Page 105 of The Mafia Marriage Contract

Nothing.

I check every room in the penthouse. The kitchen where she makes coffee that's too weak for my taste… empty. The conservatory where she goes to play the violin, think, and hide… fucking empty.

Every room in this penthouse closes around me like a fucking tomb.

Back in the bedroom, I yank on jeans with shaking hands when I see it. The necklace. The one with the GPS tracker, the one she told me meant everything to her, sitting on her nightstand like a fucking goodbye gift.

There's a piece of paper underneath it.

My breath hitches as I snatch it up, unfolding the note as blood pounds between my ears.

Kingston,

I want you to keep this. Not because I don't want it, but because I need you to remember that what we had was real. Every moment. Every touch. Every time you made me feel like I was worth protecting.

You gave me a home. You gave me love. Now, I'm giving you your life.

I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you.

Forever yours,

Livvie.

The paper crumples in my fist before I can stop myself. She's gone. She fucking ran on me.

Only this time, it’s because she loves me.

The realization hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. She didn't leave because she wanted to. She left because she thinks it's the only way to keep me alive.

I grab my phone and call security. The phone rings twice before someone picks up.

"Where is she?" I bark before the guy can finish his greeting.

"Sir?"

"My wife. When did she leave the building? Which direction did she go? What fucking car was she in?"

There's a pause, the sound of typing. "Mr. Viacava, I don't have any record of Mrs. Viacava leaving the building tonight?—"

"Check again. Check every camera, every exit, every goddamn elevator in this place."

More typing. I pace the bedroom, free hand clenched in a fist, ready to put it through the nearest wall.

"Sir, I'm looking at the main lobby feeds now. There's no sign of her leaving through the front entrance. Let me check the other exits… Wait." There’s a longer pause this time, making me impatient. "The service elevator at 4:23 a.m. There's a figure in dark clothes, hood pulled up. Can't see the face clearly, but the build looks right."

Okay, 4:23 a.m. I check the clock. It's past seven now. She has a three-hour head start and I have no fucking idea where she went or what’s she’s planning.

Actually, that's not true. I know exactly why she left. The question is, where the hell did she go?

"Which direction did she go when she hit the street?"

"Give me a second to pull up the exterior cameras.” This pause bleeds like a goddamn fucking hour when it’s really only a few beats of time. “She turned left out of the service exit. That's all I can see from our building's cameras. After that, she went out of range."

Left leads to the subway station. Or the taxi pickup spots on Fifth Avenue. Or a hundred other ways to disappear in this fucking city.

I end the call and immediately dial Bronx’s number.

"K?" His voice is groggy, pissed off. "What the hell time is it?"