Page 123 of Veil of Obsession

44

Princess

The silence is driving me insane. It’s been days. Days since Lucio dropped me off at this house and walked out the door without looking back. Days since I’ve heard his voice, seen his face, felt his presence.

The first day, I convinced myself he’d come back soon. The second day, I tried not to care. By the third, I stopped pretending.

Lucio left me here alone. I’m not allowed outside. I can’t even look out the fucking windows without the risk of someone seeing me. I’ve spent the last seventy-two hours pacing, barely eating, barely sleeping, waiting for a door that never opens. Waiting for him.

But he never comes.

My stomach twists, something sharp digging into my ribs.

I know what I did. I know I lied. I know I betrayed his trust. And I know that if the roles were reversed, if I had been the one who nearly lost my family, I’d want nothing to do with me either.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stay here like this. Alone. Waiting. Drowning in my own fucking thoughts.

I rub my arms, trying to shake off the anxiety coiling in my stomach. Lucio’s words ring in my head.

No going outside. No contact. No getting caught.

But he never said I couldn’t look for a way out.

I move through the hallways,my fingers brushing along the cold walls, my ears straining for any sound. There’s nothing. Not even the hum of a fridge, not the sound of pipes creaking. Just the vast, open emptiness of the house.

It doesn’t feel like a home. It feels like a prison.

I try the study first. The desk drawers are locked. I check the bedroom Lucio told me was mine. Nothing. I push through the kitchen cabinets, the bathroom drawers, the storage closet.

I start to lose hope.

And then I find a small room tucked away behind the stairs. It’s barely a room—more like a storeroom or an old office. The furniture is covered in sheets, dust floating in the dim light as I push open the door. And on the desk, sitting like a relic of another time, is the phone that Emiliano gave me twenty-four hours ago.

Lucio will be pissed, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I—we—have twenty-four more hours to get out of the Camorra’s territory. And I’m not leaving without Lucio.

I snatch it up, my hands shaking. It’s light, outdated, but it turns on. I suck in a shaky breath, my heart slamming against my ribs.

This is my chance. My only chance. I go straight to the dial screen, fingers trembling as I type in the only number I remember by heart.

Lucio’s.

I press call. The line rings. My breath catches. Once. Twice. Three times. My pulse pounds so loud I can hear it in my ears.

Four rings. No answer. Five.

Voicemail.

“Leave a message.”

Click.

I lower the phone slowly, my stomach twisting. I failed. He’s ignoring me. Or maybe…

Maybe he threw his phone out, just like he did mine.

The thought makes my chest cave in, my throat tight with something awful. I almost hang up. But something inside me—something desperate, something terrified—makes me try again.

The phone rings again. And this time…he picks up.