The night was thick with tension inside the Moretti estate. The control room glowed with the pale light of monitors, and the air was heavy with exhaustion and fear. The number that had lured Alessia away had finally led them to a clue.
"Sir," the lead technician said, his voice tight, "we've traced the number. It last pinged from an industrial zone on the outskirts of Milan — an old warehouse complex. The warehouse has been inactive for years, but the signal is traced from one of the buildings less than an hour ago."
Damian Moretti's eyes darkened. "That's her."
He turned to his men. "Get the team ready. We move now."
The convoy cut through the sleeping city, headlights dimmed, engines low. The road wound through the industrial outskirts, where the air smelled of oil and rain. Damian sat in silence, his jaw tight, his mind focused solely on one thing — Alessia.
Romano broke the silence. "You think she's armed?"
Damian's voice was steady. "She's desperate."
Inside the warehouse, the air was cold and stale. The faint hum of a small generator echoed through the space. Alessia sat tied to a chair, her wrists raw, her eyes fixed on Isabella Rossi, who stood a few feet away, pacing slowly.
"You don't understand," Isabella said softly, her voice trembling. "You took what was mine."
Alessia's voice was weak but calm. "You're blaming the wrong person here. I never wanted this either."
Isabella turned sharply. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," Alessia said, her voice breaking. "You think I asked for any of this? You think I wanted to be the reason someone else lost everything? I didn't. But I'm here, and you can't keep living in the past."
Isabella's eyes glistened, flickering between anger and pain. "Past?" she whispered.
She stepped closer, her voice rising. "I loved him first. I would have done anything for him."
Alessia's voice trembled. "Then let him go. That's what love is."
Isabella's face hardened. "No. Love is not letting go. Love is making sure no one else gets what you lost."
Outside, Damian's team surrounded the warehouse. Romano's voice came through the earpiece. "Perimeter secured. No movement yet."
Damian's eyes were fixed on the building.
He gave the signal.
The team moved in silently, breaching the side entrance. Damian led the way, weapon drawn, his heartbeat steady but heavy.
Inside, Isabella spun around, the gun snapping up toward Alessia's head.
"Stop!" she screamed. "One more step and she dies!"
Damian froze, his weapon aimed but his voice calm. "Isabella. You don't want to do this."
Her voice cracked. "What did you see in her? What can she give you that I couldn't?
"And you," she said, turning to Alessia, "you think you can just take everything from me and walk away? If I can't have him, no one will."
Romano's eyes darted to the corner — a faint red light blinked under a stack of crates.
"Damian," he said quietly, "she's wired the place."
Isabella smiled faintly.
Before she could say anything, one of Damian's guards burst from the shadows, tackling her to the ground.
Damian rushed to Alessia, cutting her free, pulling her close. "Are you okay?" he whispered.
The guards disarmed the device, silence falling heavy over the room.
Isabella screamed, thrashing against the men holding her. "You think this ends here? You'll see what it feels like to lose everything!"
Damian's voice was cold. "You already have."
They headed to the car.
Hours later, the Moretti convoy returned home. The gates opened slowly, headlights sweeping across the courtyard. Alessia leaned against Damian, exhausted but safe.
When they stepped inside, her father exhaled, pulling her into his arms. "You're home," he whispered. "You're safe now."
Damian's hand rested on her back. "She's safe. That's all that matters."
The night closed quietly around them, leaving the chaos behind in the dark corners of Milan.