Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO STOPPED ANSWERING
My younger sister, Olivia, opened her apartment door wearing pajamas and holding a wooden spoon.
She took one look at me.
“What did he do?”
I tried to answer.
Instead, I cried.
Olivia pulled me inside.
She didn't ask questions.
Didn't tell me to calm down.
Didn't remind me that Dante was powerful, wealthy, or dangerous.
She simply wrapped her arms around me and held on.
When I finally told her what happened, she went very still.
Then she said, “I'm going to need a bigger spoon.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
It was the first honest laugh I'd had in months.
Olivia lived in a small apartment above a bookstore in Brooklyn.
There were mismatched mugs in the kitchen, books stacked beside the couch, and a radiator that made alarming noises whenever the temperature dropped.
It was nothing like the Caruso penthouse.
And somehow, I could breathe there.
I slept on her couch.
Or tried to.
At three in the morning, I woke reaching for someone who wasn't beside me.
Then I remembered.
Dante.
The ballroom.
The laughter.
I sat up and stared into the darkness.
For eight years, I had organized my life around his.
His meetings.
His security.
His family obligations.
His moods.
His emergencies.
I had stopped painting because he said the studio was too far from the penthouse.
Stopped visiting friends spontaneously because his security team needed advance notice.
Stopped taking freelance design jobs because he insisted I didn't need to work.
He had never ordered me to give up those things.
That was the worst part.
He'd made surrender feel like love.
At eight the next morning, Olivia brought me coffee.
“Your husband's been calling.”
I looked up.
“How do you know?”
She held up her phone.
“Because he's called me fourteen times.”
I closed my eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize for him.”
She sat beside me.
“Elena, what do you want?”
I stared into my coffee.
For years, nobody had asked me that.
Not seriously.
Not without already knowing the answer they preferred.
“I don't know.”
Olivia nodded.
“Then start there.”
At ten, I turned on my phone.
Thirty-seven missed calls.
Twenty-two messages.
The first few were angry.
You're overreacting.
Come home.
We are not discussing our marriage through text messages.
Then they changed.
Elena, answer me.
I didn't mean it.
Please tell me you're safe.
The last message arrived at 7:14 a.m.
I haven't slept.
I stared at those four words.
Then put the phone down.
Because I remembered all the nights I'd waited awake for him.
And I realized something painful.
He was finally experiencing a fraction of the loneliness he'd taught me to endure.
At noon, someone knocked.
Olivia opened the door.
A man in a dark suit stood outside.
Marcus Bell.
Dante's security chief.
“Mrs. Caruso,” he said when he saw me.
My stomach tightened.
“Marcus.”
“Mr. Caruso asked me to bring you home.”
Olivia crossed her arms.
“She doesn't want to go.”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
“Ma'am, I have instructions.”
I stood.
“Then tell Dante something for me.”
Marcus waited.
“I'm not missing. I'm not in danger. I'm staying here because I choose to.”
He nodded slowly.
“And if he sends anyone else to collect me, I'll consider it harassment.”
Marcus's expression changed.
Then he lowered his eyes.
“Understood.”
When he left, Olivia shut the door.
“Are you okay?”
I looked at the hallway.
“No.”
May you like
Then I took a breath.
“But I think I'm going to be.”
