Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
I Failed Her
Raf
Mia bravely took the stand despite the ransom note, and as Victoria predicted, the judge allowed the video to be entered as evidence—the one we just demanded to review in the judge’s quarters.
Within seconds, I know with full certainty the woman in the video, though strikingly similar, is not Mia. I don’t need to see her face to be certain because I’ve traced and kissed the tattoos inked on the body of the woman on the tape more times than I can count.
“That woman is not Miss Damiano. This is a case of mistaken identity, and this evidence is inadmissible,” I insist, bringing up a picture of the woman I consider mine to show the judge and prove my point.
“The woman in that video is Chiara Gigioliotti,” I add, and Sophia backs me up by showing the judge photo evidence of her own. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a moment.”
With all eyes on me, I stalk out of the judge’s quarters with about five seconds to spare before I detonate.
Rage wars with insatiable jealousy, tearing through me like scalding water.
Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine this is Mia, Chiara’s friend who disappeared.
If I’m connecting the dots correctly, Alessandro and Arty know each other through the Rizzos and have conspired to find a way for me to see this video to fuck with me.
Is Mia still working with Alessandro? My gut says no, but I feel so blindsided, I’m second-guessing my judgement.
What I do know with complete certainty is I want Alessandro permanently gone.
This lecherous piece of shit, who not only filmed girls—including my wife—without their consent, was also running an escort agency, meaning any of those girls associated with him could be found guilty of soliciting prostitution—the angle the defense was going for by entering this evidence.
The footage is from six years ago. I didn’t even know of her existence, and I had a girlfriend who I thought I was in love with.
Funnily enough, logic is no match for possessive rage, because nothing can soften the blow of seeing my wife naked and wanton for another man.
Part of what makes Chiara so intoxicating is our sexual compatibility.
Experiencing it is mind-blowing, but witnessing it with another man is a type of torture there’s no balm for.
The daggers of betrayal stab my heart. The same one that now only beats for Chiara because she coaxed it back to life with her infectious personality and devotion.
Jealousy consumes me, licking at the edges of every insecurity I’ve had since the day Victoria discarded me without even a second thought: I am not worthy of a love that’s forever.
I’m not worth sticking around for. The vision plays on a loop over and over in my mind, and with every replay my nausea gets worse.
How am I supposed to look Chiara in the eye and pretend this hasn’t reopened gaping wounds?
My mind is reeling. I think back to what Chiara told me about her life and friends in Italy.
She only ever mentioned Mia in passing that night we had dinner at Joey’s, so I didn’t make the connection that our victim, Mia Damiano, was Chiara’s former best friend, Mia.
As today’s turn of events have shown, she did indeed make it to New York and had the misfortune of being introduced to one Arthur Bartholomew Jones, who took advantage of her and thought his usefulness to the Rizzo family would make him immune to justice.
As it turns out, when the exposé went public, Mia came forward.
The purpose of this video is not just to damage Mia’s character; it’s to taunt me because I’ve claimed something that two other men want: Chiara.
My head is pounding, my blood thrumming, and my thoughts are really fucking loud.
There’s no doubt in my mind the anonymous source who provided this video was Alessandro.
I have to speak with Chiara. I need to hear her voice.
I pull my phone out to see it’s littered with messages and notifications.
Before I can unlock my phone to see who they’re all from, Avery comes into view.
He’s striding towards me, expression hardened, with his phone to his ear.
I see the concern and concentration lining his usual cool demeanor and know something is wrong before he even speaks it into existence.
“Chiara is missing.”
Ice-cold dread drips through my veins, dousing the inferno of jealousy that was raging just moments earlier.
I place a hand to my throat, heaving through the onslaught of sensations I can’t control.
Control. I’ve always prided myself on my restraint.
My ability to wear a mask of aloofness to curb outward tells of my emotions and remain level-headed wanes.
All it takes is hearing those three words to shatter every illusion of control I ever held because they shine a floodlight on the fact that my pig-headed determination to stay in control may be the reason she will never hear the three words I should have said to her months ago.
Now I have to face the agony of knowing what it feels like to lose her before I ever had the chance to tell her just how much I love her.
“You were meant to pick her up from Johnny’s,” I growl.
He nods. “She sent me a text saying to meet her at your place instead because she took a rideshare home as she had to get back in a hurry,” he explains.
“I didn’t see the text immediately because I was in the shower.
But as soon as I saw it, I swear I went straight over.
When I got there, the front door was wide open.
I could hear the vacuum cleaner going. I called out but there was no answer.
I saw Chiara’s gym bag in the kitchen and continued walking through, checking each room.
I found Nina bound and gagged in the bath in the guest bedroom. ” He pauses. “But Chiara was gone.”
“How did this fucking happen right under our noses?” I holler. “What about the security cameras?”
“Marco checked. They weren’t cut because it would’ve sent an alert to you and Vault Enterprise.
Our guess is they used some sort of disruptor to distort the footage.
We can’t make anything out, but working backwards from the times she arrived and left Johnny’s and the messages she sent to me as well as the Uber pickup and drop-off times, they would have been waiting for her.
” He swallows thickly. “We think they ambushed her, knocked her out, and took her all within five minutes, max.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, pulling at my hair. “How the fuck did they even get in?”
“I spoke with Evie—apparently about forty-five minutes into their workout, Nina called her to say a utility guy was there and needed to fix a cut in the utility line,” he says. “Chiara told her not to bother you because you were in court and that she would come home and deal with them.”
I don’t know if I’m swaying or everything around me has started spinning.
Avery places a strong hand on my shoulder, and I try to focus on the weight of it to stop myself from folding like a deck of cards.
Black spots flicker at the edges of my vision, and bile rises in my throat, which feels like it’s closing in on itself, making it hard to swallow away the acrid taste coating my mouth.
I need to get outside. The air feels too thick in here. Not enough oxygen. My lungs are burning, making it hard to take full breaths. My heart rate has spiked.
Is this what a panic attack feels like? What she’s endured for years thanks to the grief and trauma of her parents’ death?
She had been doing so well lately. Everything between us had been the way I imagined a relationship to be—respectful, reciprocal, and magical in that way where we shared the little secrets of lovers to create an unbreakable bond.
Like how the only way she’s able to fall asleep is with her hand on my chest and mine on her ass.
How whoever leaves first in the morning will leave the coffee machine set up for the other, and if it’s her leaving first, she’ll always leave a little note with a new funny saying.
The other day it was Don’t kick the bucket today, old man. xx
There’s a sting behind my eyes, but I refuse to give into that emotion.
I promised her happiness and a way to pursue her career dreams. I won’t let the light of joy be stolen from her.
The searing burn of rancid rage tears up my throat.
I pull away from Avery and just make it out outside to purge what little I have in my stomach in the trash can. I want to scream but sound fails me.
My very worst fear has come to life. I failed her. I kept telling her I would protect her, and I fucking failed her.
I want to set the world alight.
I want to kill every fucker who’s hurt her. No, that would be too quick. Too painless. I want to make them pay with a torture so unbearable they wish for death.
I may have taken those wedding vows to give her an out from her arranged marriage, but I meant every single one of them because I fucking love Chiara Marie Princi, and I won’t stop until I find her so I can tell I her that I meant it when I said ’til death do us part. She is mine forever.
Sophia has joined me outside now.
“Raf. Talk to me. What’s going on? You look like you’re having a heart attack,” she says, gripping my forearm to stop me from pacing.
“The judge agreed the evidence is inadmissible. They’re not going to show it to the jury,” she says.
“Sophia, I need to go. You need to take lead on this case from here. Call dad to join you.”
“Why? What’s going on?” She looks towards Avery, searching for answers.
“I need to find my wife.”
Her hand violently flies to her mouth.
“Avery, fill her in. I’ve got to take this call from Marco.”