11. Leo
11
LEO
I wake with a start, immediately noting the bitter dryness in my mouth.
Not quite the taste I got into bed with. However, as I stare up at the tray ceiling in my room, I realize I don’t remember getting into bed at all.
The last thing I recall is making Stella come on my face and then storming off before I could do something we’d both really regret.
Perhaps it wasn’t my most tactful move, but I wanted the memory regardless.
Rolling over in bed, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and open my unit’s security app, pulling up footage from last night. My dick pulses painfully as the image begins playing out—her standing naked before me, then me dropping to my knees to eat her like my life depended on it.
In the moment, it certainly felt that way.
I am such a dumbass.
There’s no reason for me to feel so strongly about a woman I barely know, yet I can’t seem to fucking help myself. It’s as if a single meeting with her altered the stretch of time, and suddenly, the landscape of my future included her. I wanted it to be different for her—for us.
Like a dumbass.
The insult plays on a loop in my brain, assaulting me each time I play back what transpired between me and the youngest Ricci. How badly I fumbled this marriage, even if I made sure to give her something from it—something she’ll likely never recognize as the gift it was.
Rejecting her was the very least I could do. That decision that will have many repercussions, though none that mattered in the moment.
I sit up and shove my legs off the mattress, scrubbing at my face with both palms. Given last night's events, the condo feels unnaturally quiet, and the fluffed pillows on the opposite side of the bed indicate I was not joined in my slumber.
My gaze lifts toward the closed door, scanning the space underneath for signs of life. Irene or Anna should be here by now, yet the usual sounds of cleaning are absent.
After a quick shower in the adjoining bathroom suite, I wrap a thick white towel around my waist, slide my gloves over the scarred topography of my palms, and make my way to the kitchen. Irene and Anna are huddled together by one corner of the island, whispering in panicked voices.
“Ladies.” I nod in their direction and grab a glass, going to fill it with orange juice.
“Mr. De Tore,” Anna says, practically weeping as she clings to her colleague. “Y-you’re awake!”
“Was there some sort of debate going? It isn’t that late.”
“Well, we thought…maybe something had happened with Mrs. De Tore?—”
My hands freeze midpour, until the juice is overflowing.
Liquid splashes against my bare feet, and I calmly set the carton on the counter. My gaze darts to the overturned prescription bottle in the corner—the lid is off, and the contents are gone.
It’s empty.
There’d only been a handful of pills left anyway, but, goddamn, I hadn’t thought she’d use the entire thing.
I suppose that explains the haze I woke up in and the missing memories of the night before.
Apparently, my little wife was out for blood. Perhaps more than she even realized.
Turning slowly, I cross my arms over my chest and level both women with a look. “Mrs. De Tore is gone.”
It isn’t a question, but Anna nods in confirmation anyway. “I know you gave her strict instructions not to leave, and we were supposed to make sure she stayed in the condo, but when I arrived an hour ago for my shift, she was already missing. I’m not sure who was stationed at the door?—”
No one was.
I drag my tongue over the front of my teeth. “The security cameras?”
The app on my phone is from a different company than the building’s official cameras, so I only have immediate access to the indoor specs. Therefore, even if I could watch her leave the condo itself, I wouldn’t be able to see where she went after that.
Anna chews on a pinkie nail, pulling away from Irene. “We don’t have access to them.”
“Find Frankie, tell him I want the footage—whatever he finds—but I don’t want him looking at it first. He’s to bring it directly to me, untouched.”
“Can’t you just tell him?” Irene mutters.
I glance at her, but she doesn’t look up from the floor.
Anna nods, eyes welling up with tears. “Sir, I am so sorry. Please, please don’t fire me over this. I’ll do anything. I’ll help you look for her! I just can’t afford to?—”
“No one is getting fired.” After reaching for my glass, I down my drink in a couple of gulps and set the cup in the sink. “My wife’s sudden leave of absence is of her own doing. I won’t punish someone else for her insolence.”
“Okay, okay, thank you!” She breezes past me, and a few seconds later, the front door opens and slams shut, rattling the glassware in the cabinet next to my head.
I stare at Irene for a beat, then cock an eyebrow. “Mrs. De Tore’s abrupt, unexplained departure was her own doing. Right?”
Her dark gaze swings to mine, narrowing. “Of course it was. Why in the world would I help a woman I barely know?”
That’s the official party line. The one we settled on when she picked me up from downtown yesterday, covered in the blood of my superiors. The blood of my father.
I massacred nearly each and every one of the Elders, after all. It seemed fitting. A message, of sorts.
Frankie was busy disposing of evidence, along with Gino, who didn’t quite pledge his allegiance to me as the new official don but didn’t want to see his hard work suffer either. I spared him with the assumption that he’d pass the news of the deceased along to Ranolfo and the Commission, likely putting a bounty on my head.
They wouldn’t believe it was a rival ambush, but it would distract them from the bigger offense later—a Ricci getting access to a De Tore and then disappearing.
Treason, they’d call it when they realized Stella left. Grounds for immediate execution, based on the assumption that she’d immediately go to the authorities and turn us over to them—the way her sister had done to their father years ago.
There was no time to waste, so I asked Irene for assistance with getting her out.
She didn’t ask questions—I suppose when you work for our family as long as she has, there aren’t many you want the answers to. Where Anna is young and eager to please, Irene is an intelligent, shrewd woman. Once upon a time, she played the role of my father’s mistress, and when he tossed her aside, she stayed on the payroll just to keep a close eye on him, waiting for the day she could get her revenge.
With him now dead, this felt like the next best thing I could grant her: a giant middle finger to the De Tores, who are no doubt scouring the city as we stand here, aware that I’m brideless. I’m certain Anna’s leaked it by now, though not on purpose.
“So,” I say, hooking my thumbs in my pants pockets, “she’s gone. Do you know?—”
Irene holds up a hand and gives a sharp jut of her chin. “The bird is in the nest no longer, Mr. De Tore. I’d suggest not worrying too much about it.”
“I’ll arrange a search party?—”
“Do you honestly think she’s even in the state anymore? We don’t know when she left, where she was headed, or what contacts she has in Boston to help her escape. And I’m assuming, since you’re still standing here, that you failed to bug her phone?”
I don’t respond, and Irene tsk-tsks with glittering eyes, like she’s the disappointed one.
“Face it, Leopoldo. Stella Ricci is lost to you, and that’s that. I could have told you a simple tower wouldn’t keep her, but your greed was too loud.”
I stare at her silently for a full sixty seconds, wondering if I should reprimand her for speaking to me like this, even though I know it’s for the cameras. For the spectators we likely already have—all a part of my plan here.
Still, even though I know it’s an act, I can’t deny the kernel of agony that pops up in my abdomen. The loneliness I feel already, as if a ghost passed through my condo and slipped through my fingers.
It's like I’ve been disconnected from an integral part of myself, which is nonsense, given that nothing really transpired between us. A simple want does not a connection make, and Stella certainly didn’t seem to reciprocate any feelings.
At least not until I rejected her. Then her true self showed through, which only heightened my desire. The girl I spent years admiring from across the church turned out to be a fierce opponent.
Only, I don’t want her opposition.
Just her affection.
Still, for the sake of appearances, I act like Irene’s words are law. My hope is that they’ll assume Stella’s father had something to do with all this and go after him instead.
I’m sure I won’t remain inconspicuous for long; it’s probably only a matter of time before the Elders head over to get rid of me—or at least send some lower-level soldiers to do the work for them.
But that’s no matter, so long as Stella’s safe. Irene’s script tells me she’s made it. She’s okay. Even if I can’t know where she is just yet.
Despite everything, she’s still mine .
And she might be gone now, but my wife will one day be found.