Page 59 of Stolen Vows

Terror grips my heart.

I need my knife.

Chapter 16

Mario Luciano

Utter silence greets me, and I freeze a moment before slowly pulling my pistol from its holster and creeping deeper into the townhouse.

Valentina neither texted nor called me today, but other than the initial text I sent before I left, I haven’t contacted her, either.

Although my disappointment grew every time I checked my phone, I figured she needed some time alone to process yesterday, so I never reached out to her.

The house alarm remains engaged and untriggered, so no one has broken in and she hasn’t snuck out.

But the place is too quiet.

I cross the living room, check the kitchen, and glance in the washroom before avoiding the creaky bottom step and climbing the stairs.Since the second level is open concept, I pause on the landing and scan from one wall to the other and confirm no one is in the gym or game room.The guest rooms on the third floor remain the same as when I left this morning.I stop at the top of the stairs and focus on my adrenaline-sharpened senses.A small sound comes from the master, and the central air conditioning whirs to life.

I clear the office before stalking down the hall and stepping into the master bedroom.

Valentina’s hair fans over the floor on the other side of the bedframe.I curse and rush forward.My heart skips several beats when I round the foot of the bed and see her tiny form curled up in the fetal position on the hardwood.Dark crimson coats her legs and puddles on the floor.

Pure terror steals my voice.She’s too pale.Too lifeless.

I grab her shoulder.

Her eyes snap open, revealing unfocused pupils, and she gives a lethargic swat at my hand.

“No, Daddy, stop,” she slurs.

I yank my hand away as fresh horror deepens the darkness in my soul.

“Look at me,paperotta.Only me,” I demand.

Her breath hitches.She grimaces and groans in pain, but when she opens her eyes again, she’s no longer trapped in horrible memories.

She whispers my name, but flinches when I reach out to brush her hair from her face.

“Don’t touch me,” she whimpers.

A single tear trails over the bridge of her nose and lands in her sweat-soaked hair.

I pull my hand back without touching her despite my desperation to comfort her.I fish my phone out of my pocket instead.

The blood comes from between her legs.She’s too tiny.I’m too big.I must have been too rough.

“No,” she mumbles.

Afraid she fell into a flashback, I look up from dialing 911 on my phone and meet her glazed stare.

“No doctors.I’m fine,” she says.

“You arenotfine.I hurt you,” I snarl.

“You didn’t.This happens.No doctors.”

Her conviction, despite her weak voice, convinces me her mental state will suffer too much if I call an ambulance, so I stick my phone back in my pocket and shove my panic away.I turn off my emotions and slip into work mode, except this time I’m not ending a life, I’m saving it.