Chapter 2

Dominic's POV

The call came while Sophia was laughing at one of my jokes.

I hadn't wanted to take her to Vianello's. But after I'd talked her down from the roof—again—she'd been shaking so hard her teeth chattered. Her fingers were blue from the cold. The family doctor had sedated her last time, and she'd spent three days in a fog. I'd thought a warm meal might be better.

I was wrong. I knew I was wrong the moment we walked in.

This was the restaurant I'd promised Lillian.

But I couldn't leave Sophia alone. Not after a close call. Not in that state. So I'd stayed long enough to make sure she ate something, to make sure her pulse steadied and her hands stopped trembling. Sophia kept talking—nervous chatter about old times, about her father, about things I barely heard. I smiled when I was supposed to smile. I checked my watch every sixty seconds.

Lillian would be waiting. I just needed to get out of here.

Then my primary phone buzzed. My captain, Marco.

*"Boss. We have a situation at the penthouse."*

*"What kind of situation?"*

A long pause. Then: *"It's your wife, sir. She's... gone."*

The restaurant noise—the clink of glasses, the murmur of other diners—seemed to recede. All I could hear was my own pulse.

*"What do you mean, gone?"*

*"Front desk saw her leave with a suitcase around eight. She didn't say where she was going."*

A suitcase. Lillian had packed a suitcase.

"Dominic?" Sophia's voice cut through the fog. "Is everything okay?"

I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the marble floor. "We're leaving."

"But I haven't finished—"

"Now."

I dropped Sophia at her building without a word. She called after me as I pulled away. I didn't answer.

The drive to the penthouse took eleven minutes. I ran three red lights.

The apartment was dark. Quiet. The candles Lillian had lit were still flickering on the sideboard. The champagne bucket was still full, the ice long melted.

Then I saw it.

The papers. A thick sheaf of legal documents, placed precisely where my napkin should have been, next to my untouched champagne flute.

Next to them, her wedding ring.

I picked it up. The diamond was cold. She'd been gone for hours.

I read the first page. Then the second. Then I threw the whole stack against the wall.

*Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. Lillian Rossi, Petitioner. Dominic Rossi, Respondent. Grounds: Irreconcilable Differences.*

She'd lawyered up. She'd planned this. She'd had the papers drawn, signed, notarized—and I hadn't known. I hadn't seen a thing.

I pulled out my phone and called Marco. "Find her. Every available man. Check the airports, the train stations, every hotel in the tristate area. I want to know where she is in the next hour."

"Yes, sir."

I stood in the empty penthouse, her ring in my palm, and tried to remember the last thing I'd said to her before I walked out.

*Wait for me.*

She hadn't waited.

She was done waiting.

Something cold settled in my chest. Not anger. Not yet. Something worse.

The dawning realization that I might have just lost the only real thing I'd ever had.