The Runaway Wife: Never Forgiving You

Dante POV

I'd texted her at noon with a simple command:

Be ready at 7. Wear the red dress.

She didn't reply.

That was fine. I told myself she was just sulking.

I worked late on purpose, letting the anticipation build.

I wanted to walk in like a benevolent King granting mercy to a rebellious subject.

I arrived at the Villa at 7:15.

The scent hit me the moment I crossed the threshold.

Lilies.

The entire foyer was drowning in them.

Vases crowded every table; petals littered the floor like fallen snow.

It smelled like a funeral, though I reminded myself that Elena loved them.

I loosened my tie as I stepped deeper into the silence.

"Elena?" I called out.

Silence was my only answer.

The house was dark, save for the flickering candles the staff had lit.

I walked into the dining room.

Dinner was set for two.

The food was stone cold.

"Where is she?" I demanded of the maid cowering in the corner.

"I haven't seen Madam all day, sir," she whispered, trembling.

Irritation flared hot in my gut.

She was defying me. Again.

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

The subscriber you have dialed is not in service.

My frown deepened as the automated voice mocked me.

Not in service?

I marched up the stairs, my patience fraying with every step.

I went straight to her bedroom.

"Elena, open this door," I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

I didn't wait. I pushed it open.

The bed was made. Perfectly smooth.

Too smooth.

It looked like no one had slept in it for days.

I strode to the closet and threw the doors open.

Her clothes were there.

The red dress hung in the center, mocking me, untouched.

Her shoes were lined up in military precision.

But something was wrong.

The air was stale, devoid of her perfume.

I went to the jewelry box.

The diamonds I gave her were there.

The emeralds. The rubies.

I yanked open the drawer where she kept her documents.

Empty.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Matteo!" I roared.

My assistant appeared in the doorway seconds later, breathless.

"Find her," I ordered. "Now."

I sat heavily on the edge of her bed, the silence of the room pressing in on me.

Then, I saw something in the trash can.

I reached in and pulled it out.

It was the photo album.

The one with the pictures of us as kids.

The one she had saved from the fire when our first apartment burned down.

She loved this book more than her life.

And she had thrown it in the trash like it meant nothing.

Dread, cold and heavy, settled in the pit of my stomach.

I pulled up Luca's contact on my phone.

I held down the voice note button, my hand shaking with suppressed rage.

"Elena," I snarled into the phone. "If this is a game, you lose. Get back here in an hour, or I pull the plug on your brother for real this time."

I sent it.

It didn't deliver.