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“I should go,” Audrey says. “I'm glad you're okay. We’ll talk again soon.”

“Alright. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

When the call ends, I let out a breath, slip the phone into my bag, and head out. Dmitri is already waiting outside.

For the rest of the day, he drives me around Chicago. Everything feels unfamiliar. The streets are wider, the buildings impossibly tall. I’ve never left Rome before. Papa never allowed it.

I spend hours browsing art stores, filling a cart with paints, brushes, charcoal, sketchbooks, palettes, and more canvases than I probably need.

For the first time in days, I feel excited.

By noon we stop at a small café for an espresso. One sip is enough to make me wrinkle my nose.

It’s good, just not Italian good. I smile to myself. Guess I’ll have to find a better coffee shop.

By the time Dmitri drives me through the estate gates again, the sun has already disappeared.

“I’m exhausted,” I mutter as I climb out.

Sofía greets me in the foyer. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. Sokolov.”

I shake my head. “Thanks Sofía, but I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something.”

“I’m really fine.”

She hesitates. “Mr. Sokolov was quite clear that you should never skip a meal.”

I bite back a sigh. If Roman is so concerned about whether I eat, maybe he could stop hiding and tell me himself.

Instead of saying it aloud, I simply smile. “I’ll eat tomorrow.”

Sofía reluctantly lets it go. I head upstairs. All I want is a hot shower and my bed.

The moment I step into our bedroom, I come to an abrupt stop.

Roman sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced on his knees, his shoulders rigid. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and his eyes, they’re empty. Hollow. Devoid of the intensity I’ve come to expect from him.

Chapter 11

Roman

For the past two days, the same words have haunted me.

You have to stay away from her. You can't drag her into your darkness. You can't drag her into the abyss of your darkness.

They play over and over in my head, refusing to leave me alone.

That is why I have stayed away from my wife ever since the day we got back from Rome.

Not because she has done anything wrong. She hasn't. Not because I don't want to see her. God knows I do.

I've stayed away because I want to protect her from the parts of me that even I can't control. I always say I want to drag her to hell with me, but I would never hurt her.

I lean back in my chair and rub a hand over my face, exhaustion settling heavily into my bones. My office is quiet except for the ticking of the clock on the wall, but my mind is anything but quiet.