“She’s not up for discussion. Now or in the future. So if that’s all you called for?—”
“Please, Raffael. I apologize. I should’ve handled this better, but?—”
“You’re directing your apology to the wrong person.” Who the fuck does he think he is? Even my estranged father parented better than Philip. At least Lorenzo curated a life for his sons that revolved around safety. “Isla is the one who deserves to hear you grovel. As far as I’m concerned, our open line of communication ends here. Don’t contact me again.”
I end the call, rage simmering. Heightened emotion has become a constant. Since Isla, even the smallest inconvenience bleeds violence into my veins. Being apart from her is torture. The memory of her body taking mine is a misery that won’t fucking fade.
The intercom buzzes again.
“Mr. Cavallo.” Jessica’s voice wavers slightly. “There’s a woman here. She says it’s urgent.”
“I’m busy.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, already fuckingdonewith today.
“I know, sir. But she insist—” Jessica gasps. The line rustles. “Ma’am, you can’t go?—”
The connection severs.
I glance toward my assistant’s desk, my irritation sharpening to disbelief as she scrambles out of her chair to chase after a woman storming for my office.
Sleek black hair. Tailored pantsuit. Fury wrapped in heels.
Quinn. Isla’s best friend.
She cuts down the hall with a predator’s stride, gaze locked on my door. Jessica rushes to block her path, hands lifted in a plea. Quinn doesn’t slow. A quick sidestep, a sharp shoulder turn, and she’s shoving past my door before Jessica can recover.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavallo.” My assistant scurries in after her. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“It’s okay.” I wave Jessica away. “Leave us.”
Jessica’s shoulders slump, but she nods and backs out, closing the door behind her as Quinn raises her chin in silent, sullen victory.
For a moment, I study my intruder. The tension in her stance. The fire in her eyes. The way her fingers twitch restlessly at her sides, like her body can’t hold still under whatever emotion has brought her into enemy territory.
I feign relaxation, leaning back in my chair. “It’s Quinn, right?”
Her lips thin into a tight line. “I’m sure you know exactly who I am. Where’s Isla?”
The question hits like a slap, and it takes every effort to keep my expression neutral. “Is there a reason you think I’m currently managing her schedule?”
I’ve done exactly the opposite for two days. I’ve cold-turkeyed my way through this fucking addiction. I’ve forced myself not to ask Eli for updates. To let time bury what happened between us.
Discipline over instinct to the point of madness.
“You were together for two nights.” Her voice sharpens like a blade. “Then she vanishes, and you expect me to believe you know nothing?”
“She said she needed time to herself. I’m sure she’s?—”
“She’smissing.I let myself into her apartment last night and she’s not there. Neither are the things I packed for her when she took an impromptu cruise onyouryacht.” She grabs her cell from her pocket, taps the screen, and flashes it toward me. “I took her cat, yet she hasn’t even messaged me to freak out that Nyra has disappeared.”
I stare at the text conversation on screen, fear chilling my blood as a long list of Quinn’s messages go unanswered and unseen.
Those fucking Butchers.
I scrub a hand over my mouth, my palms sweating.
Quinn straightens, scrutinizing me with narrowed eyes. “This is… news to you.” Her vengeful expression morphs into confusion. “You’re… worried.”
No, this isn’t worry. Panic is steamrolling me.
