Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
No answer.
I turn the handle slowly, the metal cool against my palm, and push the door open.
The room is empty.
The bed is still made, the crisp white linens untouched, pillows arranged exactly as the housekeeper left them. No indentation where his body would have been, no discarded jacket tossed over the chair, no faint imprint of him anywhere. Only the faint, lingering scent of his cologne hangs in the air, mocking me with its presence.
It’s clear now that he didn’t stay home.
He must have left after I confronted him. The realization settles over me like a guilty cloud. I shouldn’t have reacted so emotionally. I should have been more rational. A fresh wave of sadness and worry washes through me, so strong it makes my knees feel weak for a second. Where is he? Is he safe? Is he out there right now dealing with the FBI? Or is he somewhere else entirely, handling things I don’t even want to imagine?
I stand there in the doorway for a long moment, one hand still gripping the doorframe while my thoughts spin faster. The room feels too still, too perfect, like it’s waiting for someone who might never walk back through it the same way.
I shiver with that thought and quickly return to my room. Just as I arrive at my bed, my phone lights up on the nightstand with a call.
An unknown number.
My stomach tightens instantly, a sharp, nauseating twist. I freeze mid-step, staring at the glowing screen like it might bite me. I’m afraid then, almost certain it’s the FBI again. They never once bothered me while I was married to Salvatore, but now that I’m with Ricci, they won’t freaking leave me alone. The intrusion feels personal, invasive, like they’ve reached into the one fragile corner of my life that finally felt safe and shattered it. I’m pissed at how easily they ripped away the peace I’d started to believe in, angry at myself for letting any of this touch me so deeply.
I try to ignore it, letting it ring, the vibration buzzing against the wood like an accusation. But then the fear spikes sharper, colder, twisting in my gut. What if it’s about Ricci? What if they’ve arrested him, or worse, harmed him? My hand moves before I can stop it, fingers closing around the phone.
The voice on the other end is one I don’t recognize; male, rough, low, the kind of voice that sounds like it’s been dragged across gravel.
This is not the FBI. This is some low-level thug.
“We have your dog,” he says in a thick Bronx accent.
“What?”
“We have your dog,” he repeats impatiently.
Freddie. Someone has kidnapped Freddie! I didn’t even notice. I came home in such shock, hid in my room all evening, wrapped up in my own spiraling thoughts and tears, that I never once checked on him. When did it happen? It must have been during Rebecca’s shift. Has Rebecca betrayed us? The thought hits me like ice water poured straight down my spine. With both Ricci and me in complete disarray, neither of us paid attention to anything else. God, the little grey bundle of joy who has become my shadow these past months… kidnapped.
The man demands that I bring him five thousand dollars. No police. And Ricci is not to be told, or the dog will die. He gives me a meeting place, a clothing store. The call ends with a click that feels too loud in the silent room, echoing in my ears long after the line goes dead.
I’m in total shock. I can’t think. It’s all happening too suddenly. It’s too much. The phone slips from my fingers and lands on the bed with a soft thud.
It all almost feels like a joke. A cruel, ridiculous joke piled on top of everything else that’s already crumbling around me tonight. I stand there for a second, staring at the phone like it might start speaking again, then I turn and hurry downstairs, my bare feet silent on the stairs, my silk robe fluttering around my legs.
I go straight to the playpen in the kitchen.
The crate is empty.
The blanket is rumpled, one corner flipped back like something small and frantic had been pulled from it. One of his favorite squeaky toys lies abandoned on the floor, the bright red ball staring up at me accusingly. The puppy is gone.
Fuck. What do I do now?
I curse under my breath and start pacing frantically.
But then the amount the kidnapper wanted sinks in. Only five thousand dollars. It’s not a huge sum. I can take it from the safe. Ricci won’t mind. I’ll pay him back. This is just a small, petty extortion attempt by someone in Rebecca’s circle, someone who saw an opportunity and took it. Still distraught, but slightly relieved that it’s not something worse, that it’s not the FBI or something tied to Ricci’s world, I decide to handle this situation myself. I want it to be over as soon as possible so poor Freddie doesn’t suffer or feel fear, and I don’t have to deal with this on top of everything else that is happening in my life.