I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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I wanted to run after her. To grab her before those elevator doors closed and tell her the truth. That nothing happened. That I'd stopped it. That the only reason that redhead was even in my apartment was because I was trying to burn Yasenia out of my blood and failing fucking miserably.
But I didn't chase her. She was safer hating me than loving me. That's what I kept telling myself anyway.
I was still standing in the middle of the living room like a goddamn statue when the elevator chimed again. Something pathetic and desperate flickered in my chest. Hope. Maybe she'd come back.
It wasn't her.
Fico stepped into the room, his eyes scanning like he expected a firefight. "Boss, you called for me?"
"What the fuck are you doing here? I didn't call you." Then it hit me. "Where is she?"
Fico's face went pale. "Shit."
I didn't wait for an explanation. I was already moving, slamming my palm against the elevator button, cursing every second it took to arrive.
She'd done it again. She'd lied to him, ditched him, and taken off on her own. With Liam Bailey still out there, waiting for the smallest opening. With my father's men crawling all over the city. With every enemy I'd ever made circling like vultures.
I burst out of the building with Fico scrambling behind me. The car was fucking gone.
"Fuck!" I yanked my phone from my pocket, pulled up the tracking app, and watched her location blink to life on the screen. "Get the car. Now."
Fico disappeared into the underground garage and came back in one of the SUVs. I took the wheel and floored it, weaving through traffic like a mad man. I tried her number again and again. Nothing. Straight to voicemail every goddamn time.
Then I tried Andrea. Same thing. No answer.
Andrea always answered. Always.
Something was very fucking wrong.
I found the Range Rover thirty minutes later, abandoned on the shoulder of State Route 22. The driver's door was hanging open. Her phone was on the floor. No sign of her anywhere.
She'd been taken.
A roar tore out of me, animal and broken, and I put my fist through the driver's side window. The glass shattered, slicing deep into my knuckles. Blood poured down my arm, but I didn't feel a goddamn thing.
This wasn't Miguel. He might've been furious, but he'd never lay a hand on her. He knew what it would cost him. This was Liam Bailey. This was the monster I should've killed weeks ago, and I'd been too busy drowning in my own bullshit to finish the job.
I'd handed her to him. Me. My fault. My fucking failure.
I sprinted back to the SUV and tore out of there, calling Andrea again and again. Still nothing.
