Then Lorenzo Moretti reached for his car keys.
Lorenzo Moretti reached for his car keys.
His right-hand man, Marco Bellini, looked up from the folder in front of him.
“Where are you going?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer.
He was still staring at the phone.
The message remained on the screen.
Don’t apologize. Is your brother hungry right now?
A twelve-year-old girl.
Twenty dollars.
Milk.
A baby.
Lorenzo had spent most of his adult life receiving messages that began with threats, demands, warnings, or pleas from men who knew exactly who he was.
This one was different.
There was no manipulation in it.
No hidden agenda.
Just a child who had made one wrong digit because she was desperate.
“Boss?”
“Find her.”
Marco blinked.
“Who?”
“The girl who sent me this.”
Marco looked at the phone.
“Emily Carter.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Do you want me to scare her?”
Lorenzo finally looked up.
