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Marcus nods, sullen and withdrawn, knowing that this is not an argument he is going to win. My mind is made up, and he did well, keeping me safe here for two days, but I can’t hide here forever.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping toward him and wrapping my arms around him. He stiffens. This is the first time I have ever beenaffectionate to him, and I can feel he is not sure how to process it. “Thank you, Marcus, for letting me stay here.”
He lifts his arms and wraps them around me, hugging me back.
“Please, take care of yourself, Seraphina. Please stay in touch and let me know what is happening. You have my number now. Use it.”
“I will.”
“Call me if you need something. I don’t know if I can be of any help, but I'lltry.”
I step back, looking at Marcus. Marveling at how drastically things have changed in my life.
“I’ll call soon.”
Then I walk out of the house, pulling the door closed behind me, and climb into the taxi waiting outside on the street. It is time for me to find Antonio.
At the penthouse, standing in the center of the living room, I feel panic rise in my chest. There is a vase smashed on the floor, as though someone fought or struggled. Everything else seems in order, but that shattered glass has my mind reeling.
“Where are you?” I whisper into the space. “I need you.”
I'm hit with a frenzy of nervous, angry energy. I search everywhere for anything. Any clue, any hint of who took him or where they went. Anything at all to give me a lead. I'm lifting things, tearing the blankets off the bed, pulling draws open. The longer I search, the more anxious I become. I don’t find a trace of evidence.
After an hour, I slump onto the floor with my back against the sofa, staring at the broken glass.
Tears stream down my face as I try to figure out what to do.
I have to go back to Marcus. I have to make him give me a name - any name of any person inside the family. I’ll start there and work my way through people until I find someone who can tell me where Antonio is.
I grab my handbag and rush out of the hotel room, into the elevator, and down into the foyer.
“Mrs. Aoi, I did not see you come in.”
I turn toward the voice, and the receptionist is smiling at me. I eye her, wondering if this is a trap of some sort.
“I'm so sorry I missed you. I have a message for you.”
I step toward the desk, every muscle in my body tight with nervous energy.
“What message?”
“I was told, under very strict instructions, to not deliver it to anyone but you. It is a message from your husband. Mr. Aoi.”
My breath catches. My heart pulses at a dangerous speed.
I reach out, with a shaking hand, to take the white envelope from her hand.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I walk away from the desk, staring at the sealed envelope.
There is nothing written on the outside. It is a plain, white envelope.
I walk toward the waiting area and sit down on one of the golden yellow couches.
I flex my hand to get them to stop shaking, and then I pull the glued edges of the envelope open. The white papers tear, and my heart thunders.
I reach into the envelope and pull out a single, white, folded piece of paper.
I drop the envelope at my feet and unfold the page.
