Chapter 194 Where Is Your Brother? Savannah My stomach twisted so tightly I could barely breathe through it as we drove toward the address Cole had sent. Every street we passed, every red light we stopped at, every bump in the road made the dread in my chest thicken. I kept telling myself to calm down, but calm felt like some mythical creature I couldn’t touch anymore. Roman had bought a house by the beach in Capri. A gorgeous, huge thing—sun-washed walls, sleek lines, enough space for a big family vacation one day. I should’ve been excited. I should’ve at least been able to appreciate the effort, the intention, the sweetness behind it. But dread wrapped around my ribs and squeezed too hard for me to enjoy anything. The only moment I’d felt truly at peace was yesterday, while we were still in the air. Up there, with Roman beside me, it felt like it was just us suspended above the whole world. No worries. No threats. No Zane-shaped holes in the horizon. He’d made love to me until my body was boneless, until sleep pulled me under like a warm tide.But the second we landed, real life slammed back into me with the force of a tidal wave. Everything rushed in—fear, what-ifs, worst-case scenarios—so fast I could barely keep my thoughts straight. What if Chloe isn’t alive? What if Zane and his sister killed her and dumped her somewhere? What if she is alive, but she’s working with them? What if she knows we’re coming? What if she wants revenge? What if we’re walking into a trap? Oh God. My head was a carousel of fear, spinning out of control, and I couldn’t get off. At least I wasn’t getting fired on top of all this. Goldberg had decided to show mercy—well, Roman had decided for him. I knew mixing personal life with business wasn’t the professional thing to do, but honestly? This comes first. Ethics second. Besides, it’s not my fault life keeps throwing chaos at me. And it’s definitely not my fault my fiancé happens to be ridiculously rich, influential and terrifying when he wants something. If Roman could solve a crisis with one phone call… Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t I take the win for once? “Sav?” His voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. I blinked and looked at him. Concern carved lines into his handsome face.“We’re here, baby.” I looked out the window. Sunny day. Busy street. Cars passing. People walking. Normalcy everywhere except inside my chest. “Oh. Sorry. I just… zoned out.” “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked quietly. I nodded too fast. “Yes. Of course.” He didn’t believe me—I could see it in his eyes—but he didn’t push. Not yet. “Wait for us here, Alonzo,” he told our driver before stepping out. The next second he was opening my door for me, offering his hand like he was afraid I’d shatter without the contact. I placed my hand in his, grateful for the warmth of his palm, for the steadiness of the man I love. My legs felt like jelly, every nerve ending buzzing painfully. And of course, Roman noticed. “Sav,” he murmured, stopping us just outside the building entrance, “we can call the police if this is too much. You’re shaking.” I took a breath that didn’t really help. “No. I want to do this. I have to do this. Just… hold me.” His expression softened, even through the tension. He squeezed my hand. “Alright. But listen to me—if anything feels off, I’m pulling you out. You’re pregnant, and I’m not letting you stress our baby over this piece of trash. No offense.” I snorted. “None taken.” We walked in together, the building air smelling faintly like old mop water and burnt toast. Roman’s grip on my hand was firm and protective. We found the door number Cole had given us. Roman knocked and instantly my heart dropped into my stomach. There was no answer. He knocked harder, irritation creeping into his posture. Finally a voice yelled, “I’m coming!” I held my breath, listening, searching for any hint of Chloe in that voice. Nothing. No familiarity. And I knew that was definitely not Chloe. The door swung open, revealing a woman with sharp eyes, a pixie cut, multiple piercings glinting on her ears. She didn’t even look at me—her gaze went straight to Roman, sliding over him in a rude, borderline sleazy up-down. “And who are you?” she demanded. “We’re looking for Zane Rubio,” Roman said coldly. “We were told he lives here.” “Doesn’t anymore.” She shrugged. “He moved out.” She tried pushing the door shut, but Roman planted his foot against it before the frame even creaked. Her eyes went wide. “What the fuck? You need to leave! Your dealer isn’t here!” Roman pushed the door open fully and stepped inside, pulling me with him like he owned the place. “On the contrary,” he said softly, which somehow made it more threatening, “we’re not going anywhere. Where is your brother? We have unfinished business.” The apartment was pathetic. Nearly empty. A beat-up couch. Scuffed floors. One crooked portrait of a weed leaf hanging on the wall like some sad badge of honor. Nothing else. The woman—Paula or Lydia, Cole had said—backed up a step, panic flickering through her eyes even though she tried to act tough. “I don’t know where the fuck Zane is. Whatever you want from him has nothing to do with me. Get out before I call the cops.” Roman smiled. A slow, deadly smile. “And how would you like to be deported, Paula? Shipped out like cargo?” His voice didn’t rise, it didn't sharpen. It was calm. Too calm. “Because I’m pretty sure once they start digging into you—the cartel connections, the theft, the substance charges—they won’t be very forgiving.”Her face paled. Roman tilted his head lazily toward me. “Remind me, my love… what else was she charged with?” For the first time since we walked in, Paula’s gaze snapped to me. Really looked at me. Her mouth parted just slightly. I spoke before I could overthink it. “Arson. Trespassing. Aggravated assault. Robbery. Drug smuggling. Honestly, if we call the police right now, they’ll have a field day tearing this place apart.” Paula stared—wide-eyed, stunned, like she’d seen a ghost. Confusion deepened the line between her brows. She stepped closer, squinting at me like she was trying to place my face in her memory. “You…” she whispered. “Do I know you?” A chill rippled down my spine. Her voice wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t taunting. It was confused. Certain. Like she recognized something in me she shouldn’t. My heart hammered so loudly I could barely hear myself think. How the hell did she know me? And even worse… Why did she sound so sure?