Chapter Six
Lucas
What’s going on, why aren’t you replying?
No confirmation that she’d read it. I tap the call button. After several rings it goes to voicemail. Like the thirty-two times before. All my messages have remained unanswered, and, worse, unread.
What the fuck? Why isn’t Chiara replying or calling me back? Is she hurt?
I type again.
Sweetheart, answer the damn phone.
My messages have become increasingly threatening and I sound unhinged, but I don’t care.
I haven’t seen or heard from her since the gala two days back, and it bothers me to no end that she is AWOL.
Usually, she replies the same day and her silence begins to make my skin prickle.
But her sister doesn’t seem concerned or I would’ve heard by now, so I smother my impatience, hoping that she is just too busy to reply.
But she should reply, goddamnit. I’ll tell her that next weekend, at Sunday brunch.
I rake my fingers through my hair and exhale loudly.
My mind has been running in circles for two days and I can’t seem to focus.
All I see is her in that dress, golden and radiant like a goddess.
I hadn’t found her when I went back into the ballroom, she must’ve already gone home.
I hope she didn’t get sick. I tell myself that she is busy.
That she’s too distracted to reply. Or resting. Or gone out.
Fuck no, not gone out. Not with that asshole Nathan. Definitely not. My mind is spiraling as a vise latches around my chest.
A buzzing sound snaps me out of my brooding.
“Mr. Romano, your three p.m. client has arrived, I’ve set him up in the East meeting room.” My PA’s efficiency bleeds through the intercom.
“Thanks, Leo, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I stand and close my suit jacket, mentally bracing for another meeting with investors who are interested in letting Blackstrand Partners handle their money.
When I created the company nine years back, it had started like a hobby, and I’d never imagined that it would become one of the most successful investment firms in Boston.
I had always been good with numbers and even better with money.
It multiplied under my fingers, and there is a good reason people call me the Wallstreet Midas.
It also helps to have unlimited funds from our other activities.
I give the dirty sums transiting through the firm a squeaky-clean sheen once they come out of the shell corps and dummy investment funds I run them through.
I step out of my office and head down the corridor to the East meeting room. That’s the one with the view over the harbor. Nothing is left to chance, everything is designed to induce trust. People entrust me with their money, and I make it grow for them.
The man sitting at the table is in his late fifties.
“Mr. Daniels,” I say, extending a hand with an easy smile. “Lucas Romano. Thank you for coming in.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” he says, gripping my hand firmly. “I’ll admit, finance isn’t exactly my comfort zone.”
“That’s fine,” I say, sliding into the chair opposite him. “That’s why you hire people like me. My job is to make your money work for you and to explain it to you in a way that you’ll understand even without a finance degree.”
He chuckles. “I’d appreciate that.”
I flip open the folder in front of me. “Here’s the simple version.
You’ve got capital and you want it to grow.
We take that capital and place it into a blend of assets—real estate, logistics, and controlled risk ventures.
That means some investments are slow and steady, others are faster and a little more aggressive.
The mix is what keeps you safe while still giving you returns worth smiling about. ”
Daniels nods slowly. “And you handle all of it?”
“From the ground up,” I assure him. “You don’t have to track stocks or call brokers or figure out which port authority is best for importing goods.
You decide how much you want to invest, and I make sure it turns into more.
Think of it like planting an orchard. I handle the soil, the watering and the pruning. And you enjoy the harvest.”
That earns me a full smile. “Now that,” he says, “I can understand.”
“Good,” I say, leaning back, already knowing the deal is sealed. “Because with Blackstrand Partners, we don’t gamble with your trust. We earn it, every time.”
After an hour of hammering out details and figures, Mr. Daniels leaves with a happy smile and the contact details of our firm lawyers who will get in touch for the contract.
* * * *
I step out of my Lexus in front of the Bianchis’ front porch and climb the steps two at a time.
Then I ring the bell and wait. Quiet steps echo on the other side, and the door opens to Chiara’s housekeeper.
She looks at me with surprise, clearly not expecting my visit.
I can’t contain my annoyance at Chiara. I had messaged her to let her know that I was stopping by, goddamnit.
“Good evening, sir. How may I assist you?” the housekeeper asks politely.
“Hello, is Chiara… Ms. Bianchi here? I messaged her to let her know that I’d come tonight.”
More like I’ve sent her threats of punishment if she kept ignoring me, but I don’t tell her that. I lean to the side, trying to catch a glimpse inside to see if she is hiding there. The older woman frowns in confusion.
“My apologies, sir, Ms. Bianchi is not here.”
My stomach drops. “Do you know where she went?”
“I’m afraid not.”
I let out a frustrated breath. Shit, what now?
I thank her and turn to leave, fishing out my phone and preparing to blow hers up when I see a car round the driveway to stop behind mine. My heart rate picks up when I see Lily step out of the passenger side. I want to fist-pump the air. If anyone can get me inside to see Chiara, it’s her sister.
Lily climbs the stairs and gives a small wave. “Oh, hi, Lucas. What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Lil-girl. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Chiara, but she’s not answering her phone, so I came to check on her.”
Lily frowns. “Oh, I stopped by because she’s not picking up to me either.”
My blood runs cold. This can’t be good, can it?
Lily rings the bell and the same housekeeper opens the door.
This time she lets us in, and I try my best not to push Lily aside to run upstairs to her sister’s room.
I know exactly where it is because the first time I laid eyes on her, I had questioned her about Lily’s disappearance for Damiano there.
Now I follow Lily up the stairs and down the corridor leading to her room. She quietly pushes the door open and we step in.
Empty…
We both stand silently in the doorway, unsure about what to do.
Then Lily lets out a quiet gasp and steps to the window.
I frown. There is a white origami paper crane sitting on the sill and Lily delicately picks it up and stands there, unmoving and silent, gaze light years away. I have a bad feeling, and my throat is suddenly dry.
“What is it, Lily? Where is Chiara?” I manage to croak out.
She looks over her shoulder, and a chill runs down my spine when her grave gaze collides with mine. What the fuck is hap—
A voice booms from downstairs and we both jump.
I recognize it as Francesco’s, their father.
In a blink, I am downstairs in the living room, ready to order him to tell me where his daughter is, but what I see makes me stop dead.
Francesco is standing by the sofa where he had visibly elected residence for some time now, judging from the empty bottles and clothing items littering the floor and the furniture.
He is a mess, his eyes are bloodshot and his once-white shirt is stained and rumpled.
He’s obviously been drinking too much and too long.
“What are you doing here?” he demands, but his intimidation attempt fails when he starts to stagger forward.
I catch him by his shoulders to prevent him from falling on his face.
He reeks of liquor. There is a gasp behind me, and I turn my head to catch a glimpse of Lily. She seems horrified by what she sees.
“Did you know…this?” I ask her.
She shakes her head with a stricken look. “No… I’ve never come back since…I moved out.”
I turn back to Francesco and shake him once, willing him to listen. “Where is Chiara?”
His eyes seem to focus on my face at last. “That ungrateful wench?” he sneers. “She’s not here. She’s just like her bitch of a mother.”
I grit my teeth, wanting to slap some fucking sense into him, or, worse, smash him into a pulp.
I won’t hit a drunken man, I repeat over and over in my mind.
I release him, forcefully sitting him on the sofa.
I won’t get anything out of him tonight—he needs to sober up.
I’ll send a medical team here, but first, I need to find out where Chiara is.
I turn to Lily to ask her what exactly she knows, because she fucking knows something, I saw it in her eyes.
But when I turn around, she’s gone.