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JOAO

I ’ve known for four days that my wife is still alive, ever since Antonio called me into Casanova to ask me about her. But there’s a difference between knowing that something is true and believing it, and I don’t think I really, truly believed that Stefi wasn’t dead until I saw her framed in the doorway of Frau Augsburger.

Maybe that explains why I was such a fool.

Maybe that explains why, instead of searching her, tying her up, and driving her back to Venice, I got distracted and let her grab her gun.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I let Stefi get under my skin. One look at her, and the past evaporated, the last eight years of anguish and misery gone in a flash. One look into those beautiful forest-green eyes, and I was once again the guy who was so crazily in love with his wife that he would do anything for her.

She refused to answer any of my questions. She wouldn’t tell me why she decided to leave without a single word of explanation, she was cagey about what she’s been doing for the last eight years, and she wouldn’t even discuss what drove her to abduct Alina.

The very mention of Venice seemed to make her distraught, and I have no idea why.

And yet. . . Despite all of that, one look at her, and I’d been ready to take her back. No answers, no explanations, nothing. The moment I saw her again, I was ready to abandon my hard-fought peace of mind and let her into my life. It took everything in me to fight the urge to slam her against the nearest wall and fuck away the pain of the last eight years.

My reaction isn’t healthy, not even a little, nor is it romantic. This is toxic as fuck. Even knowing how bad Stefi is for me, there’s a secret, shameful part of my heart that would abandon everything for her. My coworkers, my friends, my home—I would walk away from it all for my wife.

I curse as I jog back to my car. Stefi wrecked my life when she disappeared, and the pain of her death has never gone away. But I cannot be that guy again. I just cannot. I cannot race to Zurich because my wife is walking into a trap, and I cannot kill half a dozen of Andrei Sidorov’s people just to keep her alive.

Except I already did.

I should know better than to get sucked back in.

Strip, I ordered, and she complied. And when she whipped her T-shirt over her head, for one brief second, anxiety flickered in her eyes. The moment of vulnerability was gone before I could blink, but I saw it, and it made my heart hurt.

As if the scars on her body could ever diminish her loveliness.

I reach my car, unlock the door, and get in. Daniel calls just as I merge onto the highway. “According to Valentina,” he says, “you’re in a forest reserve south of Zurich, and a dozen cop cars are rapidly converging on your location. Have you caused an international incident, and if so, do you need a lawyer?”

Daniel Rossi is Antonio’s go-to lawyer. The man is a shark—smart, ruthless, and competent. I should have guessed that he’d call, and I should have also guessed that Valentina Colonna, our hacker, would be tracking me. “Did the padrino tell you to keep an eye on me?” I ask, maneuvering around a slow-moving Toyota. I’m not speeding—that’ll draw too much attention—but there’s no need to be stuck behind someone who’s driving slower than Daniel’s ninety-year-old grandmother.

“Obviously,” he replies. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“No.”

“Is that no, I didn’t create an international incident, or no, I don’t need a lawyer?”

“No, I don’t need a lawyer.”

“What happened?” Daniel asks. “Did you find your wife? Incidentally, I had no idea you were married. I didn’t have you pegged as the secretive type, Joao, but you kept that very quiet. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

I’m not secretive by nature. But some wounds run so deep that they’re never going to heal, and what’s the point of talking about them? It’s only going to make the people around me worry. It’s better to act as if everything is okay—to laugh and joke and sing karaoke and pretend to flirt—than to let someone look inside and realize how deeply broken I really am.

“I’m glad I’ve given you something to gossip about,” I say dryly. “I traced Stefi to a restaurant called Frau Augsburger. She was there to take out a bounty hunter, Varek Zaworski.”

“You saw her? Is she with you now?”

“Yes, I saw her. No, she’s not with me.”

Daniel makes a noise of frustration. “Joao, are you going to answer all my questions in monosyllables, for fuck’s sake? You were supposed to bring her back to Venice. What happened? Did she manage to get away from you?”

“Yes.” I had a gun pointed at Stefi. But when I saw the scar across her chest, I’d been so blinded by rage at the thought of somebody hurting her that I couldn’t think straight.

I gave her an opening, and she took it. Ignoring the gun in my hand, she walked right up to me. “Would you really shoot me if I tried to run?” she whispered, cupping my cheek. “Could you?”

Her jasmine scent overwhelmed my senses, and the softness in her voice left me weak in the knees.

Fool.

I can sense Daniel’s irritation on the other end of the line, and I can’t say I blame him. He’s trying to help me, and I’m not cooperating. I’m still reacting to seeing Stefi again, still off-balance at her reappearance in my life.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. “Forget Stefi for the moment,” I tell him. “I’ll find her again. I have more pressing things on my mind. First, she told me that Henrik Bach is dead. Is he?”

“Yes.”

“When? How?”

“A couple of days ago. Car accident.”

I exhale slowly. The tormentor of my childhood, the man who shaped my life into its present form, the man responsible for snatching me from a loving home and throwing me into the hellfire that was his training academy, is finally dead. I almost don’t believe it.

Daniel clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

He sounds acutely uncomfortable. Last year, he took on a pro bono case that had nothing to do with the mafia. A single mother and her baby were getting acutely sick from the mold in her apartment, and the company that owned the building was gaslighting her into thinking she was imagining it. Daniel absolutely destroyed the company in court, but he ran away when Olivia tried to thank him. The lawyer isn’t good with emotions.

“I’m fine. Second thing. Someone set a trap for Stefi. When I got to the restaurant, her target was nowhere to be seen, but there were a half dozen people there, sent to take her out.”

“Andrei Sidorov’s people, you think? There’s going to be hell to pay if you killed six members of the Sidorov Bratva.” He swears under his breath. “Okay, I’ll start doing some damage control?—”

“I don’t think they were bratva,” I say, cutting him off. “They weren’t even Russian.”

“How can you tell? Did you interrogate them?”

“I killed two of them before they realized I was there. The third one turned toward me, and he swore out loud when he saw me. In French.”

“Okay?” Daniel sounds confused. “I’m not getting the significance of this.”

“No matter how well trained you are, when you see your life flash before your eyes, your training breaks. The guy spoke French at the moment of his death. He’s not Russian. None of them were.”

“That’s dark,” Daniel responds. “Hang on, I’m hooked into the police scanners. Everyone in the restaurant is dead? Did you kill the kitchen staff? The other patrons?”

“There were no other patrons—the restaurant was closed for a private event. And no, of course I didn’t kill the staff.”

“Can they identify you?”

I roll my eyes. Does the lawyer think I started doing this yesterday? I’ve been a killer all my life. “No, Daniel, they cannot. Stop worrying; nothing can tie me to the crime scene.”

“If you say so. Back to the hit team. If they’re not Sidorov’s people, who are they? Mercenaries?”

“Maybe,” I say doubtfully. “But the one guy I left alive bit down on a suicide pill before he could talk. Mercenaries don’t typically kill themselves to avoid being questioned. Money doesn’t usually buy that kind of loyalty. Unless they were more afraid of what Sidorov would do if they talked. Anyway, I took pictures of them. Can you ask Valentina to ID them?”

“Will do. Who called the cops? The staff?”

I can’t help the smile that lifts up the corners of my lips. “No, that was Stefi.” The sirens took me by surprise, but I should have guessed that she’d have a way out. My wife is always prepared.

“Why?”

“Exit plan,” I explain. “You always leave yourself a way out, just in case things turn messy. If I know Stefi, the call to the cops would have been placed if she didn’t check in by a certain time. She didn’t give herself too long to take care of Zaworski, but then again, she wouldn’t have needed it.”

Daniel clears his throat. “It sounds like there’s a conflict of interest here. Do I have to remind you she almost succeeded in abducting Alina?”

“I’m aware, yes.” My words come out clipped. Daniel’s not wrong to point out what my wife did, but at the same time, his tone rankles. There’s no need to jump to conclusions—none of us know why Stefi acted the way she did.

He hears the edge in my voice and wisely lets it go. “Okay. What happens now? Are you coming home?”

“No, there’s a lead I’m going to chase down.”

I made a mistake today. I let Stefi see that she still affected me, and it gave her the opening she needed to escape. But I wasn’t the only one making mistakes. She touched my cheek and whispered, “I miss you so much.”

And yes, it was partly a calculated strategy to play on my emotions.

But I looked into her eyes, and the regret in them was real. I’m absolutely sure of it.

Which means I’m not the only one tantalized by the possibility of a second chance. I’m not the only one who wants to roll back time.

Sooner or later, Stefi is going to reach out to me. She’s going to log back into our secret chat room, and when she does, I’ll be there, waiting for her.

I’m going to find my wife again. And this time, I’m going to take her back to Venice.

My little fox might not care that she almost walked into a trap, but I do. I thought I lost her once, and it nearly destroyed me. I will not let that happen again.