Chapter 25
Dante
Aviolent jolt rips me from sleep so abruptly that, for a few seconds, I don’t know where I am, what time it is, or who I’m supposed to be. The world is hazy and blurred, my usually perfect vision smeared with fog. My head pounds a deep, rhythmic thump. It isn’t a normal hangover headache, more my brain seeping out of my ears.
I blink, forcing the room into focus. When my vision finally clears, I recognize the furnishings and the faint citrus scent that always lingers in the air. I’m in the apartment next to Lucia’s studio—the one I bought with cash. I’ve been here every day for two weeks but have no idea how I got in this bed or why I’m naked.
I used to sleep naked before Camille came into my life, but that stopped when her silent screams became impossible to ignore.
A cold ripple slides down my spine.
In my teens and twenties, I did some crazy things, but I never woke up with no memories of the night before.
Snatching my phone from the bedside table, I squint at the screen glare. I groan when I see the time. It’s halfway through the afternoon. Ihaven’t slept this late in years—not since my life became a cycle of endless responsibilities and vigilance.
After pulling on sleep pants, my movements sluggish, I enter the hallway and call for Camille and Lucia. The apartment is silent; both the living room and Camille’s bedroom are empty.
My pulse spikes as I beeline for the sheet that’s done a shit job of protecting Lucia’s privacy. I’ve stalked her numerous times the past two weeks. Within minutes of putting Camille to bed, I prop my shoulder against the shared wall and pretend to catch my breath after a long day.
Truth is, I’m listening. Not to invade or pry. Just to be close to her in a way I can’t be just yet.
Lucia’s studio is as vacant as the kitchen I passed by, and sparkles as if scrubbed spotless by a professional cleaning service.
I hired a company to clean both apartments weekly, but they’re booked until Friday. That’s tomorrow, right?
My jaw twitches as I check the hallway outside, hoping to see Marco stationed there. The corridor is empty, and the silence is deafening. Marco signs off when I’m present, so his absence means nothing on its own, but it also doesn’t mean Camille and Lucia are safe.
A cold, tight panic seizes my chest.
Confused, I swallow several times. My mouth is dry, thirst clawing at me enough to consider drinking from a toilet. I don’t recall drinking last night. I haven’t had alcohol in weeks. With everything happening with Edoardo and the custody mess with Anna, I avoided adding to the pressure of keeping Camille safe, so why did I go on a bender last night of all nights?
Needing answers, I contact the only person who can provide them.
Giovanni answers my call on the second ring. “Dante.”
“They’re gone,” I blurt, my tone raw and frantic. “I can’t fucking find them. I don’t remember if they told me they were going somewhere or if they’ve just vanished. I think I saw them last night?—”
“Slow down,” he cuts in. “Who is gone?”
“Camille and Lucia. I woke up, and they were gone.” My stomach gurgles. “Could it be Edoardo?”
I can’t see Giovanni, but I imagine him shaking his head when a whoosh sounds down the line. “We’ve had eyes on him all week. He isn’t close to that region of Carlisle.” The swishing eases enough that I stop viewing the sink as a bucket. “Edoardo also has no reason to take Camille. He knows that will only end one way.” He makes a throat-slitting noise.
After a beat, I speak words I wish to never speak again. “What about Anna? Would she be stupid enough to do this?”
The thought of a mother hurting her child should be incomprehensible. Regretfully, I have to look at Anna’s relationship with Camille through tainted glasses. Camille has injuries consistent with prolonged mental and physical abuse.
The Anna I met on Halloween seemed strong enough to protect her child. But the Anna from last week is barely the woman she used to be.
“I’m skeptical,” Giovanni answers. “She doesn’t want custody of Camille. She wants money.”
I hum in agreement, though I don’t know why. Last week, Anna stated that this was about what was best for Camille. She insisted Camille needs both parents in her life. She even offered to return the twenty million I’d paid if I tore up the custody papers she’d only partly notarized.
“The fact you didn’t find Lucia and Camille in the apartment most likely means they’re together. Did you call Marco?”
My head throbs as I dismiss his question. “He clocks off when I’m home.”
“It’s three in the afternoon, Dante. I’m reasonably sure he would have clocked back on by now.”
