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The anger I felt toward her was almost blinding in its intensity, and I’d had to pull over twice on the way here. I’d sat there alone on the secluded stretch of road raging at her, beating my fists against the steering wheel. I still wasn’t quite sure how I’d ended up at the cabin; the drive was a blur of memories as I drove past the snow-covered pines. My body still shook under the force of my fury, and I tried several times to get the key into the slot before finally managing to get it unlocked.
I still hadn’t begun to process Doyle’s news. How was it possible that the woman I loved so deeply could betray me so badly? I prided myself on being able to read people, but with Jules... I’d never even seen it coming.
I pushed open the door to the cabin and stepped inside, then closed up behind me. I didn’t bother to lock the door. I didn’t plan to stay—just long enough to gather my things and head back home. I couldn’t be here, surrounded by the memory of her. Everywhere I looked, I saw her. From the dishes stacked neatly by the sink to her tall leather boots sitting in the tray beside the door, she’d left literally everything behind when she walked away from me.
I let out a mirthless laugh. All of her mannerisms made sense now. I’d known instinctively that she’d come from money—it wasn’t like a few articles of clothing mattered one bit to a woman like her. She was a mafia princess with the world at her fingertips; I could never give her the things she was accustomed to. Maybe she’d decided to go back to the life of luxury her fiancé could provide instead.
I couldn’t believe she’d just thrown me over like that. She’d never given any indication that material shit mattered to her. With the exception of the couple days prior to her disappearance, she’d seemed happier than ever. But I couldn’t deny what was right in front of me. If she truly wanted nothing to do with me, then I would have to accept it. But, goddamn it, I wanted to know why—and who. It was almost sickening, the need to discover the man she’d left me for.
I pushed off the door and stomped upstairs to search our bedroom first. I studiously avoided the bed where she had lain next to me night after night, our loving filled with promise for the future. Steeling my heart, I methodically began to search her things. I started with the closet first, sifting through each article of clothing. I checked inside each pair of shoes, inside the pockets of her clothes, and inside her spare purse. I came up empty in each place, and I propped my hands on my hips.
It didn’t help that I had no clue what I was looking for. I was praying for a cell phone, but I had a feeling I’d be shit out of luck on that score. Jules had claimed not to have a one when she’d first arrived, and I believed her. She’d barely had enough clothes to wear, let alone any conveniences. Knowing Jules, if she had phone numbers or contact information written down, it would be on a piece of paper somewhere. I hadn’t found anything when I’d searched her office at Briarleigh, but maybe that was too obvious. Too many people had access to her things there, though I knew she kept the door locked. Wouldn’t want someone stumbling across personal information, I thought with a sneer.
I looked behind the baseboard and in every nook and cranny I could find. I moved to the bathroom, rooting through each drawer and checking her meager cosmetics case, then I shook out each towel to make sure nothing was hidden within the folds. I checked the seam between the vanity and the wall, even inside the tank of the toilet. Still nothing. I moved to the bed next and ripped off the sheets. I checked inside the pillowcases, under the mattress, inside each drawer of the dresser. My ire grew as my search continued to yield no results.
Stomping back downstairs, I ripped apart the living room. I searched between pages of books, inside the zippered cushions of the couch, checked for loose stones along the fireplace. A hazy rage took over, and I moved toward the kitchen, where I searched the pantry and every cabinet, even inside the refrigerator and freezer.
Beyond frustrated, I let out an inhuman roar. “Goddamn it!”
Fury raced along my veins, and I lashed out. The coffee mug Jules had used several mornings ago sat beside the sink, and I palmed it, feeling its familiar weight in my hand. I could still see the faint outline of her lip print along the edge of the mug, and my heart constricted in my chest. Drawing my arm back, I slung it across the room and watched it shatter against the stone fireplace.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and felt the burning sensation at the backs of my eyes. How could she do this to me? I felt lost in my emotions, as if they were a rolling tide, threatening to pull me under. I still couldn’t believe she’d left. If she wasn’t happy, why the hell hadn’t she just told me?
That was the thing, though. She hadn’t seemed unhappy—not at all. In fact, she was almost a completely different person from the woman who’d shown up three months ago. The Jules who’d shown up just before Christmas was afraid of her own shadow. She’d kept one eye over her shoulder every second of the day, and her anxiety had been evident in the way she’d picked at her nails. It was a nervous habit, one she’d shed over the past several months. It was also something, I realized with dawning clarity, that had resumed full-force right before she’d disappeared.
What the hell did that mean? I stared sightlessly out the window as I replayed those last few days. She’d withdrawn after she’d learned of my tumultuous past with her father. Was that it? I dismissed the thought almost immediately. The following night, she’d made love to me almost frantically—as if she would never get to do it again.
I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat. Maybe she’d needed me once more before she went back to him.
My eyes fell to the fireplace and slowly, like flame licking at kindling, a memory curled upward from the recesses of my mind. I’d made love to her just a few nights ago in that very spot. And I’d come inside her. My baby could be growing inside her right this very second.
Hell fucking no.
She was out of her goddamn mind if she thought I was just going to let her go. I would drag her ass back here just to prove a point if I had to. That new realization drove me to put one foot in front of the other as I continued my search of the downstairs. I stepped into the office, though she rarely spent time in here. I sank down into the leather seat. Leaning my elbows on the desk, I dropped my head into my hands. What the fuck had happened? Doyle’s conversation played through my mind on loop, and I needed to know for myself.
As I reached for the power button on the tower, I realized it was already on. I jiggled the mouse to wake up the monitor and was rewarded a few moments later when the home screen popped up. I clicked over to the internet browser and typed in Capaldi’s name. Dozens of photos of Giuliana’s late father, Ignacio, popped up, but none of my girl.
I snorted bitterly. She wasn’t my girl anymore. The more I reminded myself of that, the easier it would be to get over her. I hoped.
My gut tightened as the article about the raid at the warehouse popped up, and I read through it. The reporters had left out a lot of information, but that was no surprise. I was sure someone had paid them to look the other way—probably the Feds in this case.
My hand moved to the scar at the base of my throat, and I swallowed hard. Although Capaldi had tried to take my life that day, I couldn’t help but wish that things were different. The knowledge of the truth behind his death had driven a wedge between Jules and me, and I wasn’t sure we would ever be able to overcome it.
I kept coming back to the same question. What was she about to tell me that morning, and why? Part of my brain had blocked out the first part of her request, focusing only on the knowledge that she’d been set to marry someone else. Now it came back in its entirety.
“I think I need help. Before I came here, I... I was supposed to be married.”
She’d said she needed help—but why? No one had seen anything, heard anything out of the ordinary. Everything had been fine until I’d told her about that damn raid. It was the catalyst that had thrown everything into motion, and I didn’t know what else I was supposed to think. She’d run because going back to her family was better than staying with the man who’d been involved in her father’s death... right?
I clicked up to the navigation bar, and began to type when the computer’s search engine auto-populated the name of an email platform. I pressed enter, and my heart began to race in my chest as Jules’s email account appeared on the screen. I opened it up and started at the top, clicking down through each new email.
One from an unknown sender caught my eye, and I hesitated for a moment before clicking on the video file. The subject line was grayed out, so I assumed Jules had opened it previously. Still, I didn’t want to risk crashing the computer if it was a spam file, so I pulled out my phone and dialed the number at the top of my contacts list.
Jason answered after the third ring. “Doyle.”
“I need your help with something,” I began as my eyes skimmed the rest of the email, looking for a source. “Is there any way to find out if a video file is spam or if it’s legit?”
“Want me to take a look?” Doyle asked.
Following his instructions, I found the IP address, and he connected to the computer remotely. I held my breath as the file loaded and began to play. I didn’t recognize the young man and woman on their knees, but a sick sense of dread filled my gut. On their knees, they begged and pleaded for their lives.
“Fuck,” Doyle said on the other end.
I cringed, my stomach revolting as we watched the brutal execution play out in silence.
Jason took a deep breath before he spoke. “Let me see what I can find for you.”
He closed out the file and disconnected the phone call, and I sat there in silence. Somehow, I knew this was what Jules was about to tell me. I wasn’t sure how or why; it was just a gut feeling. If she had been about to tell me of this video, I assumed she knew who was responsible.
I kept replaying our conversation from that morning through my mind. Why would she be so intent on finally opening up if she’d planned to disappear? Had some misplaced sense of guilt prompted her to warn me? And who the fuck was the guy who’d shot me? The fiancé? He could’ve—probably should’ve—killed me. But he didn’t. Why the hell not? The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit, and it frustrated the hell out of me.
A sudden chill raced down my spine as the anger and hurt clouding my mind began to lift.
“I was supposed to be married...”
Was her fiancé responsible for this? She’d shown up months ago, bruises marring her face. I’d originally surmised that she was running from a boyfriend—or a fiancé. If he’d mistreated her, I seriously doubted that she’d have gone with him voluntarily. If he’d finally found her...
My eyes flicked back to the computer screen, and fear seized me. I needed to find out who the hell he was—before Jules met the same fate.