“I have a face recognition program, not GPS coordinates of a missing person. Which your wife isn’t.”
This isn’t helpful. I need to move; I need to find her. This is all I can think as I pace up and down the office. I walk toward him and lower myself until our eyes meet. “I need you to find her. Use whatever you have to. I don’t care.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll need to go to my place for this. But I’m sure she will show up before I can even start my search.”
He’s right.
Marco didn’t even need to start his program. The penthouse cameras pick her up. She goes home as if nothing happened, slips into bed, and goes to sleep, not even looking at the opposite side of the bed.
I’m relieved, angry, and tired when I march into the penthouse with a promise.
A promise that I will need to work my shit out, because my feelings have shown this is anything but a tactical marriage, and I need to make an effort before I burn myself first.
twenty-four
Valentina
I’m done.
I’m done playing the good little wife in this façade of a marriage. And honestly? I’m starting to wonder if giving up my freedom, the power I built, and my position at my brother’s side was ever worth chasing this obsession of mine.
But I had to take the risk. I had to own my choices. This is where my impulsive streak led me, and I don’t regret the fire, only the cage I let myself walk into.
I scrub my skin raw in the shower, trying to wash off the filth of becoming a woman I swore I’d never be. I refused to be one of those mafia wives, opening her legs for a husband who doesn’t give a damn, pretending that’s love.
Anger sparks and spreads through my chest as I stand in front of my closet, heat rising like a warning. I need out. I need air. I need to feel the wind on my face and remember exactly who the hell I am.
I’m about to get dressed when my phone buzzes with a message.
Clara:
Hey, I know it’s late, but I really need some help.
My brows pull together as I contemplate what kind of help she needs. But safety first.
Valentina:
Are you all right?
Clara:
I’m fine for now, but if I don’t get out of here, I’m not sure if I will stay all right.
Valentina:
Where are you?
Clara:
At the club with my husband and some men.
I look at my phone. I didn’t know she was married. Well, I never asked, and she never mentioned it. But if she's with her husband, why does she need me?
That doesn’t have to mean she's safe, the voice in my head warns.
Valentina:
I’ll be there in twenty.
