Once that call has been made, I go out to the terrace and gaze down on the street, then bang my closed fist against the thick wall of glass. Rico arrives and I interrogate the hell out of him to see if he might know where Giovanni would have gone, or who he might have run to. Rico has no ideas, so I tell him to retrace all the places we’ve been together that would be familiar to Giovanni—our favorite restaurants, parks, and museums. I tell my staff in Manhattan to alert everyone there’s a manhunt currently taking place and to detain Giovanni if he arrivesby any means necessary. I call my NYPD contacts and tell them to place a Missing Persons’ report and put their patrols on it. I contact the coroner’s office too, just in case.
Eight million people. I will tear this city apart.
After a quick call to Simeon relaying the necessary info and telling him to spread the word amongst our friends, I then call Rebekah.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Valentin. You must be so worried. When we spoke last week, he seemed fine. Happy and content. He didn’t say anything to me about wanting to leave.”
Our conversation took place after his therapy appointment. Bad timing on my part, another stupid mistake.
“Do you know where he might have gone? Has he ever mentioned any friends, their names, even first names, or where they live?”
“He’s told me of Rico, Agnella, and Phillipe. Other than those individuals and you of course, he rarely uses names. He said it was necessary to protect you, and I figured he’d know best. And your brother Silvio. He said Silvio sent him to you from Milan, but I think he’s lying about that. I assumed it was to protect his real identity.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I’ve been to Milan, Valentin, and it’s obvious from our conversations that he hasn’t.”
Something else to remedy. “If he calls you, Rebekah—”
“I’ll tell him to call you right away,” she says.
“That’s not enough. I want to know where he is and who he’s with so I can come get him.”
“Did you have a disagreement?”
“Sort of. Not really a fight. I asked him about his future plans and he got defensive. He told me this story about…” And that’s when I realize what our last conversation was about. “Damnit.”
“What is it?”
“He speaks in code, you know. He told me this story about Narcissus and Echo.”
“The hunter and the wood nymph.”
“He told you the story too?” I ask, feeling irrationally jealous.
“No, but I’ve been reading up on mythology, to better understand him.”
“He told me this story and he called himself Echo and then last night, he basically parroted back to me every reason I’ve ever given him for why we shouldn’t be together. Fuck me. He was testing me, and I proved his point.”
I’m such a goddamned idiot.
I close my eyes and now I do feel like weeping. “This is it,” I say quietly. “If I don’t find him, he’s going to…” I can’t say it, and I don’t need to because Rebekah knows the stakes already.
“If he calls me, I’ll do everything I can to find out where he is,” she says. “And I’ll try reaching him throughout the day as well.”
“Thank you. And you’ll let me know?”
“Absolutely. Deep breaths, Valentin. You’ve helped build a solid foundation for him. Let’s pray that it holds.”
I round up my people—allof them—and set up my office in Manhattan as headquarters for the search. Rico is at the apartment in case Giovanni returns, and he’s been instructed to do whatever it takes to keep him there until I get back.
It’s approaching evening now and we’ve heard nothing. He hasn’t used his cell phone either, which means no clues as to where he’s gone. My men have scoured every pawnshop and thrift store in all five boroughs and shown everyone there his picture in case he’d tried to sell something for money. They’ve found nothing. If he’s not thinking about money, then he’s not thinking about survival.
As evening falls on the city, and with my men now canvassing street corners and bars, any place where he might try to turn a trick or score some drugs, a deep remorse descends on my soul. I fucking knew better. He told me contemplating a future without me was a limit for him and I pushed him still. That my intentions were good doesn’t matter. I broke his trust as well as the cardinal rule of any good D/s relationship. And what will it cost me?
I get a call near 2 a.m. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in my office when I’m suddenly jolted awake with a rush of adrenaline to see his name flash across the screen. I answer but it’s too late—he’s already hung up. One ring. He gave me one goddamned ring and no more. I try calling him back but get nothing. I contact my tech guy immediately and he says he’s already working on it. He’s triangulated a mile radius that encompasses a sprawling drug den in Queens. I put my men on it, even those who are off duty. An hour later I get a call from Joseph, head of my security. “Boss, there’s about thirty thousand people in the area you gave us. We need to narrow it down to a building or a city block at least.”
“I don’t want to hear any complaining from you,” I snap, stressed and distraught. “It was one of your men who fell down on the job in the first place. You show his picture to everyone you come across, especially the bums, and be generous with the cash. If he bought drugs from someone in that neighborhood, I want to know who.” I pause to collect myself. “And he needs money, so any pimp or john you come across, interrogate them too. And be fucking persuasive.”
