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With adrenaline pushing me forward, I slip into the sleek Range Rover and peel out of my spot, and head for the airport without looking back once. I am only four blocks from the building when I feel the pain behind my eyes.

Tears prick my eyes as I drive. I try to push it all down, but now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I can’t hold it back any longer. I allow them to trickle down my face so I can begin to grieve the man I love.

The night air bites at my skin as I step out of the car, dragging my suitcase behind me. The distant hum of airplanes fills the air,the glow of terminal lights stretching into the dark sky. I move forward, my breath slow and steady—my heart, anything but.

“Don’t look back, don’t look back,” I repeat the same low chant to myself, trying to find the willpower to do this. “Do this for your baby.”

The pain is too much. The love I have for him, deep, soul-consuming, clashes violently with the truth and the betrayal that sticks to the chambers of my heart.

I can’t pretend I didn’t see it. I can’t pretend he didn’t shoot my brother down like it meant nothing.

No matter how hard I try to justify it—no matter how many times he says it was a mistake—I can’t erase the moment he raised that gun.

The image is seared into my memory.

Burned into me.

And it won’t let go.

Tears prick at my eyes again, but I force them back. There will be time to cry—later. Right now, I need to get off American soil.

I weave through the parking bay, the small wheels of my suitcase dragging against the pavement. The terminal entrance is just ahead, glowing like a beacon—my ticket home.

Then, I feel a sudden movement in the air. The hairs on the back of my neck raise in awareness, and my head whips around, trying to see the threat that seems to be looming just around the corner.

My pulse quickens, my instincts screaming at me to move, but my feet feel like they’re sinking into the ground. I inhale sharply, trying to convince myself that I am overthinking. I take another step forward?—

“Gotcha, bitch.” Strong arms come around me, and a cloth covers my mouth.

I have no sense of my bearings. My head is tilted upward, and the sharp scent of some chemical fills my nostrils as I try to struggle against the person who has me gripped.

I thrash, my suitcase slipping from my grip as strong arms yank me backward. A muffled scream claws its way up my throat, but the fabric they hold against my mouth blocks the sound, turning it into nothing more than a desperate whimper.

No, no, no!

I kick, twisting in my attacker’s grip, but whoever they are, they’re too strong. I feel myself being lifted, my feet barely brushing the ground as I’m hauled toward something—a car, maybe. The more I fight, the more strength I seem to lose, until my muscles eventually give way, and my vision blurs as it slowly dips into darkness.

The last thing I remember hearing is a familiar voice. One that only sends fear to my belly.

“Time for a joy ride, step-mommy.”

And just like that, the darkness swallows me whole.

I thought leaving Matteo would hurt the most… until the real nightmare begins.

36

MATTEO

Inotice how cool I feel before I even open my eyes.

At first, my sleep-clouded mind doesn’t process it. My hand reaches instinctively, expecting to find the warm curve of Maria’s body, the soft hush of her breathing pressed against me. But all I touch is the cold sheets.

My eyes snap open.

“Maria,” I call out her name in the thick of the darkness. I look at my phone on the bedside table and see it is almost three in the morning. “Maria?”

She’s not here.