Lucas

Sleep had abandoned me the moment Nia vanished. My bed had turned into a slab of ice, the sheets twisted from nights of tossing, the ceiling a blank witness to my madness. Every second she was out there, every hour I couldn’t reach her, gnawed at me like a blade scraping bone.

I’d torn through half of Milan already. Safe houses, warehouses, abandoned buildings, clubs where rival crews usually lingered—I burned them all down in my rage, searching, demanding. Nothing. Not a ...