“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“We are going to war,” Dante said, his eyes wild with a cold, predatory light. “I am going to assemble every man we have.”

He paced the small kitchen, his shoes squeaking on the floor.

“We will find where he is keeping her,” Dante said. “We will storm the building and kill every person standing in our way.”

“No,” I said, stepping in front of him.

He stopped pacing and looked down at me, his jaw clenched.

“Sophia, this is the only way,” he said. “Moretti does not negotiate in good faith.”

“You cannot just storm in there,” I said, shaking my head. “If he sees your men, he will kill Lily before you even reach the door.”

“I cannot just hand you over to him,” Dante said, his voice rising.

“I am not saying you should,” I said, forcing my breathing to slow down.

I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand.

My training in behavioral psychology began to push through the fog of my panic.