Page 74 of The Bonventi Secret

What is he going to do with me?

The question echoes in my head, each repetition more terrifying than the last. I know what Enzo is capable of, what he's done to those who've betrayed him. But surely, surely, he wouldn't do anything like that to me.

I drop my fork, the clatter against the plate making me jump. No, I can't think like that. Enzo cares for me, I know he does. Or at least, he did. Before I ruined everything.

I stumble back to the bed, collapsing onto it. Everything smells like him. I can't hold back the tears.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the empty room. "I'm so sorry."

But apologies won't fix this. I've betrayed his trust, and in Enzo's world, that's unforgivable.

As I lie there, my mind drifts to my life before all this. How something I didn't want, I now want more than anything else.

I lay there, looking at the ceiling until it's lit only by the lights outside. I don't know what time it is, but it's late, and the weight of everything has taken its toll, and my eyes can no longer stay open.

As I drift off to sleep, I can't help but think

This can't be the end of us.

LIVIA - 26

Istare at my phone, willing it to ring. I've been trying to get ahold of Megan, but she's not returning my calls. I think she may be on a research trip, but I can't remember. Either way, I'd really like to talk to her.

Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the couch.

It's been five days since Enzo walked out of the library, leaving me shattered. Five days of silence, of meals eaten alone, of restless nights in an empty bed.

I've taken to wandering the mansion like a ghost, hoping to catch even a glimpse of him. The guards watch me with blank expressions, their eyes following my movements but offering no information. Even servants who would talk to me have become silent shadows.

Yesterday, I thought I heard him, but when I pushed open the door to see him, I was left with only his cologne lingering in the air.

And Marcella is of no use to me.

All she tells me is, "Mr. Bonventi is not available right now" or "Mr. Bonventi is out."

Last night, after I finished in the library, I ran into her in the hallway and looked her in the eyes, woman to woman, and asked, "Just tell me if he's okay?"

To which she replied, "Your dinner will be served in your room at seven, Miss Falcone," and walked away.

I stand to pace the library, and everything just feels like it's falling apart. The irony isn't wasted on me; I was unhappy coming here, and now I'm unhappy that Enzo's not here.

There's movement on the other side of the door, and I stop to look at it, my heart in my throat.

"Enzo?" I call out.

But I see Antonio in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. He's holding a cup of tea.

"I thought I'd find you here," he says.

I force a smile.

"Chamomile," he says, setting it on the desk. "It'll help you relax, even if it's only midday."

Antonio hasn't said much to me, and I don't blame him. Once Enzo left, the entire house shifted in his favor, as I suppose it should, being the boss and all.

"Have you seen him?" I ask, knowing I shouldn't.

Antonio's smile fades. "You know I can't answer that."