12. Alexander
Chapter 12
Alexander
“ W hat do you mean she escaped?” I bellow down the line. Someone is going to lose their job over this. Incompetent fucking fools.
“Carmella opened the window in her bedroom. She said Chloe wasn’t feeling well and didn’t eat any of her lunch. She thought the fresh air would help.”
She’s sick?
“Help! If she wasn’t feeling well, she should have called the fucking doctor.”
“She offered to do that, but Chloe refused.”
Of course, she did. That woman is a stubborn pain in my arse.
“Are you telling me she jumped from a two-storey window?”
“With the aid of a bedsheet tied to the bedpost, yes.”
A bedsheet. Who is she? Fucking MacGyver?
If it were any other situation, this would be laughable, but I’m too furious for that. There may, however, be a tiny portion of me that’s proud of her for pulling this off, but I’d never admit it out loud. She has guts; I’ll give her that .
“Have you scoured the entire estate? She could be injured.”
That thought has my stomach turning.
It would be her own stupid fault if she were, but in saying that, it’s the last thing I want.
“There is no sign of her anywhere.”
“How long has she been missing?”
He clears his throat before he answers. “Hours.”
“Hours?” I shout. “How many fucking hours?”
“Around two,” Marco replies, his voice tinged with fear. I can tell he’s nervous. Ever since I demoted him from personal security to house duties after the Ava incident, he’s been on edge, and I’m sure he’s worried his job might be on the line. “Carmella made her some soup this afternoon and took it up to her room … that’s when she found out she was missing. I checked all the cameras while the others searched the grounds. Our last sighting of her was when she was heading toward the rear of the estate.”
“Have you searched the surrounding streets?”
“I have two cars out there looking for her now.”
Fucking hell. “Keep me updated.”
“I will.”
I end the call, drop my phone onto the desk, snatch my suit jacket off the back of the chair, and punch my arms through the holes.
Exasperated, I storm from my office, calling, “Antonio.” When he falls into step beside me, I update him on our current predicament as we head towards the exit. “We are leaving. Chloe escaped.”
“What? How? That place is a fortress.”
“She tied a sheet to the bedpost and climbed out the fucking window.”
He throws back his head and cracks up, but when he sees the scowl I give him in return, he quickly schools himself.
“That one is a ball-buster, for sure.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you really think she’s worth it? There are plenty of other women out there.”
I’m starting to wonder about that myself, but I already know the answer is a resounding yes. There may be plenty of others, but they are not her .
I keep that to myself, though, giving him the partial truth. “I’m just trying to rectify some wrongs my father made many years ago.”
“How?”
“Long story.”
Instead of returning to the house, I head straight for the Carmichael residence … well, what’s left of it.
From the moment I saw the uninhabitable, dilapidated dwelling—if you can even call it that—I knew it needed to go, so I made it happen. I tracked down the owner, paid him a ridiculous amount of money, and made it disappear. Chloe may not see it my way when she finds out, but I did her a favour.
When we pull up outside the six-foot-high mesh fence that now surrounds the pile of rubble where her home once stood, we find her sitting in the gutter with her forearms resting on her knees, her face buried somewhere within her arms.
My first reaction when I see her is relief—she’s physically okay. However, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders tells me she’s far from emotionally fine, and while that knowledge pains me, I can’t exactly blame her .
It must’ve been a massive shock for her to find her house and her father … gone. I always knew she’d discover it eventually, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Not this soon.
When Nico pulls up to the kerb on the opposite side of the street, I instruct him and Antonio to remain in the car.
Reaching for the door handle, I exit the vehicle in a flash, striding straight for her. She’s not going to be pleased to see me, but I feel compelled to comfort her, even though I’m the reason for her current dilemma.
She’s so distressed that she doesn’t notice me when I crouch in front of her. Slowly, I rest my hand lightly on her shoulder, softly saying, “ Bella .” It’s only then that her head jerks up, her eyes locking onto me in surprise.
“How could you?” she cries, leaping to her feet. The moment I rise, she rushes me, fury in her eyes, like a bull charging at a red flag. “You bastard,” she screams, pounding on my chest with a clenched fist. Her other hand is cradled against her chest. Did she hurt herself during the escape? “You promised me you’d take care of him … I didn’t think you meant wiping him off the face of this earth.”
“Chloe,” I say, capturing her wrist in my hand. “I didn’t hurt your father … I promise you that.”
The tears that are streaming down her face tug at my blackened heart. “Then where is he? You destroyed our house … he had nowhere else to go. You’re a monster. I hate you!”
I can’t tell her the truth about what’s really happening, so I do the only thing I can: I pull her into me, wrapping her tightly in my arms.
That’s when she completely unravels, her body shaking violently against mine. The racking sobs that consume her tug at my heartstrings.
“It’s okay, amore mio ,” I say, resting my chin on the top of her head as my open palm runs soothingly up and down her back. “I’ve got you.”
She cried into my chest for what felt like an eternity. When it became clear she wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon, I gently lifted her into my arms, cradling her bridal-style, and carried her back to the limousine. She didn’t resist—too overwhelmed with emotion to protest.
Antonio moved into the front passenger seat when he saw us approaching, giving us some space, but I kept her close. I settled her on my lap and held her tightly, shielding her from everything but the comfort of my embrace.
I could’ve so easily lost her today, and I’m beating myself up inside because I was the one who left her locked away in that room all week. I’m the reason why she felt desperate enough to risk her life for freedom.
I never intended to avoid her for five days, but the longer I kept my distance, the harder it became to face her.
When she opened up about her mother at dinner on her first night in the house, the guilt I’d been carrying since discovering who Chloe was grew even heavier. It was like a weight pressing down on me, so I needed space … time to clear my head.
They say ignorance is bliss, but knowing the truth has only entangled me deeper in my family’s past mistakes. I feel guilty by association.
I’m not responsible for her mother leaving, but my father’s involvement in that decision lingers like a dark, inescapable shadow. The guilt is there, even though I’m not the one to blame.
Chloe’s injured hand is still cradled against her chest, and from this vantage point, I can see it’s bruised and swollen. I’ll get the doctor to come to the house and thoroughly examine her.
She jumped out of a two-storey window, for Christ’s sake … and survived; her wrist may not be her only injury.
I don’t let her go when we return to the house. I carry her inside. Carmella stands just inside the door, waiting for us, her face etched with sorrow. I’m angry at her—at what she did, at the mess she’s caused—but deep down, I know she never intended for any of this to happen. Her heart was in the right place, even if the outcome wasn’t.
“Can you get the doctor here ASAP?” I ask, not slowing my pace as I pass through the foyer and start climbing the stairs. My voice carries urgency, but it’s controlled.
“Yes, Mr Mancini. I’ll call him immediately.”
Her kindness and maternal nurturing, which she has shown me over the years, are exactly what Chloe needs.
I kick her bedroom door open with my foot, and my lips press into a thin line when I see the heavy, solid wooden bed, now clear across the room, positioned under the window. It would’ve taken every bit of strength she has to shift it that far alone. The sight only amplifies the desperation she must have been feeling.
Turning, I make my way further down the hall towards my bedroom. I’ve never brought a woman in here before, but under the circumstances, I feel like this is the best place for her right now. I need her close.
When I reach my bed, I bend and gently lay her on the covers. The moment I release her, she curls her body into a tight ball. I don’t enjoy seeing her so broken, especially knowing I’m the person responsible for it.
Heading into the bathroom, I grab a clean washcloth and run it under the cold water before wringing it out. I stalk back to the bed and sit on the side of the mattress, my movements slow, careful not to startle her. With a soft exhale, I lift the cloth to her tear-stained cheek, trying to wipe away the evidence of her pain.
My free hand sweeps the hair from her forehead before tracing the curve of her jaw. My touch is as tender as I can manage, and for a moment, I just let the silence speak for me. It’s the only way I can show her I’m here … that I’m sorry without actually expressing the words aloud.