“Ále!” My voice echoed through the penthouse.
“I’m home.”
Silence.
My brows dipped. Alessandra usually stayed in the living room until it was time for bed, and it was too early for her to go to sleep. My emergency work meeting had segued into a second emergency meeting after several investors called, panicking about the falling stocks. Still, it was only half past eight. She should be here unless she’d gone out with her friends again.
I tossed my coat on the bronze tree by the door and loosened my tie, trying to ignore the niggling sense that something was wrong. It was hard to think properly during my work-fueled adrenaline crash. I’d nearly had a heart attack the first time Alessandra went clubbing with Vivian and didn’t tell me. I came home early, didn’t see her, and pictured the worst. I’d called every damn person in my phone book until she finally called me back and reassured me she was okay.
I reached for my cell only to remember it’d died that afternoon. I hadn’t had time to charge it amidst all the chaos.
Dammit.
“Ále!” I called out again. “Where are you, amor?” Still no answer.
I crossed the living room and took the stairs to the second floor. Forty million dollars bought quite a few perks in Manhattan, including a private elevator entrance, twelve thousand square feet spread over two floors, and sweeping views that encompassed the Hudson River to the south, the George Washington bridge to the north, and New Jersey to the west.
I barely noticed any of it. We wouldn’t live here forever; I already had my eye on a bigger, even more expensive penthouse that was currently under development by the Archer Group. It didn’t matter that I spent only a fraction of my time at home. Real estate was a symbol, and if it wasn’t the best, I didn’t want it.
I opened the doors to the master suite. I expected to see Alessandra curled up in bed or reading in the sitting area, but they were as empty as the living room.
My eyes landed on the suitcase by the closet. It was the one I usually took for short trips. Why—
My blood turned to ice.
DC. Anniversary. Six p.m. No wonder I’d been walking around with an impending sense of dread all evening. I’d forgotten our goddamned wedding anniversary.
“Fuck.” I pulled out my phone only to remember it was dead. A fresh litany of curses spilled out as I yanked open various drawers, searching for a charger while our conversation from Wednesday night replayed in my head.
Dom. It’s important.
I won’t forget. I promise.
Thick, slimy dread gnawed at my stomach. I’d missed dates before. I wasn’t proud of it, but last-minute emergencies were the nature of my work, and Alessandra always seemed to take it in stride. I had a sinking feeling this time was different, and not only because it was our anniversary.
I finally found a charger and plugged my phone in. After what seemed like an eternity, it gained enough charge to blink on.
Six missed calls from Alessandra, all received between five and eight p.m. Nothing since then.
I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. I bit back another curse and pivoted to the second-best option: her friends. I didn’t have their numbers, but luckily, I knew someone who did.
“It’s Dominic,” I said brusquely when Dante picked up my call. “Is Vivian there? I need to talk to her.”
“Good evening to you too,” he drawled. Dante Russo was a friend, a longtime client, and the CEO of the world’s largest luxury conglomerate.
Most importantly, he was married to Vivian, whom Alessandra had gotten quite close to over the past year. If anyone knew where my wife was, she did. “Tell me why, exactly, you need to talk to Vivian this late on a Friday night?”
A hint of suspicion leaked into his voice. He was fiercely protective of his wife, which was ironic considering he hadn’t wanted to marry her at all when they initially got engaged.
“It’s about Alessandra.” I didn’t supply any further details.
My marriage was none of his damn business.
A short pause greeted my answer. “Hold on.”
“Hello?” Vivian’s elegant, dulcet tones floated over the line two seconds later.
“Is Alessandra with you?” I skipped the niceties and cut straight to the chase. I didn’t care if she thought I was rude; I only cared about finding my wife. It was late, she was upset, and New York was filled with unsavory people. She could be lost or hurt right now.
My gut twisted into knots.
“No,” Vivian said after way too long. “Why?”
“She’s not at home, and it’s not like her to be out this late.” I skipped over the wedding anniversary part. Once again, our marriage was no one else’s business except ours.
“Maybe she’s with Isabella or Sloane.”
Isabella and Sloane. Alessandra’s other friends. I didn’t know them as well as Vivian, but it didn’t matter. I’d talk to the goddamn cat lady who was always falling asleep in our lobby if she had an inkling of where Alessandra was.
Unfortunately, Isabella and Sloane were also clueless to Alessandra’s whereabouts, and my calls after I hung up with them went to voicemail again.
Dammit, Ále. Where are you?
I headed downstairs again and nearly crashed into Camila. “Mr.
Davenport!” Her eyes widened. I’d forgotten she was back from vacation.
“Welcome—”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Alessandra.” The name came out through gritted teeth. I sounded like a damn broken record, but Camila must’ve been here when she left.
“Ah. Mrs. Davenport was quite upset about the missed flight.” The housekeeper’s pursed lips told me exactly what she thought about my tardiness. “I made her favorite soup to cheer her up, but when I came back from the kitchen, she was already gone.”
“You didn’t hear her leave.” My voice was flat. Cold. “No.” Camila’s eyes darted left and right.
I liked the woman well enough. She was competent, discreet, and one of Alessandra’s favorite staff members, but if she was hiding something from me and Alessandra got hurt as a result…
I went deathly still. “I’m asking you one last time,” I said quietly. Blood roared in my ears, nearly drowning out my words. “Where is my wife? ”
A tremble betrayed Camila’s nerves. “I really don’t know, sir. Like I said, I came out and she was gone. But when I was looking for her…” She pulled something from her pocket. “I found this on the mantel.”
A familiar diamond glittered in her palm. Alessandra’s wedding ring.
A sick, sour feeling spread through my stomach.
“I was going to put it in your room,” Camila said. “But considering—”
“When?”
“About half an hour ago.”
The answer hadn’t fully left her mouth before I grabbed the ring and brushed past her toward the elevator, my pulse pounding with a mix of dread, panic, and something else I couldn’t quite name.
Half an hour. It was nine and Alessandra’s last call to me had been at eight, which meant Camila had found the ring not too long after she left.
She couldn’t have gone too far.
My hand closed around the diamond. She wouldn’t have taken it off unless—
No. She was pissed, as she had a right to be, but I’d find her, explain, and everything would go back to normal. Alessandra was the most understanding person I knew; she’d forgive me.
The diamond dug a painful groove in my palm.
Everything will be fine. It had to be. I couldn’t imagine any other alternative.
