Dante slammed the door of his car shut as he arrived at the mansion, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. The evening sky was a deep indigo, stars faintly glimmering above, but his mind was too clouded with thoughts of Vincent’s veiled threats to notice. All he wanted now was the comfort of Isla’s presence and Amara’s giggles echoing through the halls to ground him.
But as he stepped into the silent house, unease settled in his chest. The air was too still, too quiet.
“Isla?” he called out, his voice firm but laced with concern. “Amara?”
No response.
Frowning, Dante walked into the living room. The flowers Amara and Isla had picked from the garden lay wilted on the table. The faint aroma of dinner lingered, but there was no sign of the two most important people in his life.
“Isla?” he tried again, louder this time, his steps quickening as he moved through the house. He checked the kitchen, the bedrooms, even the garden, but the emptiness followed him everywhere.
His heart began to race as a horrible thought clawed its way into his mind. They wouldn’t just leave without telling him. Something was wrong.
He reached for his phone and dialed Isla’s number. The line rang endlessly before going to voicemail.
“Where are you?” he muttered under his breath, frustration and fear intertwining.
Dante was about to call again when his phone buzzed with an incoming text. The sender was unknown, but the message chilled him to the bone.
“We have them. Stay quiet, or you’ll lose them forever.”
His breath caught in his throat as the meaning sank in. Isla and Amara were kidnapped.
—
Dante paced his study, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to think. Who could have done this? The answer came almost instantly: Vincent. His former ally’s recent behavior, the cryptic warnings, and now this-it all pointed to him.
Without wasting a second, Dante dialed Vincent’s number.
“Ah, Dante,” Vincent’s smooth voice answered after a few rings. “To what do I owe this late-night call?”
“Don’t play games with me, Vincent,” Dante growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Where are they?”
“Where are who?” Vincent replied, feigning ignorance. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“My wife and daughter!” Dante roared. “If you’ve laid a hand on them, I swear-”
“Calm down, Dante,” Vincent interrupted, his tone condescending. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if I were you, I’d tread carefully. Accusations can have consequences.”
Before Dante could respond, Vincent hung up.
—
Dante slammed the phone down on his desk, his frustration boiling over. He knew Vincent was involved, but without proof, he was running blind. He had to act fast; every second could mean the difference between life and death for Isla and Amara.
He called his most trusted security team, issuing orders in rapid succession.
“I want roadblocks at every exit point in the city. Check every vehicle. No exceptions. And find out if Vincent has been moving any assets or vehicles in the last 24 hours.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the team members responded before the line went dead.
As the minutes turned into hours, Dante’s mansion became a hub of frantic activity. Guards scoured security footage, interrogated staff, and followed every possible lead. But no matter how hard they searched, they came up empty.
—
The next morning, Dante sat at his desk, his face buried in his hands. He hadn’t slept, and his mind was a chaotic storm of guilt, fear, and anger.
A soft knock at the door made him look up. It was one of his security heads, a grim expression on his face.
“We’ve found nothing, sir,” the man said quietly. “There’s no trace of Mrs. Isla or Miss Amara.”
Dante’s jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “Then look harder,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t care what it takes. Find them.”
The man nodded and left, leaving Dante alone with his despair.
—
Hours later, Dante stood by the window in Amara’s room, staring out at the empty garden. The sight of her favorite swing swaying gently in the breeze brought a lump to his throat. He could almost hear her laughter, the way she’d beg him to push her higher.
The thought of her scared and alone made his chest ache. And Isla-her strength, her fire-they were what kept him going. Losing them wasn’t an option.
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. It was another text from the unknown number.
“Time’s ticking, Dante. Make your move wisely.”
Dante clenched his jaw. Whoever was behind this was taunting him, testing his patience. He couldn’t let them win.
—
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Dante’s resolve hardened. He gathered his team in the mansion’s main hall.
“We’re running out of time,” he said, his voice firm. “I want every resource we have thrown at this. Check Vincent’s properties, his associates, anyone who might be helping him. And contact our overseas allies-this could be bigger than we think.”
His team nodded, their determination mirroring his own.
As the team dispersed, Dante stood alone in the grand hall, his thoughts turning to Isla and Amara. He pictured Isla’s fierce eyes challenging him, Amara’s tiny arms wrapped around his neck.
“I’ll find you,” he whispered into the silence. “No matter what it takes.”
—
The night stretched on, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on Dante. He retreated to his study, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, but it did little to numb the pain.
His mind raced with possibilities. Was this about revenge? Money? Power? The longer he went without answers, the more the questions gnawed at him.
He stared at a photo on his desk-a candid shot of Isla and Amara laughing together in the garden. It was a moment of pure joy, a reminder of everything he stood to lose.
The thought filled him with renewed determination. Whoever had taken them had made a grave mistake. Dante would stop at nothing to bring them back and make whoever was responsible pay.
—
As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, Dante stood by the window, his silhouette bathed in golden light. He hadn’t slept, but his resolve was stronger than ever.
The fight wasn’t over. And he wouldn’t rest until Isla and Amara were safe in his arms once more.