29. Sly
It’s four o’clock by the time I finish tidying the apartment and preparing for our guests this evening, when I realize Vinnie hasn’t arrived yet.
Walking into our bedroom, I pick up my phone from the nightstand and check it, seeing no missed calls or messages from anyone. It’s not unusual for Vinnie to work later than she initially predicts, but it is strange that she hasn’t updated me.
Perhaps a meeting ran late.
When the doorbell rings just a few moments later, I stalk over to answer it, annoyance peppering my bloodstream.
“Hey,” Sully says as he waltzes past me, entering my home with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bouquet of roses and hydrangeas in the other.
“You’re entirely too early.”
He shrugs. “Figured you could use some help. Put me in, coach.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Work is overrated.” He grins. “Plus, it’s a Friday afternoon and I’m not needed. So I left.” He takes it upon himself to move into my kitchen, setting the champagne down and pulling open a cabinet to find a vase. “The house seems quiet. No, Vinnie or Nixon?”
“Not yet.” I run my fingers over my brows. “Actually, Vinnie is late. I was about to call her.”
Clicking her contact, I bring my phone to my ear and listen to the continuous ring until it goes to her voicemail.
The gurgle of my espresso machine turning on echoes through the kitchen as I flip my phone to the side to turn it off silent then set it down.
“Coffee?” Sully asks, making himself at home by pulling out a mug for himself.
“No.”
There’s a tingle at the base of my neck, like the hairs are standing on edge. Worry plagues me since Vincenza didn’t answer her phone. Picking mine up again, I debate on calling her office, while wondering if I’m overreacting.
It’s only thirty minutes past when she said she’d be home.
Staring at the darkened screen, I waver between whether I should bother her just to ease my mind, or give her more time.
Ultimately, I decided to wait a little longer before trying to reach her at work. It is entirely possible that she entered into a meeting, and it’s just gone over.
Turning my attention back to Sully, I find him watching me as I silently stew.
“No answer?” he asks curiously.
“No. She said she would be home at three-thirty.”
He checks the Rolex on his wrist. “It’s only a little after four. Was she at work?”
“Sì.”
“Maybe she’s playing catch up.” He takes a long sip of the latte he made. “You did whisk her away unexpectedly for two weeks.”
“You’re right,” I say, determined to believe that justification, even if it doesn’t feel right. Looking down at my phone again, I click the side button to illuminate the screen, checking the time again.
“So,” Sully starts, and I can tell he is about to change the subject. Leaning on the counter with both elbows, he gives me a megawatt smile. “Tell me about Vinnie’s hot older friend.”
Instantly, my blood boils. “No.”
He looks offended by my instant irritation. “Wow, someone’s touchy today.”
“If the only descriptors you can think to speak of are her age and her attractiveness, then I fail to see the point in continuing the conversation.”
He huffs an exasperated breath. “They’re the only things I know about her. Currently. But I want to know more.”
“She is too mature for you, Sullivan.” I look down at my phone again. Only a minute has passed.
“How is that fair?”
“It’s accurate,” I snap. “Cecilia longs for a family—for a husband and a child. Children. She is older and wiser than you, and knows exactly what she wants for her life. Can you say the same?”
Running a hand through his haphazardly styled dirty-blond hair, he casts his eyes downward. “I don’t know what I want.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever heard him say, and if I’m being truthful, it breaks my heart a little to hear. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. One day, you will. Until then, you are simply you, mio amico.”
Without responding, he turns to the sink to clean his mug, but I can tell my words have gotten under his skin. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I decide against it. He needs to take a serious evaluation of his life, and perhaps this will be a nudge in the right direction.
Feeling as though I’m going crazy, I pick up my phone and try calling Vincenza again. The ring echoes in my ear as I silently pray for her to answer. When she doesn’t, worry dips in my stomach.
“Hi! You’ve reached Vinnie, I’m sorry I missed your call?—”
Hanging up, I immediately dial her office. When it goes to the after hours recording, I nearly hurl my phone across the room as the nagging feeling in my gut intensifies.
Sully looks at me with expectant eyes, so I tell him, “She’s not answering her cell phone, and her office went to voicemail.”
“She’s probably on her way over. Relax, buddy. She’s not even an hour late.”
“It’s just not like her to not communicate.” And it’s not. We speak frequently throughout the day, whether it be quick phone conversations or messages exchanged. In fact, I can’t recall a time she hasn’t answered my call.
Until now.
“Maybe she ran into a friend, or is picking up a surprise for you? You guys are romantic like that.”
It could be, but still, I’m not convinced, and I can’t ignore the concern I feel. Scrolling through my contacts, I find Luciano’s number and get him on the phone.
“When was the last time you spoke with your sister?” I ask the moment he answers.
“Hello to you too, Lucchetti. I talked to V earlier today. Why?”
“How long ago?” I demand.
Through the phone, I hear a drawer close—or maybe a door. “Maybe three hours ago? Give or take. I warned her about your friend and his possible advances toward Cecilia tonight.”
“Where was she when you spoke? Still at her apartment?”
“I’m not sure. She didn”t say. Why? What’s going on?” His voice is calm, but I sense he hears my panic, as his tone has changed, taking on a certain professionalism, as though he’s speaking to me like a client.
“When was the last time you spoke with your brother?”
“Sly, what is going on?” he demands, wanting answers.
“Vinnie told me she would be home around three-thirty. It’s almost four-thirty, and she is not answering her phone. Her office phone has been switched to voicemail. She always communicates with me, and she’s never more than a few minutes late.” I drop my voice, pinching my finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose. “Something feels off. I can sense it, Luciano. When was the last time you spoke to Joseph?” My voice cracks slightly at the mention of his name.
“I haven’t seen or heard from him since last weekend at my parents. I’m coming over. Stay there.” He hangs up, and as I pull the phone from my ear, I see a message banner appear. Clicking it, I’m brought to the group message.
Sully
Vinnie’s late coming home and Sly’s worried. Anyone passing by her office on their way here?
Nixon
I’m not, but I could swing by.
Enzo
I’m already on this side of the park. I was planning on showing up early.
Sully
Nixon, if you could.
Nixon
Sure thing, just drop me the address as a pin.
Sully
You’ve got it.
“Grazie,” I say to Sully. “Luciano is on his way, too. I’m going to ride over to her apartment and see if she’s there. Will you stay here and let him in?”
“Yeah, of course. Do you want to call her friends? See if they’ve seen her?”
“Good thought,” I say, pulling up Raina’s contact information.
She answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Sly,” she greets, confusion thick in her voice. I’ve never called her before, so I’m sure this comes as a surprise.
Rather than engage in small talk, I simply get to the point. “Is Vinnie with you?”
“No, she isn’t…”
Shaking my head at Sully, I race to the front door, first stopping to grab my gun and my helmet from the coat closet. “Okay, grazie,” I tell her, and hang up the phone.
It is rude, but the only thing I can think of is getting to Vinnie’s apartment.
“Sly, take a breath,” Sully says as I race around, grabbing my things. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“My gut tells me otherwise,” I snap, pulling my helmet on. I’m out the door before I can hear a response.
Not bothering with the elevator, I race down the stairwell and out into the parking garage of my building, and hop onto my Superleggera. The faster I arrive at her apartment, the faster I have peace of mind.
Or so I pray.
“Hello?” I say as I enter with the key Vinnie gave me, not wanting to startle her if she’s here, or Cecilia, for that matter. “Anyone home?”
The only thing that greets me is silence.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I close the door behind me and go straight to Vinnie’s room.
“Vincenza?”
But the room is dark. Turning the light on, as I push the door open further I see various boxes scattered throughout the space, all filled to the brim with her things. The only hint of her she’s left behind is the bare furniture and her scent lingering in the air.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call her again.
This time, when it rings, the sound fills the room. My brows furrow as I look around, and I find her phone on the dresser by the door. Ending my call, her screen illuminates with dozens of missed calls and text messages as I pick it up and begin to scroll.
Fear strikes me then, as messages from her assistant grow more concerned by her not arriving to work, wondering if she forgot about her meeting, and if she’s okay.
There’s an unread message from Raina, which I don’t read, and all of my missed calls.
Continuing to look through my wife’s missed messages for any indication of where she may be, I use my phone to get her brother back on the line.
“I’m almost at your place,” Luciano barks, answering my call.
“I’m not there. I’m at Vincenza’s apartment.”
“Is she there?”
“No, but her phone is.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“What time did you say you spoke with her?”
Wandering into her bathroom, I look around for—well, anything.
“It was probably around a quarter to one or so.”
“Was she still at home?”
“She didn’t say. What are you thinking? Say what’s on your mind.”
“Something doesn’t feel right,” I tell him as my eyes scan every inch of the space, wishing the writing would be on the wall.
But it”s not.
“I can’t put my finger on it, Luciano. But something is very wrong. This isn’t like her.”
I’m about to leave the room when my gaze catches on the trash can. More specifically, it catches on a white and blue stick sitting on top. All at once, my entire world comes toppling down around me. I vaguely hear Luciano speaking, but his words don’t register as more than gargled tones. My vision fills with darkness as the room spins, and an overwhelming sense of terror sends a shock wave through my bloodstream, freezing the warmth inside me.
Bending, I pick up the plastic and stare at it.
“We need to find her,” I tell Luciano, my voice low and unsteady. I then realize I’m shaking. “We need to find her immediately.”
“We will?—”
“No, we need to find her now. Get your father on the phone, the polizia. I don’t care who you call, but we need to find my wife, now.”
“I’ll call him. Come back to your place, alright? I’ll have an update when you’re back.”
“Sì,” is all I say before I hang up on him.
Closing my eyes, I expel another deep breath, willing myself not to cry. There is no time to get emotional—no time to waste.
I have to find her.
I have to find them.