades into the silence, then I lean back against the wall, and take a slow breath.

They’ll focus on hotels, bus stations, all the usual places where scared little girls run.

But Ileana isn’t scared.

Anticipation rolls through me, hot and delicious. The game has changed, and so have the rules.

She’s Isabella Rossi now—free, defiant, herself .

And I’m the only one who knows how to follow where she’s leading.