Page 5
“Miss? We’ve arrived.”
Huh? Where was I? I blinked furiously, pulling myself from my trip down memory lane and looking out the window. Oh, right, my apartment building… Home.
Was it, though?
I wanted to tell myself to shut up, but that would have definitely been misconstrued by the driver.
“Thank you.” I tapped my card against the machine he held in his hand and hurried out of the cab. I was lucky to be in an almost middle-class neighborhood and have an apartment all to myself. Sure, it was tiny, but it was mine. Because of my hard-earned position with the company, my days of rooming in a single flat with three other dancers were long over. When I’d reached the level where I qualified for donor sponsorship, the additional money covered most of my housing costs and my transportation to and from rehearsals and performances.
I unlocked my door and froze. A trace of sandalwood drifted through the apartment. It didn’t belong. Neither did the sudden prickling at the back of my neck.
Someone had been here.
I backed out, pulled the door closed and locked it before racing downstairs and outside.
On the sidewalk, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called the police. They arrived quickly, and after searching my flat, one of the officers came downstairs and escorted me back up. That was when they showed me the dead roses and the note attached.
Shaking, I reached out and took the note from the table.
This is only the beginning. Next time I set a trap, you won’t see it coming, and you won’t survive it.
The room tilted beneath my feet, and I reached out to steady myself against the table.
They knew where I lived.
“We’ll have the place under surveillance. Don’t worry, we’ll catch this guy.” The officer called me by my stage name and had spent most of his time mooning over me since arriving.
I hadn’t eaten in hours and my blood sugar levels were plummeting. I needed food and a hot shower and time to think.
“Miss Swan, do you mind?”
The cop had his phone out and wanted to snap a selfie with me. I wanted to groan aloud. This had to be karma biting me on the ass.
“It’s for my wife. She’s a huge fan.”
Seriously? Hail Mary, full of grace.
Plastering on a smile, I answered, “Of course,” and leaned in toward the officer, whose shoulder I didn’t reach.
Snap!
“Thank you, Miss Swan. We’ll be in touch.” He handed me his card, and they left. The silence was deafening, and I became acutely aware of the clock in my bedroom ticking in time with the beating of my heart. The birds outside twittered happily, their cheerful song a stark contradiction to how I felt. They were blissfully unaware that someone had violated my home, my peace, and my security, but I wasn’t.
Food be damned. Grabbing my phone, I punched in the number for the only person I felt may come to my rescue.
The one man I swore I’d never call again.
Chapter 2
Marko
“Come on, Gio, just come out with me. We can hit the town and maybe some fine ass while we’re at it.”
Gio regarded me blankly. “What’s the point, Marko? We’ve been looking for someone to be ours since… Anyway,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s going to happen, my friend, and the pussy here is as good as it gets. Why should I go and support another club’s business when I can feed my own?”
I’d never shared that my search for Nicolette was still ongoing, or that I continued to believe Luciano had been right all those years ago. I knew in my heart she would come back, and that our time with Nicolette was far from over, but Gio had given up on that dream a long time ago.
He’d gone from being the most popular guy—carefree, fun-loving, and easygoing—to a hard man and probably the most stubborn of all the Vitale brothers. And that was saying something. He’d never lost anything, except her. Nicolette’s disappearance had taken a toll on my friend, one that I feared had permanently closed his heart to the possibility of ever finding love again.
