Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Matteo
A flash of lake-blue fabric disappeared behind that door, and something twisted in my gut. I took a step toward it, letting go of Samantha's arm, but several hands from behind stopped me.
"Matteo, one last shot." The photographer raised his camera.
Vincenzo blocked my view from the side, voice low. "Smile. Three seconds."
Samantha pressed close again, fingers hooking my sleeve, her smile dazzling.
Nearly midnight before this damn engagement party finally cleared out. When old Ashford walked over with his last glass of brandy, I'd burned through every shred of patience I had left.
I looked toward the side door. Quiet. Once everyone left, I walked over and pushed it open. Rain had turned into a solid curtain of white. A few wet footprints on the carpet, smudged by rain, and cart wheel tracks.
I'd seen wrong. Rachel couldn't have been here. My people hadn't reported anything unusual either.
"Boss. Time to go. Your injury..." Luca watched me, concerned.
I nodded and grabbed an umbrella, walking into the rain.
In the back seat, I yanked off my tie and tossed it aside.
Luca started the car. Wipers swept across the windshield.
Outside, Manhattan blurred into streaks of light through the downpour.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, but that uneasy feeling in my chest kept growing heavier, like something was slipping through my fingers and I didn't even know what it was.
I'd lied to Rachel. I had no choice. Two weeks ago, what should've been a routine transport handoff—I only brought Luca, didn't expect Farrell's ambush.
Bullet grazed my left side, reopened the wound that had just healed.
Avoided anything vital, but I lost enough blood to black out.
I'd forced myself to text Rachel about the business trip before losing consciousness.
I recovered at the safe house, but things were worse than that. When George burst into the room with a stack of encrypted files, his face looked worse than I'd ever seen it.
"Davide." He slammed the files on the table. "It's Davide."
"He sold the Queens and Long Island routes to Farrell." George pushed up his glasses. "That's why those deals kept going south."
Before George and I could figure out how to handle it, Vincenzo barged in with three other old bastards, surrounding me, pounding the table.
"Matteo, Ashford's already talking—those exclusive shipping lines you gave up to clear Samantha? They're using them against you now. You make a move, they hand those gray-area records straight to the federal prosecutor."
Helplessness washed over me. Ashford had leverage. Not lethal, but enough to split my focus at the worst possible time. I couldn't fight a war on three fronts.
"Fine," I said. Everyone froze. "We'll do the engagement party. But no legal documents. Nothing binding."
Vincenzo frowned. "Matteo—"
"That's my line." I met his eyes. "Push me, and I don't mind burning it all down."
After that—handling Davide, managing the engagement circus, positioning my people—it all consumed me.
The only thing I looked forward to each day was driving to the apartment building after midnight and sitting in the car for a few minutes.
Only when I looked up at that lit window did my heart settle, did I find the strength to deal with all those difficult bastards.
Every time, I wanted to go up. Wanted to open that door, tell her everything. But the bandages under my shirt, the wound—I couldn't let her see. So I just sat in the car, watching that light until it went out.
At least the engagement party was over. Three more weeks until Ashford's shipment arrived. Then it would all be finished.
Finally at the apartment. Before the car fully stopped, I shoved open the door and strode toward the elevator. Tonight I'd tell Rachel everything. If she got angry, called me a bastard—I didn't care. I just needed to see her.
I opened the door. Darkness. No night light Rachel always left on.
"Rachel?"
No answer. I moved faster into the master bedroom.
Her side of the closet stood half-open, most of her clothes gone. The skincare bottles she always used—vanished. Even that half-read paperback from her nightstand had disappeared.
Cassius crouched by the nightstand, next to a white cardboard box. He let out a low sound, tail pressed tight against his body.
I crossed the room in three steps and tore open the box.
Inside—all the jewelry I'd given her. A stack of sticky notes she'd kept carefully preserved—every one I'd written her. She'd saved them all.
At the bottom, a handwritten letter.
"Matteo,
I understand everything now. You're just a liar! I'm returning your things. We're even. From now on, don't look for me.
—Rachel."
I gripped that paper, frozen. Why? What did she understand? Was she throwing a tantrum?
Yes! She must be furious! My fault! She was going to ice me out for days, refuse to speak to me! That had to be it! I had to make this right!
I spun and rushed out, nearly colliding with Luca who'd parked and followed me up, arms full of gifts I'd bought for Rachel.
"Boss, what's—"
I didn't answer. Hit the elevator button, ran to the car. Pushed the speed limit, heading straight for Rachel's apartment.
When I saw her, I'd apologize first thing. If she wouldn't let me in, I'd camp outside all night. Whatever she wanted, I'd give her. Wherever she went, I'd follow—no way was she escaping me.
Finally pulled up outside Rachel's building. Looked up—completely dark. Didn't matter. Maybe she'd drawn the curtains.
I ran to the door and started pounding.
"Rachel! Open up!"
No response. Finally, a downstairs neighbor stuck his head out, yelling. "What the hell's wrong with you? Middle of the goddamn night!"
"The person who lives here—has she come back?"
"No." He pulled his head back in. "Psycho."
I didn't believe it. I circled around back, grabbed a hammer from the fire safety box, climbed the drainpipe to the second floor, and smashed the window. Glass shattered everywhere. I hauled myself through the frame, didn't stick the landing—my knee slammed hard into the floor.
No blanket she'd left on the couch. No half-empty water glass on the table. Kitchen cabinets shut tight. Everything exactly as it was when she'd moved in with me. She hadn't come back. She was really gone.
I collapsed on the floor and couldn't get up. Glass shards cut into my palm. Blood seeped out slowly.
"Boss!" Luca burst through the door, breathless, and grabbed me. "What happened? What's going on?"
"She left."
"Who left?" His expression changed instantly. "You mean—Rachel..."
I nodded weakly. Panic crossed Luca's face.
He pulled out his phone, made several calls—all went to voicemail.
He pocketed it and tried to pull me up. "Boss, let's go back.
Your wound hasn't healed. Maybe Rachel just needed a vacation, she's on a plane—whatever, wherever she went, we can find her, right? "
I stared down at my hand, suddenly struck by how absurd it was—she'd left right under my nose, and I hadn't even noticed when she'd decided to go.
I let Luca haul me back to the apartment. That night I didn't sleep at all. Near dawn, I sat by the window, running through every place she might go until my temples throbbed.
I took my people and started tearing the city apart. Her classmates. Coffee shops she frequented. Old neighborhoods. Even that little bodega under her old Brooklyn apartment building. Airports, train stations, bus terminals—every exit point, turned inside out.
Nothing. She was nowhere. Like Rachel had been erased from the city entirely.
Back at the apartment, I ripped off my coat and hurled it at the door.
Something tumbled out of the pocket and hit the floor with a soft clatter.
I looked down. The shell, the one Rachel said she'd give me for the new waterfront property project, tried to trade it for TV control that night.
I'd called it extortion. She'd been completely unrepentant, insisting it was called free market economics.
The next few days, she kept asking if I still had it. Every time I'd turn my pocket inside out to show her. She'd lean against me, laughing. When she finished laughing, she'd reach up and straighten my collar.
I bent down and picked it up, palm slowly closing around it, knuckles aching. My mind kept circling back—ocean wind, sunset, her. Those days weren't that long ago, but remembering them now felt distant.
My vision blurred. I lowered my head, pressed the back of my hand against my nose, couldn't hold it back. Warm drops fell, hit the shell in my palm, slid along its ridges.
Why? Why did she leave me like this? I covered my face and sank onto the couch, sobbing.
"Boss." Luca opened the door carefully.
I shot to my feet and grabbed him. "You found her?"
Luca's expression darkened. He shook his head.
I let go, deflated. "Where else could she go?"
"I don't know. But something's not right." Luca looked serious. "With our resources, there's no way we can't find one ordinary girl."
My body went rigid. "Kidnapping?"
"No. More like someone's helping her."
I froze, the fog in my mind suddenly clearing—Luca was right. If she'd left on her own, it wouldn't be this clean.
Then I remembered the engagement party. That flash of blue fabric. That strangely familiar silhouette.
I punched the wall.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! She was at the engagement party!"
"What? Boss, you're saying—" Luca's face paled. "How would Rachel have been there?"
Right. How would she? Samantha hated her and wouldn't have invited her. And Rachel wasn't the type to crash parties.
There had to be more to this.