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She shook her head, her arms wrapping around her elbows while her posture shrank. “I wanted my dad to know what being married to Anthony was like, so two weeks before I left, I crept into Anthony’s bedroom and took some photos with my phone. It was the riskiest thing I’ve ever done. If he’d woken…”
She inhaled a sharp breath, and her attention veered to the side, making her seem somewhat embarrassed.
“Let me guess.” Blaine drew toward her, the storm in his belly raging anew. “He wasn’t alone?”
“And you could tell the woman next to him wasn’t me.” Her face scrunched into a grimace. “Soon after my escape, I faxed my father copies of all the evidence I’d gathered, those photos, the financial stuff, everything.”
Blaine reached out and pulled her close. As high as his stress levels had climbed, hers seemed to have settled, like sharing her problems had given her relief. Her lavender perfume filled his senses, somehow lighting new clarity, the last few weeks suddenly making more sense.
Anthony had used her. Abused her. Stolen from her. No wonder she’d believed she wasn’t enough. He’d brought one woman after another into their home. No matter what she gave, he wanted more, and he’d stopped at nothing to grind her confidence down.
Now there stood a real chance he would destroy her.
“I’ve put us both in danger.” She trembled where she stood, but leaned in and buried her face against the shoulder of his light gray sweater. “If Anthony finds me… If he finds out about you…”
He kissed the top of her head, wanting to soothe her. “Wouldn’t it be smarter for him to disappear?”
She let out a caustic laugh, arching back so they made eye contact. “The police think he’s run somewhere to save his own skin, but I don’t believe that. Right now, he’s pissed. He’ll want his money back, followed by a pound of my flesh. He’ll want to hurt me and anyone important to me, which means you.”
Blaine’s skin prickled, his blood pressure rising. If Anthony came back, the guy would get more than the fight he sought. He deserved a dirty dose of karma, and Blaine would relish being the one to give it to him. “Does anyone else know you’re in Harlow?”
“Rochelle obviously, but seeing as she’s in New York, I doubt she’ll tell anyone. Other than that, as I said, not even I knew for sure I’d come here until the night I ended up booking the cottage.”
“And aside from Rochelle, have you spoken to anyone else from LA?”
“Just my dad.”
Blaine took hold of her shoulders and walked her over to the counter, sitting her down on a stool. “And what did he have to say for himself?”
Emilia swallowed hard, her expression momentarily crumpling. “He told me about Anthony’s disappearance and ordered me to return to LA. Once Anthony was found, he wanted me to go back to my marriage and resume our life, business as usual.”
This again?
His stomach muscles drew, gutted, winded, mounting a revolt against the thought of ever letting this woman go. Much less to Anthony. “How could he ask that of you? His own daughter.”
“If you thought his objection to me getting together with an ‘Irish boy’ ten years ago was bad, you can probably guess his opinion on divorce is even worse. It’s shameful enough that I’m gone and unaccounted for, but throw in officially ending my marriage... It’s all about reputation with him, how things will look when it comes to the whole Bonacci-Stucco dynasty he’s worked so hard to build. And if I’m not there to hold it all together…”
“But surely you’re more important than some trumped-up ‘dynasty’?”
“I know, and I’m starting to believe it too, but my situation gets worse. I haven’t been able to contact my dad in over a week. His phone rings out, and it’s not like him not to answer. I don’t know if it’s because he’s angry with me or because something more sinister has happened.” Her voice shook, and her hand pressed to her upper abdomen as if she reminded herself to breathe. “I’m worried, Blaine. I know he doesn’t deserve my concern, but I can’t keep pretending something isn’t wrong here.”
“And there’s no other way of contacting your dad?”
“I can’t call the office or speak to any of the domestic help at his home for an update. They’ll all know it’s me, word might get out, and I have to stay hidden. I can’t call the police, either. Anthony has friends in high and low places, L.A.P.D. included. I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can start by trusting me.” He took her hand and lifted his attention to the white, provincial-style clock on the wall. “Right now, it’ll be around 5 p.m. in LA. Maybe whoever works the phone lines at Bonacci Jewelry will still be around.”
He fished his cell phone from his pocket. Emilia outstretched her arms, lunging for him. “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”
He stepped back and held a hand out, gesturing for her to stay quiet and bear with him. A quick internet search provided Bonacci Jewelry’s office line, and he hit the call option, waiting as the dial tone did its thing.
“Hi, this is Detective Henry Murphy from the fraud department.” He put on his best official-sounding voice, lying to the unsuspecting lady on the other end of the phone. “I need to speak to Vittorio Bonacci about an ongoing investigation.”
Emilia scrambled forward, eyelids wide in clear shock. She pushed at him, fingers reaching and clawing to pull the phone from his grasp. Lucky for him, his arms were much longer than hers, which made blocking her attempts to end the call easy. This whole scenario would have been hilarious if it weren’t so damn dire.
He turned to avoid her glare’s fiery burn, listening as the person at the other end of the line gave him the answers he needed. In that time, Emilia gave up the fight, and he peered behind him to find her standing with her arms crossed, and her eyes returned to their earlier red-rimmed state.
“Okay, thank you, just one more question. We’ve tried to call Mr. Bonacci via his cell phone several times with no success, has he changed his number?”
