Page 52

MATTEO

I notice 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.

A sharp pang of unease coils in my chest as I sit up, scanning the dimly lit room. Her nightgown lays on the floor where I stripped it off of her. The closet door is slightly ajar. The lamp on her nightstand is still on, casting a golden glow across the bed.

My gut twists. I try not to let my mind wander too far. Maybe she’s just downstairs in her studio, sketching out the storm in her chest—waiting for me to come and talk to her.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stand quickly, my heart slamming against my ribs. I scan the room again, looking for anything, any sign, of where she might have gone.

Then I see it.

A folded piece of paper, placed neatly by the lamp. I snatch it up, my fingers tightening around the edges as I unfold it.

Some things can’t be undone, Matteo. And I don’t know how to be whole in your world anymore. I need to remember who I was before you. Please… let me go. Before I forget how to breathe without you. Before I forget what you took from me. —M

The breath I take is sharp, my pulse roaring in my ears.

“No, no, no!” The desperation in my tone is evident. I grab my phone from the nightstand and immediately call her.

“Hi, you’ve reached Maria Davacalli. Please leave a message after the?—”

Straight to voicemail.

My jaw clenches so tightly it aches. I try again. The same thing—voicemail. A cold rush of panic floods my veins. I pull at my hair, feeling like the world is closing in on me.

I dial a different number, one I haven’t called since the wedding.

“Fuck.” I sit on the edge of the bed and wait.

“Davacalli. Bit late for a call in your time zone.” Maria’s father’s voice is sharp, clipped—no room for pleasantries. “You have three seconds to explain what you’ve done.”

“Where is she?”

There’s a pause. A measured silence that grates against my already fraying nerves.

“My daughter,” he says slowly, as if the word itself is a correction. “She’s coming home. And now I get to ask—what did you do? I told you not to hurt her. Are you incapable of even that small task?”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. “Italy? She’s flying back to Italy?”

His voice is clipped, a warning beneath his tone. “My wife received a message from her earlier. I sent another, but she hasn’t responded yet.”

I inhale through my nose, forcing my rage back. “And when was that?”

“About three hours ago.”

The pit in my stomach deepens. Three hours?

“Did she say anything else?” My grip tightens around the phone. “What flight is she going to take? Did she tell you when she was boarding?”

There’s another pause, and that does nothing to ease the panic that riddles my bones.

“She never confirmed whether she boarded a flight,” he finally says. “Or what flight she was taking. I was going to tell her to wait a few hours for our jet so she could travel more comfortably, but she never responded. I just assumed she was already in the air.”

My breath comes out slow, controlled. But inside, a storm is raging. Something is very, very wrong here. I can feel it right down to the marrow of my bones. It’s an unsettling feeling, one I felt when I first found Beatrice lying on the floor, unconscious.

I pull the phone away from my ear and switch screens. I tap into the tracker I had placed on Maria’s car, watching as the signal pinpoints her last known location.

JFK. The car’s at the airport—but if she’s not answering her father, maybe she never boarded a flight at all.

The thought twists in my gut. Why wouldn’t she? I don’t even want to think about it. All I know is I need to find her.

I put the phone back to my ear. “She never got on a flight.”

A sharp exhale from the other end. “What?”

“Her car is at the fucking airport,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “If she got on a flight—any flight—she would’ve told someone. You or your wife.”

I take a breath, my mind already racing.

“Wait. I need to make a call.”

Before he can respond, I hang up the phone and dial Ginny’s number. I hold it to my ear, praying that she answers the phone.

“Hello?” Ginny’s sleep-laden voice croaks through the phone.

“Have you spoken to Maria?”

“Wait—what’s going on?”

“Goddamn it, Ginny, focus.” My voice is a growl of barely restrained panic. “Have you spoken to my wife in the last three hours?”

I hear some rustling and then a clearing of a throat. “No, I last spoke to her last night when she—what’s wrong? Did something happen to her?”

“Maria is missing, and I don’t know where the hell she is.” I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but it slips through. “Her car’s at the airport, and her number isn’t going through. With Giacomo running loose, I… I need to find her.”

I pause, swallowing the rising dread. “If you haven’t heard from her, and neither have her parents, then something’s wrong. Seriously wrong.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps. I hear her shift away from the phone, her voice low as she speaks to someone beside her. “Hold on—I’m handing you over to Dario.”

“Matteo? What happened?”

“Maria’s gone. I tracked her car to the airport, but her phone isn’t going through. No one’s seen or heard from her in hours.”

I move to the closet, pulling on clothes as I speak, my voice tight with fury.

“That bastard took my wife. I know he did.”

“I thought you had men watching that place. Clearly, your security is a joke.”

“Not the time, Dario,” I hear his wife hiss in the background.

“Matteo, go to the airport. We’ll start mobilizing things on our end. We’ll find her.”

I agree with her, stepping out of the closet and heading for the door. I hang up on Dario and immediately call my second.

He answers on the first ring. “Boss?”

“There’s a situation,” I grit out, slipping on my jacket as I stalk toward the door. “Meet me at the airport.”

No questions. Just a sharp, “On it.”

I hang up, shove my phone into my pocket, and step into the hallway. My mind is already racing through every possibility.

If Maria had left me, I could’ve taken it, giving her space, if that’s what she needed.

Even if it tore me apart to watch her walk away.

But this?

This feels like something else. Something worse.

Her being taken—that’s what truly unsettles me.

I get to JFK in record time. The moment I pull into the parking lot, I spot it—Maria’s sleek Range Rover parked near the entrance. Everything looks normal on the outside, no signs of a struggle.

I step out of my car, my movements sharp, every nerve in my body screaming at me. The closer I get, the colder my blood runs. I keep my gaze locked on the perimeter.

As I near the car, that’s when I notice something on the windshield.

A note.

I yank it free, my fingers tightening around the edges as my eyes scan the words. A single sentence.

Looks like it’s my turn to take your wife, Matteo. —From your old friend G.

The world narrows. Every sound fades. Every thought burns away, leaving only one thing—cold, murderous intent.

I turn sharply, heading back to my car, one thought blazing through me like fire: Kill him.

But before I can get in, tires screech against the pavement. A black SUV pulls up fast, and Valerio steps out before the engine even fully dies. His eyes land on the note in my hand, then flick to Maria’s empty car.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“I need to go.”

Valerio’s face darkens, his jaw tightening as he stalks toward me. “Boss.” His voice is sharp with a clear warning. “Think before you fucking act.”

I shove the note into his chest. “There’s nothing to think about.”

His gaze scans the words, then snaps back to mine. “This is a fucking trap.”

“And you think I give a shit? He’s got my wife, Valerio. My wife.” The words taste like blood in my mouth because saying them makes it real. “He won’t hesitate to kill her. You know exactly what kind of monster he is.”

Valerio curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t give a damn when it comes to her,” he says. “But if you charge in without a plan, Maria dies. You could die. Then what the hell will it all have been for?”

He locks eyes with me. “I need you to calm down—we need to come up with a plan that’ll actually work.”

The words slam into me, white-hot and suffocating. My hands shake, my breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. I know he’s right. I fucking know. But every instinct in my body is screaming to move. To hunt. To kill.

Valerio steps closer, his voice low but firm. “Listen to me. We will get her back. But we have to be smart about this. Giacomo won’t just kill her like that. This whole game he is playing is about making you suffer in the worst way possible. He won’t kill her yet.”

Logically, I know he’s right. But logic doesn’t register right now. All I can think about is that my wife is with him.

My pulse pounds, my mind at war with itself. The need to act is crushing, suffocating—but the truth in his words is undeniable.

I force out a breath. A slow, lethal inhale.

“We head back to the penthouse and track Maria’s phone to see where it last pinged,” I tell my second. “Then we meet with Dario and his men and come up with a solid plan of attack. I’d say we’ve got roughly two hours to get our shit together.”

The timeline alone rips the hope straight out of my chest.

Two hours. That’s two hours too long.

Giacomo could do so much to her in that time.

And the worst part? There’s nothing I can do to stop it—not yet.

“Okay, I’ll drive. Leave your car here,” Valerio says, already moving toward his.

I follow close behind.