Matteo
I yank at my tie as I let myself into the penthouse, dropping my briefcase by the entrance before heading for the living room. I already know what I’m going to see when I step in. My beautiful wife curled up on the couch as a movie plays on the screen.
It’s been this way for weeks now.
Before Sofia, this place was just a space I used to catch a few hours of sleep and shower before heading back to work. And for a while, I was content with that life, but lately, I've been looking forward to coming home. To sharing meals with Sofia every evening. Sometimes she cooks, sometimes I order in, but we always eat together. We talk—about her designs, my day, our families. She waits for me, and I come home for her.
Several emotions cross her face every time. Pleasure, annoyance, and then desire.
Barely any words are traded between us as one of us crosses to the other. We make love on the couch or on the carpet, then have dinner together before retiring to bed where we come together again before sleep. I don't fall asleep immediately. Instead, I hold her in my arms and watch her sleep for the nextseveral hours. It's a cycle I have come to depend on. To look forward to every day.
But tonight feels different.
I expect to find her waiting as always, so I'm taken aback when I find the lights off and the living room empty. I figure she's already retired to bed, and I hate the little hint of disappointment that she didn’t wait for me as she always does.
A quick glance at my wristwatch has me shaking my head in disgust. It’s nearly eight-thirty. Not that late, but later than usual.. Fuck, I should have called her, warned her that I would be delayed, but my phone died during a meeting with those traitorous bastards.
Someone has been messing with us lately. The most frustrating part is that I can't tell if the mole that tipped off the cops about our shipment was from our camp or someone else’s. God knows we have plenty of enemies. At least we got a warning from our connections that the cops were going to raid our shipment. I spent the whole fucking afternoon trying to figure out how to re-route the illegal weapons we’d just bought from the Russians.
I need Sofia, I realize.
After the shitty day I’ve had, I need my wife. To touch and kiss her. To feel grounded. Shit, maybe Dad was right after all. Now I can't imagine not waking up every morning to the soft press of my wife, nuzzling against my throat and breathing softly.
Fuck, I want her!
I toss my tie onto the couch and start for the bedroom, no plan in mind for how I'm going to justify being late and apologizing for not calling, but when I step into the masterbedroom, it's empty. I don’t need to turn the lights on to know that the room is empty, but I do so anyway. The bed is made, not a wrinkle on it, and the bathroom lights are off. No, it’s not just the room. She’s not anywhere in our home. I should have noticed the second I walked in. Something felt off, but I was too tired and distracted to pay attention.
Still, I go through every single room and come back empty. I grab my phone to call her, but I remember it's dead. Fuck! I plug it in to charge and it feels like forever before it lights up and shows that single bar. I power it on to see a missed call from Sofia—probably tried to call to ask where I was—and my gut clenches. Something is wrong.
I try her number first. Straight to voicemail.
My unease shifts to concern. Sofia always answers. Always.
I dial her driver, Tony, my jaw tight. By the time he answers, I’m ready to tear into him for not alerting me to her change in plans. I don’t just pay him to drive her safely, I pay him to keep me updated on my wife’s movements.
"Hello, boss," he says. "What can I do for you, Mr. Rossi?”
"You can tell me where my wife is, Tony. And why you didn’t alert me to her change of plans."
There’s a drawn-out silence before he responds, “You told me not to pick her up today, boss. You sent me a text saying you’d be picking her up from work yourself.”
“I did no such fucking thing,” I bellow. My phone beeps, and I look down to see that Tony has sent a screenshot of the text. It came from my private number. My blood runs cold. “When did you get this text?”
“Around four-thirty, sir. Right before I was supposed to pick up Mrs. Rossi.”
Four-thirty. Hours ago. She’s been missing for hours.
“Is Mrs. Rossi okay?”
“That remains to be seen.” I say through gritted teeth, my unease shifting to panic. “I’ll handle it,” I say when he asks if he should check with her office.
I hang up and dial Sofia’s number, which sends me to voicemail. A boulder settles on my chest as I scroll through my phone searching for any of her sisters' phone numbers, but I don't have their contact information saved. Goddamnit! Three sisters, two cousins, and I don't have a single phone number.
I call Dante next, recalling he mentioned being close to one of the sisters. “What is it now, Matteo? We just left the meeting less than half an hour ago!” Dante grumbles. “Do you ever rest?”
“You talk to one of Sofia’s sisters. What’s her name–”
“Gia,” he says with a tired sigh. “Why?”
