Chapter 9
Adora
Well… I’m Mrs. Zayas now. Once divorced. Twice married. Soon to be twice divorced.
Mrs. Dominic Zayas. God, why is his name so fucking sexy?
I used to scribble that name next to mine on every scrap of paper I could find. Doodles. Hearts. Future daydreams. A whole life imagined, and then ripped away.
We never got that future.
But I swear to God, I’m filing the papers and keeping the name after the divorce. I don’t care what Dominic says. He can pry it from my cold, dead hands.
It’s been a week since the courthouse sham wedding. I saw my whole life flash before my eyes in front of that Justice of the Peace. This marriage thing is madness. Pure madness. My brain short-circuited the second we got to the “I do” part. Honestly, I thought the worst was coming next.
But… it didn’t.
So far, things have been strangely — no, disturbingly — peaceful. I’ll revisit this thought if he chains me to a wall next week, but for now? It’s been food and sex. Everywhere. Kitchen, stairs, hallway, couch, against a window once. Like we’re on some kind of fucked-up honeymoon.
Today’s the first day he had to leave. He glared at me before walking out, and tossed a casual threat over his shoulder like it was a goodbye kiss.
“If you run, I’ll find you. And you’ll regret it.”
I believe him. Every syllable. So I’m not going anywhere. Maybe he knows something I don’t. Maybe if I give him the five months — no drama, no fighting — the guilt that’s been rotting me from the inside out will finally start to die. Maybe I’ll be able to breathe again.
The problem, though? Without him here, I’m bored out of my damn mind.
I already ate all his snacks. Binged two movies back to back. Swam in his pool.
The man has a fucking pool. Because apparently, crime pays like a motherfucker.
He lives in a four-bedroom house with floor-to-ceiling windows, a kitchen ripped out of a designer magazine, extra rooms I haven’t even explored yet, and a pool big enough to drown a small army.
Meanwhile, I spent the last few years eating instant noodles in a 400-square-foot apartment with a mold problem.
I should’ve gone into crime. Clearly, community college was the wrong fucking move.
But bitter jealousy aside, there’s this voice. Quiet. Persistent. Gnawing at the back of my mind. It whispers ‘Be careful. Don’t get too comfortable. This man built a custom underground dungeon just for you.’
I try to ignore it. What the hell am I supposed to do about any of that? Honestly, I’m shocked he even left me alone this long. I thought my goose would be cooked the second he got out of prison.
But he didn’t come then, and I think I know why.
Because of Bowie.
He couldn’t risk going after a cop’s wife. Especially that cop. The one who arrested him. He would’ve been a suspect from day one. And with his record…
But my divorce was finalized two years ago.
So why now?
Why wait?
Ugh. My brain hurts. I can’t ask him. If I bring it up, he might remember exactly why he hates me, and then Ghost might come crawling out of that beautiful skin of his and drag me straight back into hell.
I need to stop thinking.
This house is already spotless, but fuck it. Cleaning is better than spiraling and crying. Better than remembering.
Ghost
I walk into Bones’ office like always. No knock, no courtesy. He hates it. I love that he hates it.
He’s been living in his own personal hell for four years now, and I’m about to pull him out of the flames.
He mutters a curse, but doesn’t look up. He keeps staring at his screen like the answer might finally reveal itself if he stares long enough. Probably scanning the same files from the previous investigations for the hundredth time, chasing whispers of Elyna, desperate for a breadcrumb.
There’s nothing there. Not unless she fucks up. And that woman? She won’t. WITSEC is airtight unless you have God or a one in a million hacker on your side. And God is definitely not on our side. Not with what we do.
“You need someone who can break into sealed government files.”
My words have no effect on him. He still doesn’t look at me.
When he speaks, his voice is low. Gritted. “You say shit like I don’t already know it. There’s no one who can. I’ve looked. I’ve fucking looked. Paid more money than I care to admit. They all failed.”
I nod. “The Romanos recently hired someone.”
That gets him.
He goes still, his jaw tight. Then his head turns slowly, his eyes locking on mine, dark and feral like a wild animal barely restrained.
“What?” he hisses.
I toss a stack of photos on his desk.
“They won’t help you. Not willingly. They’re protective of their shiny little secret. But I got you an in.”
He flips through the photos, his fingers stiff, trembling with tension.
“That’s Theresa Virelli,” I say calmly. “Sweet little thing. Pretty. Quiet. Innocent.” A pause for effect. “And Luca Romano’s mistress. Has been for years.”
He narrows his eyes. “Get to the fucking point. A mistress means nothing in their world.”
Shit. He’s seconds away from snapping, which means I have about ten more before he either pulls a gun or lunges across the desk.
And I’ve got a wife now. One who probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about stitching me back together.
Or worse — she’d use the blood as a distraction and bolt.
Fuck. The thought short-circuits my brain for a second. It’s jarring. Too real.
I lean in, voice dropping.
“She doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know he’s a Romano. And she doesn’t know he’s married.”
His mouth twitches. Rage or glee, I can’t tell.
“More importantly? Luca’s obsessed with her. Full-on, puppy-dog, would-die-for-you kind of love. You threaten that? He’ll not just bend. He’ll break.”
I sit back, let it settle.
“If we press just right, he’ll have that hacker crack the U.S. Marshals’ database. Quietly. No trails. Just a digital fragment of a sealed file. A name, an address. Enough.”
The photo in his hand is crumpled now, fingers clenched so tight his knuckles are white.
He doesn’t say anything, not at first. Then he whispers, the sound broken and barely there.
“I finally have a chance.”
“Yeah.” I stand, knowing he needs to be alone right now. “Start planning what you’ll do when you find her.”
I turn and walk out without another word.
He won’t stop until he gets what he needs . He’ll tear the world apart to get to Elyna, and that works for me. Because while he’s neck-deep in obsession, he won’t see what I’m doing. What I’ve already done.
I waited two years after her divorce. Two fucking years of holding back while the need to destroy Adora chewed me alive. I was ready to take her the second the ink dried on the papers.
But Bones said no. Three years minimum.
Too soon. Too risky. Bowie might still be watching. Might still care. And if Adora disappeared too fast, the cop would come sniffing around. And we’d have a bigger shitshow with law enforcement than usual. Making a cop disappear is a fucking nightmare.
So I waited. Watched. Planned.
Years of pretending to be patient. Years of swallowing the dark.
Bones usually plays the long game. He likes the quiet strike. The kind that breaks a soul without warning. Shame he couldn’t apply that same cold logic to Elyna. She’s his Achilles heel. Always has been.
And I guess Adora’s mine. Because no matter how much he told me to wait, I didn’t.
He’ll find out eventually and he’ll lose his shit. But by then? What’s done is done.
The house is quiet when I walk in.
I won’t lie — I was a little on edge leaving Adora alone today. Spent half the day glued to my phone, checking the tracker, cycling through the camera feeds every ten minutes like a paranoid asshole.
But I needed to test her. See what she’d do with freedom. Would she run? Search for a way out?
I wanted her to pass, and she did.
She had a few laps around the pool this morning, then cleaned the entire fucking house top to bottom like she was exorcising demons.
It seems that, even though the dungeon failed, it definitely bent her enough to stop fighting me — for now at least.
I step into the living room and there she is. Face down, ass up. Passed out cold on the couch with a vacuum beside her like a goddamn forgotten teddy bear.
Where the hell did she even find that thing? I don’t remember buying one. I’ve had a cleaning service for years. Canceled them this month just to keep this whole twisted setup private.
I walk over and scoop her up carefully. She doesn’t wake, just mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles her face into my neck like she’s done it a thousand times before.
A sharp pang hits me out of nowhere, right in the fucking chest. So hard I almost stumble. The longing overwhelms me. It’s real and raw and unwelcome.
Fuck.
Double fuck.
I need to stay focused. Play the long game. Stick to the plan. This is about control. About payback.
But the second I lay her down in my bed and she clutches my pillow like it’s home, I feel something in me falter.
Just a crack, but it’s there.
This is going to be a long five fucking months, and I’m not sure I’ll survive them.
Adora
Mmm… There’s a slow, delicious heat bubbling under my skin. Spreading. Deepening.
Oh, that feels good. Fuck. That feels even better.
My eyes flutter open on a breathless moan, and land right on him. Dark eyes locked on mine from between my legs, licking and sucking, taking his time like I’m the world’s most decadent dessert.
“Dominic…” I gasp, voice barely a whisper. “What are you doing?”
He pauses only long enough to smirk up at me.
“I’m having breakfast, Adora.” His voice is gravel and pure sin. “Be a good girl and let me eat.”
Well, when he puts it like that… I spread my legs wider. He dives back in like a man on a mission.