Chương 1 - THE WOMAN HE SAID HE COULD FORGET
By 7:03 the next morning, Nico had called my disconnected number forty-six times.
I knew because the prepaid phone I bought at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy had one message from Arthur.
He had somehow found the number.
Elena, please call me. Not Nico. Me.
I deleted it.
Then another arrived.
You were right to leave.
That one I didn't delete.
I sat on the edge of a motel bed in Queens wearing my gray hoodie and staring at a television bolted to the dresser.
Three years with Nico Bellandi had taught me two things.
First, if Nico truly wanted someone found, New York became very small.
Second, nobody left Nico's life unnoticed.
Which meant every hour he hadn't found me felt strange.
Almost deliberate.
At the penthouse, things were apparently different.
Arthur told me later exactly what happened.
Nico entered the bedroom at 1:16 a.m.
He saw the empty section of the closet first.
Then the bathroom.
Then the safe.
The black card lay on top of every diamond he'd ever given me.
Nico stared at it for nearly a minute.
Arthur entered behind him.
“How much did she hear?”
Nico didn't answer.
He checked the security feed.
12:45 a.m.
There I was.
Black bag.
Old boots.
No coat expensive enough for January.
Walking alone through the service exit.
Arthur watched Nico's face.
“You said it at 12:35.”
Nico turned.
“What?”
“She left ten minutes after you said you'd forget her.”
Nico's jaw tightened.
“I was talking.”
“You were lying.”
“That doesn't matter.”
Arthur almost laughed.
“Apparently it mattered to Elena.”
Nico grabbed his phone.
Disconnected.
He called security.
Then drivers.
Then every property he owned.
Nothing.
At 3:00 a.m., he ordered men to check bus terminals, airports, train stations, hospitals, and every hotel where I had ever stayed.
By sunrise, nobody had found me.
Then Nico opened the lower drawer of his desk.
Arthur had never seen that drawer unlocked.
Inside were photographs.
Not surveillance.
Me.
Cooking in the penthouse kitchen.
Sleeping on the couch.
Laughing at something outside a restaurant.
One photograph of me holding Nico's face between my hands after he'd come home with a split eyebrow.
Arthur stared at him.
“You keep pictures of a woman you'd forget by Friday?”
Nico slammed the drawer shut.
“Get out.”
But Arthur didn't.
“Why did you say it?”
Nico's expression changed.
That question mattered.
Too much.
Finally he said, “Because Salvatore's listening.”
Arthur went still.
“What?”
Nico looked toward the ceiling.
“My study was bugged.”
That was the first secret.
The words that made me leave hadn't been spoken because Nico believed them.
May you like
They had been spoken because someone dangerous needed to believe he didn't love me.
And that someone had already ordered my death.
