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I tread water frantically, searching every which way for a sign of him. The current is strong and there’s a good chance the explosion might have knocked him unconscious. Panic grips my spine. Where is he?
“Dom!” I cry, splashing around uselessly. “Dominic!”
I muster up the strength to dive under again, taking as deep a breath as I can manage. It’s too dark to see anything, and the pollution definitely doesn’t help. Coming back up to the surface, I really start to lose it. My brain is overloaded. There’s too many things going on at once. I’m trying to stay afloat while searching for him, overwhelmed by the sound of sirens and the foreboding orange glow of the warehouse ablaze.
“Dominic!” I scream, my voice breaking.
Somehow, I make it to land. I’m so cold it’s painful. My teeth won’t stop chattering. When I pull myself onto the dock, my body shivers so hard it makes me dizzy. Looking out to the water, I see no one.
I’m all alone out here.
Dominic is gone.
Chapter 38
Arin
It’s all over the news.
Some people assume it was an accident. Maybe an electrical fire or mishandled chemicals that weren’t stored properly. Others think it might have been a domestic terrorist attack. The explosion was so big the whole harbor shook, and half of New York heard the massive blast tear through the air. The police are still investigating, piecing together what little evidence hasn’t been burned to a crisp.
But I know the truth.
I know the truth and I can’t say anything without a flurry of unwanted attention. If the Mob discovers I’ve blabbed to the cops, I could put myself and Felicia at risk. All I can do is keep my mouth shut.
The hours that followed the explosion were a blur, my memories foggy thanks to my unfortunate adrenaline crash. If Johnny hadn’t been a few blocks away, apparently at Dominic’s instruction, the chances that I would’ve frozen to death were distressingly high.
I waited a day, biting my nails all the way down to their beds. According to the police reports, several bodies were discovered at the warehouse, charred beyond recognition, though evidence of torched weapons suggested foul play might be involved.
No sign of Dominic, though.
Another day passed, and then another and another.
Before I knew it, a week had come and gone.
Still no sign of Dominic.
I receive several visitors in the days following the incident. A couple of capos payingrespects. Isabella and Lana have been coming over almost every day, helping me take care of Felicia while I struggle with my daily cocktail of anguish, anxiety, and dread. No matter how hard I wrack my brain, I can’t remember seeing Dominic anywhere in the water. My heart thuds loudly in my chest at the memory, all thewhat ifscenarios gripping my thoughts like a starving python.
What if he drowned? What if the blast killed him before he even hit the water? What if the current swept him out into the Atlantic? The endless worrying is enough to make me puke. In fact, I do—and very frequently.
“Let me call the doctor,” Isabella offers. “Those waters are so polluted. You might’ve caught a parasite.”
I shake my head, waving her off weakly. I’ve been camped out on the living room couch for ages, unwilling to climb into either mine or Dominic’s bed. All that empty space on the mattress next to me only reminds me of his glaring absence. At least here on the couch, I can press my back against the cushions and pretend it’s Dominic holding me so snugly.
“I made your favorite,” Lana offers that night, just as she’s done every night before. “Tuna casserole. I’ll even add extra cheese and toss it under the broiler.”
Normally, mentioning Lana’s famous tuna casserole would earn her a Pavlovian response. My mouth normally waters at the mere memory of her saucy, cheesy, calorie-intensive meal. Today, however, just the thought of tuna makes me shoot upright and run straight for the nearest bathroom. I luckily lose my lunch in the toilet, dizzy and feverish all over.
“Mommy, oh no!” Felicia gasps, holding onto her Nona’s hand as they watch in horror from the bathroom door.
“That’s it,” Isabella says, hurrying over to rub small circles against my back. “I’m calling the doctor. This is far too serious.”
“I’m fine,” I try to insist, except my voice is weak and cracking. “I’m fine. I’m just nauseated.”
Lana enters the bathroom, too, with a tall glass of water from the kitchen. “Nauseated?” she echoes. “When was your last time of the month?” Lana glances at Felicia. She’s far too young to understand what’s going on, but I appreciate my friend using the euphemism.
I think about it. Really, truly think about. Dominic and I have been having sex regularly for months now, but my period was always on time. I’ve been so distracted with the fashion show and all of Dominic’s work nonsense and being fucking kidnapped that I haven’t exactly been keeping diligent track of my cycle.
