Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Today was such a good day. Honestly, even with the broken oven in my loft on Thursday, it’s been a great week.
We had a lovely Thanksgiving with Max and his family, Dante had a great appointment and was given the all clear for the next year, and tonight, I sold out at Merry and Bright Night—thanks to Max.
I would have eventually sold out, but Max forcing me to close early allowed me to enjoy the parade with Dante and Mila, and I didn’t hate the snuggles I got to sneak in with Max either.
That man. He just won’t quit, and despite the boundary I placed, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to give up in his pursuit of me.
Maybe there’s a way for Max and me to move forward without me lying to him.
I would have to tell him the truth about Luca, and everything we’re hiding from, but I trust Max.
I think I might be falling in love with the man too, and I’m pretty sure that feeling is mutual.
I snuggle into my pillow and take a deep breath—I love the crisp smell of clean sheets.
The faint smile remains on my face as I try and slow my mind from running through all the what-if scenarios.
Just as I’m about to fall asleep, I feel movement against the side of my bed and open my eyes, expecting to find Dante or Mila climbing into bed with me.
But that’s not what’s happening right now.
The breath in my body escapes me and I struggle to inhale as my brain wakes up to process what—or who—is standing next to my bed. The shadow is too large to be a young child.
Before I can even react, the looming figure dressed in black swiftly places a cloth over my mouth and presses me back into the mattress. Instead of the clean laundry scent I was just focused on, a too-sweet smell invades my lungs just before I’m plunged into complete darkness.
What in the ever-loving daylights is going on, and why does my head feel like it’s in a vice after I got my ass kicked in the ring by Rocky Balboa himself?
I groan at the sensation of even moving my head slightly as I attempt to rub my eyes, but my arms are sluggish.
I try to blink my eyes open, but the movement feels slow and delayed.
The room is spinning and I’m not even sitting up yet.
What the hell is going on?
A flash of a figure standing over my bed comes rushing back, and before I can think about it, I’m trying to jump out of my bed—a movement I fail miserably at and fall to the floor.
Apparently, my arms aren’t the only limbs that are sluggish right now.
I nail my hip on the bed frame when I fall, and a string of creative curse words escape me while I try to gather the strength to roll and push myself off the floor.
The room comes into focus a little more, and I’m still in my bedroom.
The sky is still dark, but my body clock has no idea what time it is.
I reach up and grab my cell phone to check the time, and the screen says three forty-seven in the morning.
I take a deep breath and try to stand again.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I know I need to check on the kids.
Grabbing the bedframe, I pull myself up and slowly make my way across my room—suddenly grateful for a small room and minimally required steps to do so.
My door is open … as is the door to Dante and Mila’s room, which could be easily explained if one of them got up to use the bathroom and then didn’t close it when they went back to bed.
But that logic is quickly replaced with absolute panic when I see both of their beds are empty, with only rumbled bedding left behind.
I spin on my heel a little too fast and the room sways a bit.
I grab the doorframe to the kids’ room as I scan the small living and kitchen area, but Dante and Mila aren’t here—and my gut is screaming at me that they didn’t leave on their own.
My breath is choppy and shallow. I absently rub a hand over my chest as my heart tries to beat right out of it.
My suspicion is only solidified when I see a note taped to a framed photo in the middle of our dining room table.
The photo is usually in our family room; someone put it here intentionally.
The photo is of Luca holding Dante and Mila, with Luca’s face hidden as he’s looking down at the two of them, who are beaming up with smiles at their dad.
My fingers tremble as I pick the frame up to read the note.
The note is written in a dark black marker and says: No Cops. Call your brother and have him call this number if you want to see them ever again. A number with a Philadelphia area code is scrawled under the threat, and I turn just in time to throw up in the kitchen sink.
Wiping my brow, I squeeze my eyes and try to focus on Dante and Mila instead of acknowledging the massive headache I have right now.
Where would they take them? I have to find my nephew and niece, but I don’t even know what to do first. Before everything happened, Luca would always have been my first call, but that’s not an option.
What the hell am I going to do?!
It’s not like I can call my brother; I can’t even reach him without scheduling it through someone else first, and the same person I need to contact to do just that is quite literally federal law enforcement.
What did I miss? How did they find us? Dante and Mila …
oh God, please let them be okay, I silently pray as tears threaten to fall.
But I can’t break, I have to figure this out.
And there’s only one person I can even think of calling for help right now.