Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
My phone sits beside the keyboard, silent and still. No messages, no calls. I’ve checked it at least ten times in the last hour, hoping for some sign that everything is okay. That she’s okay. I tap my fingers on the desk, waiting impatiently.
I push my chair back and stand, pacing the length of the room, a habit I fall into whenever I’m restless.
Moving to the window, I look out at my vast, green backyard, which usually soothes me.
I close my eyes, picturing her. The curve of her smile, the spark in her eyes when she laughs, the way her hand fits perfectly in mine. My chest tightens with longing. I want to be there with her, to offer whatever comfort I can, to face this together.
The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity. I force myself to sit back down, to focus. I open an email, reread the question posed by a client, and start typing a response. It’s mechanical, automatic, devoid of the thought I usually put into my work.
Halfway through my reply, I stop. My fingers hover over the keys, and then I backspace, deleting the entire message. I can’t do this right now. I need to know that Michela is alright, that we’re alright.
My phone buzzes suddenly, and my heart leaps. I grab it, my hands almost trembling. It’s a message from Michela.
Kitten
I just finished with Lorenzo. Coming back now. Can’t wait to see you.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, relief washing over me in waves. He didn’t try to pull something and take her away. She’s coming back.
I type a quick reply, my fingers flying over the screen.
Me
Hurry up. I miss you like crazy.
I set the phone down and glance around the office. Knowing she’s on her way changes everything. The silence is no longer oppressive; it’s a prelude to her return. I start tidying up, not that there’s much to do, but it keeps my hands busy and my mind focused.
I’m finishing up the last of my reports, the final numbers lining up neatly on the screen, when my phone buzzes on the table. I glance at the caller ID and see Lorenzo’s name. My heart drops as I instantly know something isn’t right. I pick up the phone, but before I can even say hello, his frantic voice bursts through the speaker.
“Ryan, they’ve made a move on Michela.”
“What?” I ask, my heart dropping to my toes.
“The Grimaldis. They ran her car off the road. I can’t reach her bodyguards. I have a position on the car, and I’m on my way.”
My stomach clenches. I’m already out of my seat, grabbing my keys. “Text me the coordinates. I’m on my way.”
The text from him comes through before I finish speaking.
“I’m on my way,” I assure him, my voice steady even as fear grips me.
I rush out the door, sprinting to my car. The keys jingle in my hand, and I fumble for a moment before I can find the button to press that opens my door. I barely take a breath before the engine roars to life beneath my hands. One word echoes through my mind on a constant loop—Michela. She has to be okay. She has to. I punch the coordinates into the GPS as I tear out of the driveway.
I drive down the deserted back roads, and every second feels like an eternity. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as I race toward my girl.
“She was only three miles from your house,” Lorenzo’s voice crackles through the car’s speakers, and I realize I never hung up the phone. “Her car veered off near the old bridge.”
Images of Michela, scared and hurt, flash through my mind. I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. She has to be okay. She has to. I can’t fucking survive without her.
I take the winding roads way too fucking fast. Finally, the GPS announces that I’m close. I slow down, scanning the area until I spot skid marks leading off the road, leading down a sharp embankment.
I see a black sports car pull up to the spot ahead of me. As I’m pulling over, Lorenzo and several huge men dressed in black hop out of the other car. I barely put the car in park before I hop out and run to the edge of the road, looking down at the wreckage. The black limousine is there, crumpled against a tree.
“Motherfucker,” Lorenzo roars as we slip and slide down the embankment, our feet slipping on the loose dirt. Driven by sheer adrenaline, I reach the car first. “Michela!” I shout, my pulse hammering in my ears as I pull the back door open. She’s lying against the far door, and I quickly take inventory of her, not finding any obvious injuries.