I’d never make it.

I was so cold, and I couldn’t imagine I’d ever be warm again. More tears threatened, but I was too tired for sobbing. All I could do was lay on my side, my hair the only barrier between me and the frosty concrete. My top shoulder rocked me, just an inch or so of motion, back and forth. It was soothing, like being in someone’s arms.

Nico’s arms.

I’d only just got him back. Would I ever get to feel those strong arms wrapped around me again?

All those years, the only place I could see him was in my dreams. I became proficient at designing and manipulating my dreams to keep Nico in my life. I had known it wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t care. It was the only way I could have him, so I took what I could get. If sleep would give me a reprieve from the misery of my situation, then that was what I would do.

I closed my eyes and escaped into my dreams.

“What do you mean she’s in danger?” I shot back at Enzo. Terror narrowed my focus to the sound of his voice, everything else fading into oblivion.

“Sal has her. I’m not sure what shape she’s in, but she could hardly talk she was shivering so badly. I don’t think we have long. He’s demanding we allow him to leave the country—says he’ll give us her location once he’s free. I’m gathering as many guys as we can to start looking for her in the meantime.” His tension was audible in the tight strain of his voice.

“You talked to her?”

“Only briefly. She mentioned losing her necklace, but I have no idea what she meant. I’m not sure if she was out of it or trying to tell me something—that mean anything to you?”

Her necklace—Paris. Sal wanted out of the country, so she wasn’t in Paris. When I’d given her the necklace, she’d told me she would be happy staying on Staten Island as long as we were together. “She’s on Staten Island.”

His deep exhale made a whooshing sound across the line. “Okay, that’s good. It’ll help narrow the search. We already had guys watching his house, so we know he’s not there. I don’t know where he’s hiding, but we’ll find him.”

“Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“I’ll check back with you shortly.” The line went dead, and I stared at my phone in desperation. How the hell were we supposed to find her in a city of millions? “You hear the conversation?” I asked Michael.

“Yeah, you have any inkling where he might be hiding?”

“I can’t imagine he’d be holed up anywhere near our people.”

“Where else would he be on the island? You Italians practically run the place.”

What he said was true. Staten Island was predominantly populated with Italians—not necessarily mafia related, but Italians, nonetheless. We bred like rabbits. It was hard to run into someone who didn’t know you in a roundabout fashion.