REBECCA #2
The private jet hums smoothly beneath us as we cut through the sky toward Arizona.
I'm curled up in the wide leather seat by the window, staring at the ring on my left hand.
It's stunning, a delicate band of white gold with a central diamond that catches every bit of light like captured starlight.
Smaller stones flank it, sapphires the exact shade of Alessio's eyes when he's calm and steady.
The jeweler called it a constellation setting.
To me, it feels like hope wrapped in loyalty.
A promise that no matter how dark things get, we'll find our way back to each other.
I twist it gently on my finger, still not quite believing it's real.
There was no grand speech, no horses galloping down the strip or airplanes tugging a sign.
Just raw, honest Alessio—just the way I wanted it—telling me he couldn't imagine another day without me as his wife.
I'd said yes before I even finished crying.
Now here we are. Flying toward the conversation I've been waiting four years to have.
Except it isn't. Not exactly. For four years, I'd imagined finally seeing Rachel again. In every version, there was yelling and crying and somehow, by the end of it, everything made sense.
Reality, as usual, had other plans. Because the closer we get, the less I want to know why she left and the more I need to know what happened to her after she did.
Alessio sits across from me, his jaw is tight, his eyes are fixed on the folder in his lap like it personally offended him. He hasn't said much since we took off, but I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
"You're really doing this alone," he finally says in a voice filled with apprehension, disapproval, and that deep, protective worry he can never quite hide from me.
There's frustration there too, the kind that comes from a man who's used to controlling every variable in his world and suddenly can't control this one.
I look up. "Yes."
His jaw flexes. "You'll take Olivere at least."
"As long as he stays back and doesn't interfere."
He doesn't like that. I can see it in the way his fingers tighten on the folder. Resigned, he agrees. “Fine.”
I reach across the aisle and take his hand. "I need to do this my way, Alessio. Just me and her. No guards. No audience. She's my sister."
He turns his hand over, lacing our fingers together. His thumb strokes over the engagement ring. "I know. I just…" He exhales. "After everything that's happened, the idea of you walking in there without me…"
"Don't be dramatic. Walking in there. It's a gym, Alessio. Just a gym. There are no evil goons waiting in the corners to assassinate me."
He lets out a low, rough chuckle that sends heat curling low in my belly. His eyes darken as he leans closer, his voice drops to that dangerous velvet tone I know too well.
"No evil goons?" He lifts my hand and presses a slow kiss to the engagement ring. "Babe, I'm the evil goon. And the only person allowed to put their hands on you is me."
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, possessive. "You plan to walk into that gym alone, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to follow you. Because the last time I let you out of my sight in a place I didn't control, you ended up in a fucking warehouse with a gun to your head."
He leans in until his forehead rests against mine, breath warm on my lips. "So forgive me if I'm a little fucking dramatic about the woman I just asked to be my wife walking into enemy territory without me."
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses the ring. "You come back to me. Promise."
"I promise." But I can't help myself and mumble, "Enemy territory." I pull out my phone.
"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.
"Changing your contact… again… there." I hold it up for him to see.
Overdramatic Ice King
He reaches for it, but I shake my head, laughing. "Nope, not today."
I know I only keep it because he wants me to, but I still file it under victory.
The rest of the flight passes in quiet tension. When we land, a black SUV is waiting on the tarmac.
Charly gave me the intel about Rachel going to a gym most mornings. A gym that has a daycare on site, so that mommies can do their aerobics and cardio in peace.
I stare through the windshield. "That's a gym?"
Alessio chuckles beside me. The place looks less like a place where people come to torture themselves on treadmills and more like an expensive Mediterranean resort that somehow landed in the middle of the Arizona desert.
Honey-colored stone stretches across what has to be half a city block.
Towering archways frame a massive entrance, their curved windows catching the morning sun.
Palm trees line the drive like silent guards, fountains sparkle out front, and terracotta roofs crown the different wings of the building until the whole thing looks more like a luxury estate—or a castle built by someone with entirely too much money—than a fitness center.
Through the glass, I catch glimpses of balconies overlooking turquoise pools, rows of lounge chairs, and enough windows to make the place feel open instead of intimidating.
"People actually come here to work out?"
Alessio smirks. "Some do."
I glance back at the building. "Pretty sure I'd spend all day trying to figure out where the moat is."
He cups my face, eyes intense. "Olivere stays a hundred feet from you. You feel anything off, you wave. And Beccs…" He kisses me, slow and deep. "I love you. Come back to me."
"I will."
Olivere falls into step behind me as we walk through the massive glass doors.
The lobby is even more ridiculous than the outside.
Marble floors. Towering ceilings. A café that smells like fresh coffee.
People in designer workout clothes sip smoothies like they're at a five-star resort instead of a gym.
A smiling woman behind the reception desk looks up.
"Good morning! Membership card, please."
I smile back. "I'm actually just looking for someone."
"I'm sorry." She offers an apologetic smile. "Only members are allowed past the front desk."
"Oh."
I glance at Olivere. He clears his throat. The receptionist's eyes drift toward him. Six-four. Suit tailored to perfection. Expression carved from granite. He slowly opens his jacket just enough for the grip of his holstered pistol to become visible. Never touching it. Never saying a word.
The color drains from her face. "I..."
Olivere offers her a polite smile. "We won't be long."
She swallows. "Of course."
Her fingers fumble for the gate controls. The security arm swings open. "Go right ahead, ma'am."
"Thank you."
As we walk away, I elbow Olivere. "You know, usually people just ask."
His mouth twitches. "I did."
The entire gym smells fresh and citrusy. No lingering sweat, no foul odors. We pass the cafeteria and move towards a rock-climbing wall behind a glass wall and several open basketball courts. To the right is a winding stairway. Olivere gently steers me toward it.
I spot her almost immediately. Rachel, in workout clothes, laughing on a treadmill while she's talking to another woman who could basically be her clone.
That should be me, a traitorous, envious part of me remarks, and I push the thought down, hard.
My heart clenches so hard it hurts. I wait until the other woman walks away before I walk up beside her and tap the machine.
She turns. Her eyes widen. The color drains from her face. "Becca…"
I smile, small and shaky. "Hi, Rach."
Rachel grabs my wrist before I can say another word. "This way."
She leads me past rows of treadmills and weight machines to a quiet seating area tucked into the corner behind a wall of oversized plants. The morning crowd buzzes around us, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing a few feet away.
She spins to face me. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I have questions."
The words come out calmer than I feel.
Rachel lets out a bitter laugh. "I thought I made myself pretty clear. I don't want you in my new life."
The words still sting. Maybe they always will.
"You did." I force my emotions to settle so I can remain calm. "But you're still in mine."
She looks away.
"I just have a few questions," I continue. "When I'm done..." This hurts. "I swear you'll never see me again unless you ask."
Rachel closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, some of the fight has left. She sighs. "What do you want to know?"
Oh... where do I even start? Why did you leave? Did you ever miss me? Did you think I stopped looking? Did you know I spent years chasing ghosts across half the country? Do you know how many birthdays I wished you'd walk through the front door?
Instead, I ask the one question that matters most. "Does the name Flea mean anything to you?"
Rachel freezes. Every trace of color drains from her face. For a heartbeat, she simply stares at me. "How?" Her voice is barely a whisper. "How do you know that name?"
"I met him."
She shakes her head violently. "No."
Her eyes dart around the gym. "Leave it alone."
"Rachel—"
"No."
She grabs my forearm hard enough to hurt. "You don't understand. Nobody knows about him. Nobody." Her voice drops to a frantic whisper. "If you're asking about Flea..." her breathing speeds up, "you have no idea how much danger you're putting me and my family in."
She looks toward the childcare area. Toward where her daughter is. "You have to leave. Forget you ever heard that name."
"I can't."
"Becca—"
"I can't."
My own voice hardens. For the first time since finding her, I stop being the sister begging for scraps of her affection. "Listen to me." Rachel falls silent. "Flea kept files."
Her eyes widen.