Chapter 2 - THE WIFE WHO VANISHED BEFORE DAWN
By noon, Dante had called Lena forty-three times.
None connected.
He stood inside his private office, staring at the marble floor where the anniversary dinner had fallen.
The cleaning staff had been instructed not to touch it.
The paper bag still lay near the doorway.
Inside were containers of handmade ravioli.
A bottle of Barolo.
A chocolate torta.
And a small cream-colored envelope.
Dante opened it.
His name was written across the front in Lena's handwriting.
He unfolded the card.
To five years together, and every year still waiting for us.
He read it once.
Then again.
The words blurred.
Marco entered quietly.
“Sir.”
Dante didn't look up.
“What?”
“We've confirmed she left Chicago.”
Dante turned.
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
His jaw tightened.
Marco continued.
“She used her own car. No security detail.”
Dante closed his eyes.
Five years earlier, he had promised Lena she would never have to be afraid again.
He had meant it.
But somewhere along the way, he'd confused safety with control.
He had given her a penthouse.
A driver.
Jewelry.
Security.
Everything money could buy.
Everything except his time.
Dante looked down at the anniversary card.
Then whispered:
“She remembered.”
Marco said nothing.
Dante laughed bitterly.
“Of course she remembered.”
That evening, Sofia Vale arrived at his office.
She wore a cream coat and an expression of concern.
“Dante.”
He looked up.
“What are you doing here?”
She hesitated.
“I heard Lena left.”
His expression hardened.
“Who told you?”
Sofia swallowed.
“People talk.”
She stepped closer.
“I'm sorry about last night.”
Dante stared.
Sofia continued.
“I shouldn't have kissed you.”
“No.”
His voice was cold.
“You shouldn't have.”
Sofia looked down.
“But you didn't stop me immediately.”
Dante closed his eyes.
The truth was unbearable.
He hadn't.
For a few seconds, he'd let the kiss happen.
Not because he loved Sofia.
But because he'd been careless.
Tired.
Angry after a difficult negotiation.
And arrogant enough to believe a moment of weakness would have no consequences.
Sofia reached toward him.
“Dante—”
He stepped away.
“Don't.”
She froze.
He looked at her.
“You will not contact my wife.”
Sofia's eyes narrowed.
“Your wife left you.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Leave.”
Sofia stared.
Then turned and walked out.
But as the door closed, something dangerous flickered across her face.
May you like
Because Sofia Vale had not kissed Dante Moretti by accident.
And Lena's disappearance had created an opportunity she had been waiting years to exploit.
