My jet touches down in Chicago just as the sun crests the horizon, painting the tarmac in cold gold. I’d like to say I’m coming back with good news but I’m not. Every lead I chased dissolved into nothing. Dead ends stacked on dead ends, frustration gnawing at my spine.
The only thing keeping me upright is the thought of Elizabeth waiting for me at home.
I consider calling her. Hearing her voice. Letting her ground me. But no—I decide a surprise will be better. I want to see her face when I walk through the door. I want to feel that moment when the world makes sense again.
Cesaro is waiting in the parking garage when I arrive, hands clasped in front of him, expression carefully neutral.
“Updates?” I ask.
He hesitates.
It’s barely a second, but it’s enough. My pulse spikes, instinct screaming that something is wrong.
“What is it?” I demand.
“Fran moved in while you were gone.”
The words hit, and I still completely like the world has paused around me. But Cesaro isn’t finished. I can tell by the way his jaw tightens.
“Miss Miller was understandably upset, and?—”
“And what?” My voice is low now.
“She left, Lorenzo.”
The garage seems to tilt. The air thickens, crushing my lungs. Left. My entire fucking world stills.
“What do you mean sheleft?”
The words scrape out of my throat, rough and disbelieving.
Cesaro meets my stare without flinching. That alone tells me how bad this is.
“She was hurt, Lorenzo. Said you’d made your choice and now she was making hers.”
“And you just let her walk out of my home?” I demand.
“I did.”
The calm in his voice nearly sends me over the edge. I’d give him credit for it if I didn’t want to rip his head off and mount it on the hood of my car.
“Youlether leave,” I repeat, each word edged with steel. “You let a woman tied to me walk into the world alone.”
“She wasn’t a prisoner,” Cesaro says evenly. “And she made it very clear she didn’t want to be one.”
I turn away, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to breathe through the surge of rage clawing up my spine. Images flood my mind—Elizabeth curled in my bed, Elizabeth standing in the kitchen with fire in her eyes, Elizabeth telling me she couldn’t stay.
I should’ve listened. I should’ve stayed here with her instead of going to Kansas City. I should’ve never let things get this far.
“Where did she go?” I ask finally, my voice low and dangerous.
“She didn’t say. Packed light. Left quietly.”
Quietly. Of course she did. She was never one for drama—just truth. And I’d given her too much of it, too late.
“She won’t get far,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
Cesaro’s jaw tightens. “You don’t know that.”
