Chapter 40
40
MICHAEL
Two months later…
My fists clench until my knuckles turn bloodless white as I watch my wife struggle with the obscenely large vase bursting with flowers she’s trying to transport. She drops it on the floor, and even though she’s several feet away from me, I can almost hear her grunt. Almost .
This is the pathetic existence I’m relegated to now. Watching her from the shadows like some goddamn stalker, devouring glimpses of her from a distance without daring to bridge the chasm between us. All while my body aches with a primal need to cross that threshold, to feel her skin beneath my fingertips again. To claim what’s mine.
When I got back from work that evening to talk to her, to make her see how what I did was the right thing for us, she was…gone. And her mother’s necklace—the one she never takes off, the one with my tracker in it—was lying on our bed.
I nearly ran mad. No—I did run mad.
I ran her face through every piece of software in my arsenal, but she’s too damn smart, my wife. Brilliant, actually. She’s grown to know me, to know how my tracking software works, and avoided anything that might trigger the technology and help me find her.
It took me two weeks to find her the first time—two whole weeks of sleepless nights and rage-filled days where I was a fucking menace to anyone unfortunate enough to dare cross my path. When I finally tracked her down, I walked straight up to her and told her I was taking her home. She agreed easily enough.
And then she slipped out of my grip like a slippery eel, and it took me another week to find her. Seven more days of hell. Seven more days of imagining every worst-case scenario.
The second time, I was smarter. I didn’t approach her outright. I observed from afar, noticed the way the house she was staying in was practically crumbling on its legs, so I reached out to her landlord and gave him an envelope thick with cash to upgrade her apartment.
Gianna knew it had to be me—my fingerprints were all over the sudden generosity. So she ran again. And again. And again.
Every time I try to make her life even marginally more bearable when I find her, she runs from me. All that running, the constant stress and fear… it can’t be good for the baby.
So when I found her this time, I decided on a different approach. I settled for watching from afar and doing little mundane things that she couldn’t possibly suspect were engineered by me. Things that seemed natural, coincidental. Like opening a small flower shop as soon as I confirmed she was here in Boston.
Creating flyers searching for an office assistant and strategically sticking them in front of her room, on the stairway of her apartment, even on a thick tree across the street—until she finally took the bait and went in for an interview.
Janet, her ‘boss’—an elderly grandma being extra nice to her—must not have seemed suspicious, because aren’t all grandmas inherently supposed to be nice to young people? Especially one who is so obviously pregnant.
So why the hell is an office assistant hauling heavy flower vases around in this October chill?
I slip my phone out of my pocket and call Larson—Janet’s son and my reluctant accomplice in this elaborate charade.
“What now?” he grumbles as he answers the call.
“Why the hell is my wife struggling with flowers out here in the cold? That’s not the role of an office assistant.” The whole point of manufacturing that damn position was so she could remain seated in a temperature-controlled environment all day.
“I don’t know, man. Maybe because the business is actually thriving, and my mother is too old to carry those damn things herself?” he asks sarcastically.
I grind my teeth. I’d shoot the fucker if he weren’t an underboss here in Boston with one of the most powerful families. Instead, I snarl into the phone, “I don’t want the business to thrive, I already have more than enough thriving businesses. I just want her to fucking rest .”
“Then go scare the customers away yourself or fucking kill them. Settle your differences with your wife, man, and stop putting me in the middle of your domestic drama.” The dial tone beeps in my ear as he hangs up on me. On me .
I slam my palms against the steering wheel of my car in frustration. I hate this. I fucking hate this powerlessness. How long is she going to do this for? She’s nearing the end of her pregnancy. She can’t have our baby in this condition.
Is this her punishment for me? Denying me the chance to witness the birth of the child I wanted so badly?
I smack the wheel again and again, preferring the physical sting on my palm to the constant fucking ache in my chest that’s been my unwelcome companion since I realized she fucking ran away from me. From me. The man who would burn the world to ash for her.
My phone rings, and I answer without taking my eyes off the door of the flower shop. “Hey, how is she?” Elira’s soft voice comes through the line.
Surprisingly, Maximo’s wife and I have been talking a lot since this happened. She’s the one who suggested perhaps I shouldn’t be so obvious with my help this time, to give her some space instead. And it seems to be working so far—Gianna has been here for the past three weeks, showing no signs of fleeing yet.
“Seems fine to me,” I say shortly. “When can I initiate contact?” I wonder, not for the first time, if she’s been in touch with Gia all along. They were so close, it’s strange to believe they don’t speak anymore. But Elira swears up and down that she hasn’t heard from her since she vanished from home.
“Patience. You don’t want to spook her.” Elira pauses. “Does she seem like she’s settling in okay? Does she need a friend? Maybe I could swing by and try to?—”
“No.” I shut her down immediately. I’ve put in too much work to let Elira scare her away. “If you suddenly show up, she’ll know I’m nearby. There’s no telling what she might do, and she’s too close to her due date.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she sighs. “Have you eaten today?”
“I’m not hungry, I–” I abruptly fall silent when Gianna and Janet emerge from the flower shop, locking the door behind them. Are they closing already? It’s barely 2 PM. Did something happen?
I watch as Gianna waddles next to the older woman and gets into her car. I fire up my engine. “Listen, Elira, I have to go.” I hang up before she can say anything and ease into traffic, maintaining a calculated distance behind Janet’s car.