We were both quiet for a moment. Then our eyes met at the same time, and I could see his thoughts had taken him to the same place as mine. It was possibly the one place on the island that the Italians wouldn’t dare look for Sal, which made it the perfect hideout—so long as the Russians didn’t figure it out.

“I assume you have my back on this,” I noted. “In any other circumstance, I’d need to set something up with Biba before I could go snooping on Russian property.”

“You’re with me, so there’s no problem. And I wouldn’t turn my back on you. It would be the same as turning my back on Sofia. Not gonna happen.”

Michael tested the limits of his car, weaving in and out of traffic. While he drove, I let Enzo know what we’d been up to. He hadn’t heard anything from Sal, and in this case, no news was not good news. We parked two doors down from the butcher shop and decided I’d take the front while Michael went around back. I waited out front while Michael used his lock-picking skills to get in. I tried not to get my hopes up, knowing how slim our chances were. I figured at least the venture kept me occupied and allowed me to feel like I was doing something to help.

After a minute or so, the front door opened, and Michael ushered me inside, a gun already in hand. As soon as I was off the street, I followed suit and took out my weapon. Aside from the meat having been removed, the place looked otherwise untouched.

“There’s a stairwell by the back door to what I assume is an apartment upstairs,” Michael whispered as we made our way behind the front counter.

When we soundlessly passed through the swinging door into the prep room, we both turned to one another. The air inside was noticeably warmer from the air compressor, and there was rope wrapped between the freezer handle and a pipe parallel to the door. I rushed to the door, untying the rope and pulling it open while Michael covered my back.

A gust of cool air met me, along with the sight of tiny Sofia, curled into a ball on the floor. I rushed to where she lay, my heart in my throat at the sight of her blue lips and ghostly white skin. “Sof, wake up!” I rubbed her cool arms, cursing and pleading for her to show me signs of life. I forced myself to remain still just long enough to watch her and see the small movement at the pulse point on her neck.

She was alive.

Thank Christ.

“Is she alive?” hissed Michael, edging in from the door.