Dante Vitiello POV:
The closet doors were thrown wide open.
I stared at the empty space where her clothes used to be.
The red dress I had bought her was gone.
The simple grey coats she always wore were gone.
The wire hangers were bare, skeletons dancing in the draft from the air conditioner.
It was a sound I would hear in my nightmares for years. *Clink. Clink. Clink.*
I ripped the drawers open.
Empty.
No socks. No underwear. No t-shirts.
I stormed into the bathroom.
Her toothbrush was gone. Her face cream. The cheap comb she refused to replace.
All of it. Gone.
I ran back to the bedroom and checked the nightstand.
Her charger was missing.
I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and dialed her number.
*The number you have dialed is no longer in service.*
My blood ran cold. I dialed it again.
*The number you have dialed...*
I hurled the phone across the room. It smashed against the far wall, cracking the screen into a spiderweb of glass.
I didn't care.
I grabbed the landline and called Marco.
"Find her," I ordered, my voice raw.
"Dante? What—"
"Find Elena. She's gone. Check the airports. Check the train stations. Check the hospitals."
"She left you?" Marco asked, confusion heavy in his tone.
"Find her!" I screamed.
I slammed the phone down so hard the plastic housing cracked.
I stood in the center of the room, vibrating with rage.
My chest felt like it was being crushed by a hydraulic press. I couldn't breathe.
I fell to my knees.
I put my head in my hands, fingers digging into my scalp.
*Think, Dante. Think.*
When did she decide this?
Last night?
No.
She was calm last night. She was... cold.
*I don't need you.*
That text.
I thought she was just being difficult. I thought she was jealous of the dog.
I stood up and stalked to the living room.
Maria was still standing there, shaking.
"Did she say anything?" I asked. My voice was dangerously quiet.
"No, sir. She just... she packed while you were sleeping. She left when you went to Miss Sofia's."
She waited.
She had waited for me to leave.
She knew I would go to Sofia.
She had counted on it.
A memory flashed in my mind like a lightning strike.
The car ride.
\The phone call with Marco.
I had spoken in Italian. I had told Marco about the marriage contract. I had told him I was going to trick Elena with a fake wedding.
I looked at Maria, a horrifying realization dawning on me.
"Maria," I said. "How long has Elena been studying Italian?"
Maria looked confused.
"Italian, sir? Since... since you were blind."
The air left my lungs in a rush.
"She used to read to you," Maria whispered. "She learned so she could read your letters. The ones from your uncle in Sicily."
I staggered back as if struck physically.
She knew.
She had understood every word I said in the car.
She had sat next to me, listening to me sell her out, listening to me plan to make her a whore in the eyes of the law while I married Sofia.
And she didn't say a word.
She just got out of the car.
She let me drive away.
And then she started planning her escape.
